‘Hey there, Doll Face, fancy a dance?’ Baz had strolled over to the bar, where Jill was about to wash the glasses she’d collected. He gave her an enticing wink. ‘Let’s show ’em how we strut our stuff, shall we?’

He was referring to several days previously when, after the bar had closed, he’d taken twenty-year-old Jill to the Olympia just over the road, where they’d danced until midnight, much to Jill’s delight. She absolutely adored Baz.

‘Can’t, silly, I’m working.’ Jill flushed and cast a self-conscious glance at Val, who was also behind the bar serving some customers.

Val caught the girl’s look, a mixture of pleasure and guilt, and she cursed Baz. She wished he’d stop flirting with Jill, who was vulnerable and highly susceptible to his charm. She tried to signal her feelings to him, but Baz was having none of it. Simply because Baz didn’t care. Baz just wanted to dance.

‘Oh, the boss won’t mind if we take a bit of a whirl, will you, Boss?’ he said in jocular fashion, flashing his most winning grin. ‘You’ll cut us some slack, won’t you, Val? We need to celebrate the arrival of the piano after all.’

His tone unmistakeably implied ‘you owe me’, but that wasn’t why Val gave in. Val couldn’t give a shit about Baz. She knew full well that Baz Taylor needed her as much as she needed him. But she’d noticed how young Jill’s foot had been tapping away to the music. The girl was just itching to dance. What a pity it had to be with Baz.

‘Sure, Jill,’ she said lightly, ‘off you go. I’ll look after things here.’

Jill’s smile, as always, was captivating. White teeth gleamed in satin-brown skin and black eyes shone with pure joy. She was an unaffected and utterly disarming young woman.

Within seconds she was out from behind the counter and Baz was expertly steering her in a wild polka among the tables, men clearing the way for them and clapping along.

Val tried not to let her disapproval show. Everyone was enjoying the moment, why spoil the fun? But she was worried nonetheless. Baz laid on the charm with every young woman he met – with older women, too, for that matter – but Val wished he would concentrate on Betty. Betty was tough. Betty could play him at his own game and regularly did, matching him quip for quip, flirting with equal flair and at times just taking the piss out of the man. There was no pulling the wool over Betty’s eyes. But Jill? Jill was a different matter altogether.