She followed Jett’s first hit with an unadventurous selection of torch songs, ending up with a version of “Who Will I Turn To” that almost had tough old Brannigan in tears. The audience loved it, clapping and cheering and demanding more. Moira looked dazed and surprised by her reception, and after a few minutes of applause, she turned and asked the organist something inaudible. He nodded and she launched into Tina Turner’s whore’s anthem, “Private Dancer,” with the kind of bitter attack that could only come from experience. The crowd went wild. If it had been up to them, she would have been there all night, but she looked exhausted by the end of the song and escaped gratefully to the wings.

Like the audience, I’d been mesmerized by Moira and when I looked back to where Maggie had been standing, I realized I’d been letting pleasure interfere with work. Maggie had gone. Furious with myself, I hurried down the side of the room and through a pass door at the side of the stage.

I was in a narrow corridor. Two doors on the left were marked Ladies and Gents, and on my right were steps leading up to the stage. Round a corner, I found three more doors. No reply to my knock on the first. Same with the second. On the third attempt, I hit pay dirt. The door opened six inches and Maggie’s face appeared in the crack. Close up, she was a pretty woman. She had small, neat features and intelligent blue eyes with laughter lines at the corners. I put her in the mid thirties. “Can I help you?” she asked pleasantly.

I smiled. “You must be Maggie. Hi. I’d like to see Moira.”

She frowned. “I’m sorry, have we met?” Without waiting for a

I shook my head. “Thanks, but I need to see her. It’s a personal matter,” I stated calmly.

“Who is it?” a voice from inside the room called out.

“No one we know,” Maggie remarked over her shoulder. She turned back to me and said, “Look, this is not a good time. She’s just done a show, and she needs to rest.”

“What I have to say won’t take long. I don’t like to be difficult, but I’m not going till I’ve spoken to Moira.” I spoke firmly, with more confidence than I actually felt. I was in no doubt that Maggie could have me thrown out of there so fast my feet wouldn’t touch the sticky carpets. However, to do that, she’d have to leave Moira. I couldn’t see Darsett Trades and Labour Club being the kind of place that had a house phone in the star dressing room.