She made a face. “My grandmother will live to a hundred. She still walks three miles every morning and takes cold baths. And I’ll get no money from my father as long as my evil stepmother is in the picture. No, darling, I’m afraid it’s back to Crockford’s for me if I’m to survive.”

“Crockford’s? The club, you mean? Do you really expect to make money gambling?”

“Actually I do rather well, darling,” she said. “I play up the helpless and innocent young girl act—you know—first time at the tables and it’s all so terribly confusing. Kind men usually put in my stake for me. So I never actually lose my own money and I win remarkably often. Of course, some of the men expect something in return. . . .” She managed a bright smile. “But enough gloom and doom. There is room enough in my bed for two and in the morning we’ll make plans.”

Chapter 3

MONDAY, OCTOBER 29

CLABON MEWS AND THEN RANNOCH HOUSE, BELGRAVE SQUARE

Dear Diary: Belinda came home unexpectedly last night. Rather embarrassing, actually. Now I have no idea where I’m going to go. I hate living like this, relying on the kindness or pity or duty of others to take me in. When will I ever have a place of my own?

In the morning the storm had blown itself out. The world was bathed in bright sunshine. I got out of bed and went over to the window, savoring the morning quiet. The pavement below was littered with swaths of sodden leaves and even small branches, bearing testimony to the violence of the night’s storm. Belinda sighed and muttered something and I turned to look back at her. She was still sleeping blissfully, looking remarkably innocent and angelic in sleep. I stood there, staring down at her. Belinda was usually the optimistic, opportunistic one, living rather well by her wits. She’d had affairs with glamorous Italian counts and Bulgarian royals. So it was quite unlike her to reveal a vulnerable side. I wondered if something had happened in Hollywood. . . .