There was only one late arrival to their table, excepting the late smokers, and he was a singularly distinguished addition to the dinner; his family had owned this chunk of Berkeley Square for centuries. He was stopped several times on his way to the table, to shake outstretched hands and exchange pleasantries. Philip watched him lavish attention on certain guests and remembered what his grandfather had said about him. Alan Montague-Roland had declared that no poof would ever get their hands on his fortune, and the young man had been forced to promise that he was cured of his evil lust. Even then, the empire had been put in trust. Philip himself didn’t much care which side a man batted for; he just wanted a job done and done well.

The noise died down as the diners looked forward to their first course. Wine was poured and several tables asked for more bottles before the food had even appeared. The last-minute smokers entered the room and took their seats. As part of the refurbishment, every reception room had been furnished with an adjoining sheltered area – in this case a balcony – where guests and members could smoke, happily oblivious of the ban. The aim was to make the spaces like extensions of the building itself. Awnings, heaters and planted walls all helped to keep the smokers happy.

The new arrival finally reached their table and greeted Philip, Christopher and the Colonel with enthusiasm. ‘That will be my chair then,’ he laughed. He took his seat happily, fussed over by a waiter, who poured his wine. He made a point of thanking the man, slipping something into his pocket.

‘Good to see you made it, Sebastian,’ said Philip.

Chapter 22

Tilly tried to act composed as she got up off the ground. It was only her second day in the area, and she’d wandered down to the marina where the body of George Murphy had been found. But so far she’d only managed to trip over a buoy rope and land on a canoe. The man coming towards her to help had his wetsuit rolled down to his waist, exposing his chest, and she couldn’t help but admire his taut and chiselled torso. Her eyes went to his face, which was kind and handsome, in an outdoor, worn sort of way. He was much older than she was, but the hardness of his body and the way his wet hair fell about his face caused such a flutter inside her that she blushed. She felt like a fawning teenager.

‘Are you all right?’ He held out his hand to help her and she took it. His skin was warm.

‘I think I’ll live, though the embarrassment might kill me.’