‘Am I late?’ she asked as she sat on the stool beside him.

‘No, I was early. How about a drink?’

‘Please. A dry martini.’

‘How was the concert?’

‘Fine – Mendelssohn’s Ruy Blas and a Mozart piano concerto. Do you like classical music?’

‘Some – I’m a jazz man myself. How’s your father?’

‘Fine – just fine.’ She stared down into her glass and sighed. ‘Look, I’m afraid I’ve rather got you here under false pretences.’

‘You mean you don’t want to chat after all?’

She nodded. ‘As a matter of fact I was hoping you might take me out.’

‘Now there’s an attractive idea,’ he said. ‘Where would you like to go?’

‘I’d like to go to the Flamingo.’

‘May I ask why?’

‘Those murals Joanna painted for Vernon – I’d like to see them. The only other way would be to ask his permission and I’d hate that.’ She opened her bag and took out a gold-edged card. ‘I’ve got a membership card – one of Daddy’s business friends arranged it for me and members are allowed to take guests in with them.’

Miller sat there looking down at the card for a long moment, a slight frown on his face and she put a hand on his arm. ‘Please, Nick? I’d feel safe with you.’

‘You make a very appealing liar,’ Miller said, ‘but I’ll still take you. In fact I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m sure it will prove more than interesting.’

The Flamingo had altered a lot since Miller’s last visit, but that had been in the old days when Harry Faulkner had owned it and it had been more a night club than anything else, with gambling relegated to a strictly illegal small back room. The Gaming Act had changed all that and now there was money to burn.

The small, thickly carpeted foyer had been decorated in excellent taste and the man who moved forward to check Harriet’s membership card was greying and distinguished and wore hunting pink. They went through a door at the end of a short passage and found themselves at the top of a flight of steps which dropped into the main casino.

‘Oh, look, Nick! Look!’ Harriet clutched at his arm.

The murals were astonishingly good. There were four of them in enormous panels, two on either side of the long room. They were all battle scenes, the Foot Guards figuring largely in each one, and had been executed in a rather stylistic seventeenth-century manner and yet had a life and originality that was all their own.

Miller shook his head slowly. ‘I just didn’t realize she was that good.’

‘She could have been a great painter, Nick,’ Harriet said. ‘Something special.’ She took a deep breath and smiled as though determined to be cheerful. ‘Well, as long as we’re here we might as well have a look round.’