‘I saw you perform at Kakadu a month ago,’ Vladimir said, bowing low over her hand and kissing it. The scarlet streak in Lotti’s turbulent dark hair was the exact shade of her glossy lipstick. Her batwing eyelashes were the longest he’d ever seen in his life and her petite, voluptuous body was poured into an evening gown consisting of nothing but scattered sequins on a background of sheer black gauze, the skirt split to the thigh. ‘You were sensational,’ he added, visibly dazed.

‘I was good, wasn’t I?’ Lotti’s throaty chuckle took all immodesty from her words. ‘And now I have to dash because I’m almost due to go on. I’ll join you all afterwards, though, if I may?’

The last few words were directed at Max and he grinned. ‘You may indeed, Monkeyface,’ he said affectionately, ‘and whether you sang it last Monday or not, sing “Mack the Knife”.’

As Vladimir blinked, wondering if he could possibly have heard Max Remer’s nickname for Lotti correctly, he saw her give her cousin a wicked wink and then, like a human tornado, she darted towards the podium-like stage, not bothering to go backstage again but, as intro music played and a spotlight zeroed in on her, merely stepping on it to clamorous applause.

‘Your sister’s got quite a following,’ Nicholas Schulenburg shouted across to Ilse as whistles added to the din.

‘I know!’ Ilse’s smile was radiant. ‘And she’s not really a singer at all. She’s a dancer.’

‘Now that,’ Giuseppe Bennazzo said to the table at large, ‘I would really like to see.’

As Lotti launched huskily into a jazzed-up version of ‘You’re the Cream in My Coffee’, Ilse felt nothing but pleasure and pride in the admiration and attention Lotti was receiving. All she wanted was for those she loved to be happy—and that Lotti was happy being the star attraction at Ciro’s was clearly obvious.

She looked across at Vladimir and knew, by the besotted expression on his face as he watched Lotti sing, that he was completely dazzled by her. The knowledge gave her pleasure. Though Lotti had countless men-friends, none of them, in her opinion, were worthy of her. Vladimir, however, was not only extremely eligible, he was also an extremely nice person and he would make a delightful brother-in-law.

She was aware that Max too had registered Vladimir’s change of interest and as he looked down at her to see her reaction she smiled sunnily, not wanting him to think she was the slightest bit jealous or put out, for she wasn’t.

Lotti continued with Irving Berlin’s ‘Always’ and then with ‘Falling in Love Again’ from the film The Blue Angel.

‘Anything Marlene Dietrich sings, Lotti sings to perfection,’ she whispered to him.

‘She sings it better,’ he whispered back, drily. ‘Marlene is always cynical. Lotti’s sexiness is never cynical. Her sense of fun is too strong.’

Their chairs were close together and her shoulder was lightly touching his. She wondered what his response would be if she were to pluck up her courage and ask if his close friendship with Lotti was likely to turn one day into something deeper.