Miller had a clear view of the door as she crossed the room. He looked down at the keyboard again and as he slowed to the end of his number, Mary Beresford gave a shocked gasp.

When Miller turned, a spectacularly fleshy-looking young tart in black plastic mac, mini-skirt and knee-length leather boots stood at the top of the steps beside the maid who had apparently got to the door before Joanna. A couple of men moved into the room behind her. It was pretty obvious which was Bruno Faulkner from what Miller had heard, and it was just as obvious what the man was up to as he helped the girl off with her coat and looked quickly around the room, a look of eager expectancy on his face.

Strangely enough it was the girl Miller felt sorry for. She was pretty enough in her own way and very, very nubile with that touch of raw cynicism common to the sort of young woman who has slept around too often and too early. She tilted her chin in a kind of bravado as she looked about her, but she was going to be hurt, that much was obvious. Quite suddenly Miller knew with complete certainty that he didn’t like Bruno Faulkner one little bit. He lit a cigarette and started to play ‘Blue Moon’.

Of course Joanna Hartmann carried it all off superbly as he knew she would. She walked straight up to Faulkner, kissed him on the cheek and said, ‘Hello, darling, what kept you?’

‘I’ve been working, Joanna,’ Faulkner told her. ‘But I’ll tell you about that later. First, I’d like you to meet Grace. I hope you don’t mind us bringing her along.’

‘Of course not.’ She turned to Grace with her most charming smile. ‘Hello, my dear.’

The girl stared at her open-mouthed. ‘But you’re Joanna Hartmann. I’ve seen you on the telly.’ Her voice had dropped into a whisper. ‘I saw your last film.’

‘I hope you enjoyed it.’ Joanna smiled sweetly at Morgan. ‘Jack, be an angel. Get Grace a drink and introduce her to one or two people. See she enjoys herself.’

‘Glad to, Joanna.’ Morgan guided the girl away expertly, sat her in a chair by the piano. ‘I’ll get you a drink. Back in a jiffy.’

She sat there looking hopelessly out of place. The attitude of the other guests was what interested Miller most. Some of the women were amused in a rather condescending way, others quite obviously highly indignant at having to breathe the same air. Most of the men on the other hand glanced at her covertly with a sort of lascivious approval. Morgan seemed to be taking his time and she put a hand to her hair nervously and tilted her chin at an ageing white-haired lady who looked her over as if she were a lump of dirt.