‘Girls from the local brothels,’ said Stephen. ‘They come in for a rest. Well, they’re not going to be bothered, are they?’

He led the way to the bar, where a tubby little man was wiping glasses.

‘This is Max, the most celebrated landlord in London.’

‘I don’t want any trouble tonight, Stevie. Is that clear?’

‘Trouble? Moi? The very idea.’

Max poured large slugs of gin into two glasses. ‘Who’s your friend?’

‘This is Michael. He’s still in the RAF.’

‘Bad luck, dear.’ He pushed the drinks towards us. ‘On the house.’

We clinked and drank. The gin was neat, but quite possibly watered down.

‘Has Tony been in, Max?’

‘No. And if he does, I warned you …’

‘All right. Keep your hair on.’ We sat at a table. ‘What’s left of it.’

‘Who’s Tony?’ The gin was starting to hit me.

‘He’s my … publisher.’

‘Ah. Maybe I could meet him. Talk about photography.’

‘Yes. You’ll meet him, I expect.’ He scowled.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘If you must know, we’ve had a little … difference of opinion.’

‘You’ve not lost your job, have you?’

‘Nothing like that. If you must know, I told him I wanted him to leave his wife. There’s no need to look so shocked. People do have wives, you know.’

‘But he’s your …’ I didn’t know the right word. Lover? Boyfriend?

‘Oh dear. You’ve got a lot to learn. Tony is a very respectable married man. Well, he’s Italian, at any rate. He has a lot of business connections, and he’s terribly successful, and it wouldn’t do for them to know that he’s screwing me on the side.’ He slammed his empty glass on the table. ‘But I’m sick of his respectability! If he loves me like he says, he should bloody well want to be with me all the time!’ Heads were turning.

‘Stephen, please, lower your voice.’

‘Oh, let them stare. I don’t give a damn. Let’s have another drink.’

‘Shouldn’t we get something to eat?’

‘What? And ruin this sylphlike figure? Max! Encore deux gins, s’il vous plaît.’

Max brought the drinks, and shot a warning look at Stephen. I tried to steer the conversation back into safer waters.

‘So, it must pay well, your job. Judging by the flat and everything.’

‘That comes with the position.’

‘Do all employees get a place to live?’

‘It’s Tony’s flat. He’s sort of … installed me there.’

‘I see.’

‘He has quite a lot of flats.’

‘And does he have people … installed in all of them?’

‘Aren’t you full of questions? If you must know, he’s got tarts in most of them.’

‘You’re not by any chance a tart as well, are you?’

‘Certainly not.’ He rearranged his scarf. ‘I’m an art director. There is a difference.’ He drank. ‘Just about.’

A short man with long grey hair sticking out from under a dirty maroon beret was toasting us from across the room.

‘Who’s that, Stephen?’

‘What? Where? Oh, Christ. Gerald.’ He raised his glass in return. ‘Hello, Gerald. Oh no, she’s coming over. Watch your family jewels, dear.’