She tried to breathe deeply and, in that way, managed to calm herself down. Raymond de Guise was a man like any other. Of course he had love affairs. His entire life was a love story: the gilded French aristocrat, born to an English mother, who had forsaken his title to dance on a stage. At least, that was what the other chambermaids had told her. She realised, now, that as much as she’d told him of her own life, he’d told her so little of his. Perhaps the real story was even more fanciful. More fanciful, certainly, than her own sorry tale. So of course he had admirers and of course he had lovers – and if that really was Hélène Marchmont, if they really were stepping out to some shadowy Soho club tonight . . .

You can stop this nonsense this minute, Nancy Nettleton, she said to herself, burying her head in her pillow as if it might block out her thoughts. You didn’t act like one of those simpering city girls when you were back home, and you won’t do it now. So he asked you to dance with him? So you’re taking lessons, now, with the greatest dancer in the Buckingham Hotel? That’s something to be proud of! Not something to fret over like some lovelorn schoolgirl. You’re twenty-four years old, for heaven’s sake. Old enough to know better.

In moments she was back on her feet. The clock on the wall did not yet read eleven. That meant that the dances in the ballroom were only just coming to an end. Something was compelling her to put back on her house dress, to slip on her shoes. Something else was compelling her to quickly fix her hair in the mirror. For a moment she took in her reflection – her large eyes were shining with anticipation, her dark curls already escaping the pins. She half-heartedly attempted to tuck a wayward strand behind her ear, and then she was scampering out of the room, past the kitchenette where the girls were still rolling around laughing, and down the stairs.

*

By the time she reached the ballroom the band had finished playing, and a procession of stately guests were leaving for the night. In the chaos, Nancy was relieved to find herself invisible again.

She heard a familiar voice. Her eyes turned back down the marble incline leading to the ballroom and she watched as Raymond de Guise appeared, with the saxophonist from the band. They were so lost in conversation that they sailed past her without even noticing she was there. They’re not wearing their evening suits, she thought. They really are leaving the hotel for the night.