Why shouldn’t she have a treat? She’d got up at the crack of dawn and a cup of coffee might perk her up. Besides, it might be the only chance she ever had to take a seat in The Dorchester. It would be a shame to go back to Snowden without a tale to tell. She was trying to remember Charity’s advice to say ‘yes’ more often.

Maggie nodded. ‘Thank you. Lovely. And by the way, your Ladyship, my name isn’t Mary. It’s Maggie.’

Lady Ashford looked confused. ‘Oh. But didn’t it used to be Mary?’

‘No,’ Maggie said firmly. ‘It’s always been Maggie. My name is Maggie Corbett.’

They sat on padded armchairs in the hotel foyer, a small table on the marbled floor between them, which was laid with cups, a plate of biscuits and linen napkins.

Maggie suddenly had an awful thought. Did Lady Ashford know that Jack had proposed? Perhaps her errand to The Dorchester was nothing to do with bringing a suitcase of clothes. Maybe it was a ruse to get her here, to discuss Jack’s proposal? But to encourage Maggie to accept it or to turn it down?

As a waiter poured their coffee from a silver pot, a voice called, ‘Esther!’ and a rather dashing man, in a smart black suit, rushed across the lobby towards them.

‘There you are, darling,’ he said, in an American accent. ‘Gee, I thought I’d missed you!’

Maggie gave a jolt of surprise. Darling?

The waiter was leaning over, asking if she wanted cream – actual cream – and Maggie nodded quickly.

The man probably didn’t mean anything by it. Perhaps it was simply what toffs – or Americans – called one another.

‘This is Maggie,’ Lady Ashford said, pronouncing Maggie’s name carefully. ‘Silly me. I’ve been calling her by the wrong name all this time. She works with my husband, at the bank. Maggie, this is Lewis Carlton III, a very good friend of mine.’

Maggie smiled and said, ‘How do you do?’ and he did the same, shaking her hand warmly and looking straight into her eyes. Maggie’s gaze moved to the floor. Something didn’t feel right.

The awkward moment passed, as one of the hotel staff approached the American and whispered something in his ear.

‘I’m so sorry, ladies.’ He held up his hand. ‘Do excuse me. I have to take a call. Very nice to meet you, Miss.’

He gave a little bow and, in a trice, he’d gone.

There was a moment’s silence. Lady Ashford watched as her friend disappeared from view and then stirred her coffee thoughtfully. ‘He works at the Embassy. I dote on those letters after his name. Lewis Carlton “the third”. Like a French king!’ She laughed.