‘I know just the place to work off dinner,’ said Camilla. ‘Let’s go.’

The street was noisy and full of people spilling out of theatres and cinemas. Inside the nightclub the music thumped and boomed, and they danced like dervishes until exhaustion, heat and smoke overcame them and they escaped into the cold air to clear their heads.

‘Where to now?’ asked Camilla. ‘What d’you fancy? I know a good spot for jazz. Quiet and more for the older night owls. You often see film and stage people there, with their latest conquests. Ideal for winding down.’

‘I’m opting for home. I’m nearly dead, and there must be blisters on the soles of my feet.’ Sarah was drooping. But she was a minority of one and they dragged her into a taxi, teasing her for her lack of stamina.

In the discreetly lit cellar they sat back on deep cushions while Camilla ordered drinks that she called swimming pools, served in wide-rimmed glasses filled with a mixture of gin, glittering blue curaçao and other unnamed and dangerous ingredients. The pianist played Gershwin and Cole Porter, and a singer delivered subtle songs of love and desire. Camilla moved closer to Tim. He turned towards her and hesitated, but then he placed an arm around her shoulders and lifted her drink, tipping her glass to her lips as she smiled and glanced sideways to flirt with him. Piet looked away. Sarah concentrated furiously on the piano player until Tim and Camilla rose and moved away from the table, towards the small dance floor in the adjoining room.

‘Want to dance?’ Piet asked. As she stood up Sarah wondered whether he really wanted to dance with her, or whether his idea was simply to follow Camilla and Tim. But she did not care to analyse his reasons as they moved towards the music.