‘There’s two guys in a black Land Rover Discovery parked on Townsend Street. Any chance you can take out a few sarnies to them?’

The smile thinned even more. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

He turned and disappeared through one of the service doors. Bowman swept his eyes across the ballroom, looking for anything out of the ordinary. It might be someone with an unnatural body posture or gait, perhaps indicating that they had a weapon concealed on their body. Or it could be something as simple as a member of staff taking a peculiarly keen interest in Seguma. Any one of those signs might reveal an assassin in their midst.

As he looked round, he caught sight of Freddie Lang.

The mobster was sitting at a table to the right of the dance floor. He was talking with another guest. The other guy did most of the talking. Lang looked bored, twisting the stem of his champagne flute. He spotted Bowman across the dance floor and stared curiously at him. Bowman quickly dropped his gaze. When he glanced up again, Lang had turned back to his fellow guest.

Two minutes later, Kember slipped into the ballroom and dropped into the chair next to Bowman. After a few more minutes, the same waiter returned to their table carrying two platefuls of sandwiches. Ham and cheese, egg and watercress, corned beef. Bowman wasn’t hungry but he dug in anyway. The first rule of bodyguard work: eat when you can, as fast as you can, because there’s no telling when your client might suddenly decide to get up and leave.

Kember regarded his plate as if it carried the plague.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Bowman asked between mouthfuls of bread and cold meat. ‘Not hungry?’

‘I ain’t touching that shite. Full of carbs and fats.’

‘You should eat something. Better than sitting here on an empty stomach.’

‘And put that crap in my system?’ Kember screwed up his face. ‘No chance, fella. I’m sticking to water.’

‘Suit yourself,’ Bowman said, helping himself to another sandwich.

The reception was more relaxed than the stuffy formality of the ceremony. The VIPs were letting their hair down, now that they were no longer on public display. More champagne was poured. Speeches were made. Then dinner was served. The waiters brought out plates of smoked salmon, followed by lobster for the main course. Seguma hunched over his plate, hacking messily at his food. He talked as he chewed, pausing only to slurp champagne. Some of it dribbled down his chin, staining his tuxedo.

As the waiters brought out dessert, Seguma reached for the finger bowl. He popped the flower into his mouth and chased it down with the warm water. Clearly mistaking the bowl for some sort of soup. He drained the water and let out a loud belch, patting his stomach in satisfaction. The other guests watched him with a mixture of fascination and horror.