When I came out, he’d gone. I crept across the corridor and tried the locked door again. This time, it swung open. Behind it lay a pretty yellow bedroom, all sprigged wallpaper and a four-poster bed; in the corner, a Louis XIV chair with a woman’s silk robe thrown carelessly across it. There was a silver hairbrush set on the dressing table and a bottle of Dior perfume, but not much else – apart from another door in the corner, behind which I thought I could hear movement. Taking a deep breath, I headed towards it.

‘Hello?’ I said again, and then I put my hand out and wrenched it open. A hiss and a squeal, and a ball of white fur launched itself between my feet and disappeared under the bed. A bloody Persian cat! I laughed tremulously at my own stupidity.

As I went to close the bedroom door behind me, I glanced at a portrait hanging on the wall. The sleepy brown eyes of a young woman gazed down on me and I froze on the spot. I felt the same icy sensation I’d felt in the office the other day.

I stared and stared up at her, almost expecting her to blink back – but of course she didn’t.

I hurried down the stairs, back to the party, her eyes boring through the door into my back the whole way.

Downstairs, the party was beginning to thin out. Kattan’s young henchman was gone; the MP, Eddie Johnson, was so drunk he was in danger of toppling over like a giant Weeble. Over by the fireplace my husband was deep in conversation with Kattan, both talking in low voices, Kattan smoking a cigar. The smell reminded me of my childhood.

‘All right, my petal?’ James kissed my head as I arrived at his side. I smiled weakly. My every instinct screamed that something was terribly wrong in this house, that the veneer of wealth and respectability covered up a darkness I couldn’t yet fathom; that so far it was impossible to put my finger on it. I felt the strongest desire to run away – but a stronger instinct to know the truth.

‘Yes, thanks,’ I murmured, smiling at James, who looked like Lewis Carroll’s Cheshire cat.

‘I was just telling Mr Kattan about Revolver,’ James said, pocketing something. My heart sank.

‘Indeed.’ Hadi Kattan, smiling pleasantly, exhaled a plume of blue smoke. ‘Every man should have the chance to own a nightclub. Life would be so boring without a little fun, no?’

‘I guess it’s always good to let your hair down.’ I took James’s arm like the loyal wife I was.

‘Here’s my card,’ James said. ‘Let me know what you think.’

‘I’m so sorry to drag him away, Mr Kattan, but I think – babysitters and all – you know … ‘ I wanted to be home with my children right now.