No sooner had she stepped through and been introduced to Maynard Charles, than the doors turned again. Now came the crown princess, Princess Märtha Sofia, a glamorous beauty with short dark hair and simple pearls in each ear. She appeared on the arm of her husband, Prince Olav, the heir apparent to the Norwegian throne. Raymond watched as Lord Edgerton and Maynard Charles welcomed them, as yet more porters marched in behind, bearing suitcases and trunks.

As the Buckingham waited, Raymond cast his mind back to the New Year celebrations of times past. He’d seen Georges de la Motte put his arm around Queen Maud’s waist and lead her out onto the dance floor. Two New Years past, Georges had waltzed for the first time with Princess Märtha in the ballroom at the Savoy. He felt a stabbing in his chest that was nothing to do with the state of his ribs. If it weren’t for the Midnight Rooms, it would have been him twirling around the ballroom tonight with the queen and the crown princess and the rise of the fascist influence in this hotel would have had one more barrier to keep it at bay. His eyes drifted up, to where Nathaniel White was standing with his chest swollen with arrogant pride.

At Maynard Charles’s signal, the assembly parted and a royal procession began, down through the reception square to the golden lifts – where, one after another, the royal family disappeared into the Buckingham interior. In the reception hall, the crowd let out a collective breath. Mrs Moffatt clapped her hands, summoning her girls back to their duties. Mr Simenon hissed at his concierges; the head chef barked orders, sending his underlings scurrying back to their kitchens. Meanwhile, Nathaniel took Hélène forcibly by the hand and turned her back towards the ballroom. ‘We’ve only hours,’ he declared. ‘It has to be perfect.’

Hélène tore her hand away from him – but the clock was ticking, and she followed him all the same.

*

At 6 p.m., the doors to the Grand opened.

Billy Brogan lingered in the reception hall, beneath the boughs of the glorious Norwegian fir, and stared through the ballroom doors. He had never seen it look as beautiful. The cavernous interior was bedecked in hanging masks, the chandeliers lit up in radiant array. The dance floor itself was lacquered so that it reflected the lights. It will be like they’re dancing on an ocean, thought Billy.