Nathaniel’s voice took on the shrillest of airs when he shouted. His cheeks were bunched and the creases that appeared between his eyes gave his face a nasty, pinched look – precisely befitting the man, thought Raymond.

‘You can’t deny it, boy,’ Raymond spat. ‘You dance half as well as some of the porters here in the Buckingham. You’re here because of who you are, and who you are is the worst of the world. Your father and Edgerton and all their hired thugs. Well, they turfed you out of Cable Street –’ at the mention of the place, Hélène looked perplexed, unable to make the connection, and yet Raymond carried on – ‘and I’ll be the one ejecting you from our hotel. You see these feet, Nathaniel? You see these shoes? They’re the ones that will be dancing in the Grand on New Year’s Eve. They’re the ones that will be dancing up a storm when your papa sends a gleaming Bentley to take you back to mama.’

‘You go too far, de Guise. One word to Lord Edgerton and . . .’

‘Oh, please. Whatever else Lord Edgerton is, he’s a businessman first. What matters to a man like him is the money. You must know how much our ballroom means to this hotel. And who do you think’s worth more in the ballroom, boy? You, indulging only his wayward stepdaughter night after night in a crass attempt to bed or even marry her . . . or me, indulging his guests, giving them some glamour, giving them the confidence to move and turn and spin, and come back for more?’

There was momentary silence in the studio.

‘I thought as much,’ said Raymond. ‘You’re a disgrace. You and all your kind. But your days are numbered in this hotel. Mark my words.’

Moments later, Nancy – the poor girl’s face aghast – was following Raymond out through the studio doors.

Hélène looked at Nathaniel, his face twisted with rage. She moved towards him – to placate, not to console – but before she could say a word, there came a deep, bass voice from the wireless. ‘You are listening to the words of Sir John Reith, Director General of the BBC. We take an intermission now from this evening’s broadcast to bring our listeners an announcement. This is Windsor Castle, His Royal Highness Prince Edward . . .’

Nathaniel’s face creased. ‘Prince Edward?’ he whispered.

On the radio the voice continued: ‘At long last I am able to say a few words of my own. I have never wanted to withhold anything. But until now it has not been constitutionally possible for me to speak. A few hours ago I discharged my last duty as King and Emperor . . .’

Hélène was still staring after Raymond – but these words grabbed her and turned her around. By now, Nathaniel had crept close to the wireless. And the voice rumbled on . . .

*