“How was Hamburg?”

“Great, until we got thrown out because Dave was too young.”

“The Kords used to play in Hamburg,” Hank said. “It was great. I was born in Dublin but I grew up on the Reeperbahn, if you know what I mean.”

Jasper found Hank fascinating. He was rich and famous, one of the biggest pop stars in the world, yet he was working hard to be nice to everyone in the room. Did he have an insatiable desire to be liked—and was that the secret of his success?

Evie came in looking great. Her hair had been cut in a short bob that mimicked the Beatles, and she wore a simple Mary Quant A-line dress that showed off her legs. Hank pretended to be bowled over. “Jesus, I’ll have to take you somewhere posh, looking like that,” he said. “I was thinking of a Wimpy bar.”

“Wherever we go, it will have to be quick,” Evie said. “I’ve got an audition at three thirty.”

“What for?”

“A new play called A Woman’s Trial. It’s a courtroom drama.”

Hank was pleased. “You’ll be making your stage debut!”

“If I get the part.”

“Oh, you’ll get it. Come on, we’d better go, my Mini’s parked on a yellow line.”

They went out and Walli returned to his room. Jasper looked at his watch: it was twelve thirty. The editor would be announced any minute now.

Making conversation, he said: “I loved the States.”

“Would you like to live there?” Daisy asked.

“More than anything. And I want to work in television. St. Julian’s News will be a great first step, but basically newspapers are obsolete. TV news is the thing now.”

“America is my home,” Daisy said musingly, “but I found love in London.”

The phone rang. The editor had been chosen. Was it Jasper, or Toby Jenkins?

Daisy answered. “He’s right here,” she said, and handed the receiver to Jasper, whose heart was thudding.

The caller was Pete Donegan. He said: “Valerie Cakebread got it.”

At first Jasper did not understand. “What?” he said. “Who?”

“Valerie Cakebread is the new editor of St. Julian’s News. Sam Cakebread fixed it for his sister.”

“Valerie?” When Jasper understood he was flabbergasted. “She’s never written anything but fashion puffs!”

“And she made the tea at Vogue magazine.”

“How could they do this?”

“Beats me.”

“I knew Lord Jane was a prick, but this . . .”

“Shall I come to your place?”

“What for?”

“We should go out and drown our sorrows.”

“Okay.” Jasper hung up the phone.

Daisy said: “Bad news, obviously. I’m sorry.”

Jasper was rocked. “They gave the job to the current editor’s sister! I never saw that coming.” He recalled his conversation with Sam and Valerie in the coffee bar of the student union. The treacherous pair, neither had even hinted that Valerie was in the running.

He had been outmaneuvered by someone more guileful than himself, he realized bitterly.

Daisy said: “What a shame.”

It was the British way, Jasper thought resentfully; family connections were more important than talent. His father had fallen victim to the same syndrome, and in consequence was still only a colonel.