“Not really a friend. Someone I’ve bumped into from time to time and we had a good laugh at a house party last year,” I said, trying to keep my acquaintance with Bobo suitably vague. “I can’t say I know her well or that she’s ever shared confidences.”

“She doesn’t,” one of the women said. “She’s good at that. She gets other people to talk about themselves but shares no secrets.”

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” I said. “Does anyone know who she really is? I mean, family background and all that? I’ve never met anyone who was presented with her.”

“Rumor has it that she comes from Argentina,” the first woman said. “That would explain the Catholic leanings. And there are plenty of ne’er-do-well sons of English aristocracy over there, presumably having their way copulating with local girls. But if you want my personal opinion”—she leaned closer—“I think she’s a little upstart, pretending to be what she’s not.”

“Why do you think that?” I asked.

“One just gets the feeling that she’s not really one of us. Of course she’s very good at hiding it, and she’s very lovely, and funny, and generous, and I’m sure she’s divine in the sack, so nobody probes too deeply. But one day it will all come out, mark my words.”

She broke off as a noisy group came into the room, laughing uproariously at something one of them had just said. I helped myself to more caviar, this time unfortunately letting a couple of beads drop down my cleavage, then moved away from my gossipy new friends. It seemed that nobody knew any more about her than the police had already found out. If I were to do my job well, I should dance with the various chaps here and see what reaction the mention of Bobo’s name produced from them.

There was no sign of Marina as I came out into the foyer. Presumably still dancing with the Prince of Wales. It didn’t seem I knew anybody else here from the crowd that milled around me, trying to get to the bar. And then Belinda popped into my mind. One might have expected her to be here. This was her kind of party, as it would have been Bobo’s. Half the rich young men of London were attending. So why wasn’t she here? Again a shiver of apprehension went through me. Bobo had gone to Crockford’s and was seen to be agitated and talking to a strange American. And Belinda frequented Crockford’s and wasn’t at home this morning. I was determined to visit her mews place first thing tomorrow. What’s more, I still had a key. I could let myself in.