Our escorts were waiting and introduced themselves formally as Monty and Whiffie. We never did find out what Whiffie’s real name was but we had a merry supper. I could see why Belinda liked it here. It was a world of fantasy. And I realized I had two habitués at my fingertips, who knew the club well.

“Did you happen to meet an American man who came here with Sir Toby last week?” I asked.

“With Sir Toby? Tall, serious sort of chap, wasn’t he?” Monty frowned, trying to picture him. “Didn’t seem to be having fun at all.”

“I heard he had some sort of argument with Bobo Carrington,” I said.

“You’re right, Bobo was here that evening. But I didn’t see any kind of confrontation. She was only here briefly. Actually we hadn’t seen her in ages, had we, Whiffie, old thing?”

“That’s right,” Whiffie replied. “We commented on the fact. Someone said, ‘Bobo’s come back into circulation, I notice,’ and we had a bet as to who she’d make a beeline for. But next time we looked around, she’d gone again.”

“And the American man too?”

“No, I think he stayed on. At least, Sir Toby did.”

“So you haven’t seen Bobo with anyone else recently?”

“Haven’t seen her at all. She must have been on the Continent.”

“Sir Toby went to America. Perhaps she tagged along,” Whiffie said. “I know his wife stayed home.” They exchanged another grin.

“Sir Toby? Was Bobo involved with him?”

“So rumor had it. Of course he was always very careful in public. Got an image to live up to, what?” The two men laughed.

“Sir Toby Blenchley?” Marina asked. “Is he not a member of Parliament here?”

“Cabinet minister, old thing—I mean, Your Highness.”

Marina looked around the room, where various couples sat together at tables. “I suppose powerful men do not always behave as they should,” she said thoughtfully. I wondered if she was wondering about rumors she had heard of her future husband. Irmtraut had definitely heard them and might have spilled the beans.

Our table companions also picked up her troubled look. “Well, it’s one thing to play the field before marriage,” one of them said, “but when one is a cabinet minister, I mean, dash it all . . .”

I digested this new fact. Sir Toby Blenchley, he who preached the sanctity of the family, had had Bobo Carrington as his mistress. Who had more to lose than he if this fact became known?

Monty and Whiffie were good company and we laughed a lot over oysters and smoked salmon and soufflés. It was getting late by the time they brought our coffees. I tried to stifle a yawn, but Marina saw it. “We should be going,” she said. “I have a busy day tomorrow. Another fitting for my dress, and then I’m meeting my parents off the boat train.”