‘Pa, you don’t know a thing. A place like the Midnight Rooms doesn’t care where you come from. As long as you got the love for the music. That’s right, isn’t it, Hélène?’

‘You want to stay away from the Midnight Rooms, Joseph,’ Hélène said. ‘Mark my words, it isn’t the place Sidney used to speak of . . .’

She hadn’t told Raymond as much, but it had been one of the reasons she was so eager to go. Louis and Sidney had played in the Midnight Rooms more times than either could remember. Even years after he’d left the clubs behind and devoted himself to Archie Adams and the band, Sidney had spoken of the club as a wild little paradise where music and dance ruled the roost.

‘It’s the place, Hélène. The place! There’s girls there dancing the rhumba. They’re on the tables dancing the cha-cha. Have you ever cha-cha’d, Hélène? They have contests, every Saturday night. Finest dancers. There’s champagne. They treat you like royalty. I’m going there tonight, Hélène, if you—’

Noelle smiled indulgently. ‘That’s enough of that. Hélène’s got other things to do tonight, haven’t you, love?’

In her lap, Sybil started to babble again. ‘Dadadadadadadadadaaaa!’

‘You can keep your Midnight Rooms.’ Hélène grinned. ‘There’s only one place for me. But Joseph . . . be careful there, won’t you? We . . .’ How much to tell them? she thought. But then she decided: they’re my family. I should tell them it all. ‘We went there, me and Louis and Raymond, my partner in the ballroom. I guess we wanted to see what it was like. The rhumbas and the cha-chas, everything Sidney had loved. I wanted to see it for myself. To see where Sidney started out. And, well, for a time it was everything I hoped.’ She paused. ‘Then everything went wrong, Joseph. Some men charged in and mobbed Raymond. They wouldn’t stop. He’s back at the hotel, broken and trussed up. They’re making me dance with some . . . juvenile they’ve brought in from the Imperial.’ Hélène could hardly keep the disgust from her voice – but here, surrounded by people she loved, she had no need to. ‘So watch yourself, won’t you?’

Joseph beamed. Picking himself up, he planted a single kiss on Hélène’s brow, then leaned down to tickle Sybil’s chin. ‘See how good a mother you are, Hélène? You worry about me like I’m your own son!’ He laughed. ‘I’ll be careful, Hélène.’