Rupert Charles was the typical bad boy, handsome and rich. His father had died in the war, leaving a fortune to Rupert’s mother, a ridiculous woman much given to wearing clothes too young for her and with an appalling taste in men, and to Rupert, a rather spoiled young man who had never had anything to do with the actual making of money, only the spending of it. Now he financed movies as he liked to call them, and everyone thought he was quite the thing, and fought to claim friendship with him. Rupert in turn loved the notoriety of Briony and fought to become a crony of hers. It made Tommy smile sometimes, the double standard, but not tonight, because Jonathan was watching Briony with an intent gaze. It seemed he wanted her. Perhaps he wasn’t queer after all. Tommy could see the tell-tale expression. He knew it well. But Jonathan wouldn’t have her. Even if she succumbed and slept with him, he wouldn’t have her. Not in the way he wanted. Knowing this pleased Tommy.

He dragged his eyes from them and made his way back to the offices. He wasn’t in the mood tonight for all that theatrical old fanny. He needed a couple of stiff drinks.

Being a Friday evening, the Mayfair house was packed. The girls working nights started at six-thirty at weekends. Many men arrived at six, retired to bed at six-thirty and arrived home to take out their wives around nine-thirty. So at seven-thirty the house was already buzzing. Winona, the head girl, was counting out money in her office when a repeated ringing on the bell brought her out personally to answer the front door. Heidi, the young girl paid for this job, was at that moment helping one of the ‘young ladies’ to brush out her hair. Winona opened the large front door wearing her plain black dress and professional smile. It died on her lips as she saw a crate left on the doorstep and no one in sight.

She walked out of the house and down the front steps, searching the street for a messenger or someone who could have left the heavy crate. The street was as usual quiet and empty, except for a few motorcars. Turning, she walked back up the steps and sighed loudly. She called down the back stairs for two of the men who worked there, and between them they hefted the crate through to the offices. Winona finished counting her money before she once more turned her attention to the crate. There was no address on it, no message, nothing. Briony had not mentioned any deliveries. She frowned in consternation. The new club was opening tonight so Briony wouldn’t thank her for calling her away over a crate, but something wasn’t right here.