‘A party,’ he said, leaning back on a lounger, naked except for a pair of sunglasses. ‘Yes, we should.’ I was watching the way the sun licked at his hair, bringing out its gold lights. ‘How about it, del Potro?’ he said, glancing to where I stood, mixing drinks in my shirt and underwear. ‘Shall we give the Tangerines a show?’

I tried to smile into the melting ice. I didn’t want a party. During those glorious, honeyed days, the rules of society had melted away, until all that mattered was the next moment, breath and skin and hunger, not names or rank. I didn’t want to step back into my old position. I didn’t want to see Langham flirt with young men and rich ladies and watch it all from behind a tray. I wanted to be there beside him.

I shrugged. ‘If you want.’

‘That settles it then. We’ll have one on Saturday.’ I couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses as I handed him the drink, though I knew he was looking at me. ‘Got to keep up appearances,’ he said softly.

I should have told him then that it was a bad idea. I should have argued that no good could come of a party when the whole city was broiling in the heat. I should have leaned in close and asked him who he was keeping up appearances for, when he so clearly didn’t give a damn about society.

But I forgot Ifrahim’s advice about watching and listening, and instead shut my eyes to my anxieties, and when Langham and I were alone, I kissed him all the harder.

The party would be white and red, Hilde declared, like strawberries and cream, like the St George’s cross, like fire and ice. Slumped in the shade of the lounge we went through The Gentleman’s Guide together, laughing at its tips for greeting ladies and how to tip a hat. She picked out cocktails she liked the sound of, Ruby Fizzes and Gin Rickeys, and Champagne Juleps.

‘Blood and Sand,’ she murmured when she reached the page. I had stared at it so often, it had taken to falling open on its own. ‘What a name. Let’s try.’ She thrust the book at me. ‘Can you make it?’

I knew the recipe by heart. But make it? I forced a smile. I was Alejandro del Potro now. The past, with its bloody prints, belonged to someone else.

‘Of course.’