Only now did he realise his mistake. When he’d opened his mouth in disbelief, he’d revealed the devastation of his smile. He breathed deeply, but his sinuses were swollen where his nose had been broken and reset – and the thought dawned on him that the handsome, debonair Raymond de Guise of old was gone. It was more like Ray Cohen to get caught in the middle of a public brawl than Raymond de Guise. The thought unnerved him.

‘Raymond, you bloody fool!’ Maynard Charles could barely control his fury. It erupted out of the corners of his mouth in a spray of spittle, before he swallowed it back down. ‘What in God’s name have you done to yourself?’

Raymond uttered, ‘You should have seen the rest of them.’

If Raymond had thought it might defuse the tension, he was wrong. Maynard Charles balled his fists and, this time, he could not control his explosion. ‘I pay you to be handsome, de Guise. I pay you for your elegance. Any damn fool can put on a show in that ballroom! What did you think it was that set you apart? Your dancing shoes? No, de Guise. Your face. Your beautiful, boyish face. Good Lord, man, was it worth it? Whoever’s wife you touched? Whoever’s sister you were romancing in one of your gentleman’s clubs?’

Raymond thought: I could tell him that it wasn’t nearly as sleazy as he thinks. That they jumped on me because of what I am, what my real family are. But that would mean telling him that all of the magic we’ve been spinning in the Grand, it’s all been horse shit. It would almost be worth it, to see the look on this face. But . . .

I don’t want to be Ray Cohen, Raymond thought. Ray Cohen’s gone. I buried him, didn’t I? Why can’t he just stay six feet under?