After the set, Byron Chesterfield came to the dressing room.

He was about forty, and wore a beautiful light-blue suit with a waistcoat. His tie had a pattern of daisies. His hair was receding either side of an old-fashioned brilliantined quiff. He brought a cloud of cologne into the room.

He spoke to Dave. “Your group is not bad,” he said.

Dave pointed to Lenny. “Thank you, Mr. Chesterfield, but it’s Lenny’s group.”

Lenny said: “Hello, Brian, don’t you remember me?”

Byron hesitated a moment, then said: “My life! It’s Lenny Avery.” His London accent became broader. “I never recognized you. How’s the stall?”

“Doing great, never better.”

“The group is good, Lenny: bass and drums solid, nice guitars and piano. I like the vocal harmonies.” He jerked a thumb at Dave. “And the girls love the kid. You getting much work?”

Dave was excited. Byron Chesterfield liked the group!

Lenny said: “We’re busy every weekend.”

“I might be able to get you an out-of-town gig for six weeks in the summer, if you’re interested,” Byron said. “Five nights a week, Tuesday to Saturday.”

“I don’t know,” said Lenny with indifference. “I’d have to get my sister to run the stall for me while I was away.”

“Ninety pound a week in your hand, no deductions.”

That was more than they had ever been paid, Dave calculated. And with luck it would fall in the school holiday.

Dave was annoyed to see Lenny still looking dubious. “What about board and lodging?” he said. Dave realized he was not uninterested, he was negotiating.

“You get lodging but not board,” Byron said.

Dave wondered if this was at a seaside resort, where there was seasonal work for entertainers.

Lenny said: “I couldn’t leave the stall for that kind of money, Brian. Pity it’s not a hundred and twenty pound a week. Then I could consider it.”

“The venue might go to ninety-five, as a personal favor to me.”

“Say a hundred and ten.”

“If I forgo my own fee I can make it a hundred.”

Lenny looked at the rest of the group. “What do you say, lads?”

They all wanted to take the job.

“What’s the venue?” Lenny said.

“A club called the Dive.”

Lenny shook his head. “Never heard of it. Where is it?”

“Didn’t I mention that?” said Byron Chesterfield. “It’s in Hamburg.”

• • •

Dave could hardly contain his excitement. A six-week gig—in Germany! Legally, he was old enough to quit school. Was there a chance he might become a professional musician?

In exuberant mood, he took his guitar and amplifier and Linda Robertson to the house in Great Peter Street, intending to drop off his gear before walking her home to her parents’ place in Chelsea. Unfortunately his parents were still up, and his mother waylaid him in the hall. “How did it go?” she asked brightly.

“Great,” he said. “I’m just dropping off my gear, and I’m going to walk Linda home.”

“Hello, Linda,” said Daisy. “How nice to see you again.”