In front of the Norwegian fir tree, Maynard Charles and the heads of department were lined up in order of rank. The night managers, the bookkeeper, the director of finance and accounts; all of them were turned out in their finery – and at their head paced Maynard Charles himself. The hotel director was turned out in a pinstripe suit of black and grey, his hair scraped back with pomade. A golden pocket watch dangled over his lapel, and silver cufflinks glistened at his wrists.

On one flank stood the assembled musicians from the Archie Adams Band. On the other, stood the demonstration dancers. Louis threw Raymond a smile as he marched over to join them, the needling eyes of Nathaniel White on him all the way. White was standing at the head of the party, with Hélène at his side. She turned to him as he came to stand directly behind her, alongside Sofía and the rest of the dancing girls.

‘Are you . . . ?’ she whispered, turning over her shoulder despite Nathaniel’s ugly look.

‘All’s well,’ Raymond returned. ‘You may be picking up my broken bones from the dressing rooms this evening, but all shall be well. You can have faith in that.’

Hélène was about to reply when the revolving door turned. The first figure to appear was bedecked in a long black coat, and upon his head a tall top hat. Lord Edgerton himself. Behind him, like faithful retainers, came a succession of porters, who mingled with the assembled Buckingham crowd until they had almost disappeared. Meanwhile, the revolving door kept turning – and through it stepped a tall man in his sixties in full military regalia, a tall beaverskin hat on his head. His face was adorned by magnificent whiskers, and his bright blue eyes stopped to take in the assembled crowd.

Maynard Charles stepped forward, Lord Edgerton by his side.

‘King Haakon,’ he began, ‘it is my pleasure to receive you once more. Might I tender my hotel at your service?’

‘Mr Charles,’ the King of Norway replied, his English accented with the harder sound of the northern landscapes he called home. ‘The pleasure shall be ours. We have looked forward to our attendance.’

King Haakon had the look of an elderly headmaster, thought Raymond. Behind him, the bronze doors kept revolving. Next to step through was the King’s wife, Queen Maud. A sexagenarian herself, she was draped in fur – and, as she had done all of her life, seemed to suit the royal accoutrements less well than her husband. A princess of Wales, Maud was the daughter of England’s own late King Edward VII; for her, London was a homecoming. She took in the familiar sight of the Buckingham hall and Raymond was certain he saw her visibly relax.