At first, Artie had not known what to think when he had opened the door to his brother in the dead of night. It had taken Raymond some time to talk him around, to tell him that he was wrong, that he’d always been wrong – that when he’d said that the Grand was a world apart from the Buckingham Hotel and all its politicians and appeasers and fascists, its industrialists and aristocrats with money enough to solve the world’s problems if only they cared, he was fooling himself. The Grand bred them, he realised now. The Buckingham attracted the very same people who would march on Cable Street and face his family down. This was not right. The life Ray Cohen had been living was not right. The gilded Mayfair world was one they could never hope to bring down or change – but they could take a little from it, chip away at the beast. Grand victories like Cable Street shook the world, but the little ones still counted.

But there was to be no breaking and entering tonight. The staff entrance was open at all hours, and all Raymond needed to do was perform a little distraction to get them inside. As they approached, he took Artie by the shoulder and told him to slow down. ‘A fine burglar you are,’ he said. ‘You creep around like you’re not supposed to be here.’

‘I’m not supposed to be here.’

‘Neither of us are, but we may as well act the part.’

Raymond pushed open the tradesman’s door. Inside, one of the porters – a lad who lived above the Exmouth markets – was slumped in a chair, reading from one of the high-and-mighty periodicals that were scattered liberally around the hotel lounges. Startled, he looked up – and Raymond saw that he had been close to sleep. His eyes were heavy and his bottom lip shimmered where he had started to drool. Embarrassment took hold of the lad and he straightened himself. ‘Mr de Guise, I know what you was thinking, but I wasn’t nodding off, sir. I was just . . .’

Raymond put on his best ballroom smile. He had come dressed in his evening suit and gentleman’s frock coat for this very reason. ‘You can close your eyes on my account. But don’t let the old man find you, it would be more than your job’s worth. Still up and wandering the halls, is he?’ He winked.

The boy checked the clock ticking on the wall. Its hands were inching towards 2 a.m. ‘Mr Charles retired half an hour ago,’ he said. ‘Did his final circuit and then off to bed.’

‘And you’re on until dawn?’ Raymond’s eyes found the mug of tea sitting half-empty at his side. ‘I’ll wager that’s stone cold, is it?’

The boy nodded.

‘And it’s a long winter night.’