Billy nodded. There was anger in Raymond’s voice, but there was purpose as well. ‘I’ll get her back,’ he said. ‘She can still dance tonight. She can still—’

‘To hell with the dancing, Billy. Bring her back here and . . .’ He looked at Nancy. ‘I’m going to find Vivienne. And when I find her, I’ll . . .’

Raymond flew through the dressing-room doors, strode like a colossus past the dance studio, up and up towards the reception hall. Vivienne was not in the ballroom itself. That left only two places she could possibly be. Either she was lining up the cocktails in the Candlelight Club or she was in her rooms, preparing to sashay down the stairs and present herself. A thousand thoughts hurtled through Raymond’s mind. No doubt Nathaniel White was in on this. No doubt that was why he’d spent so long with her, training her in the studio, dancing with her on countless nights in the ballroom itself.

He reached the service lift and rang the bell to call it down. At the sound of hurried footsteps behind him, he turned and saw Nancy, face flushed, rushing towards him.

‘I’ll kill her,’ Raymond spat. ‘I’ll kill her for what she’s done . . .’

The lift doors opened, revealing the attendant. Raymond reached in and heaved him out. Before the poor man knew what was happening, the doors were closing and Nancy was slipping inside after Raymond.

‘NO!’ Nancy exclaimed, grappling with Raymond’s arm. ‘You don’t know why she did it, Raymond. You don’t know . . .’

‘I know it was jealousy, pure and simple. People like Vivienne Edgerton, it’s bad blood through and through . . .’

The lift soared, counting one floor after another.

‘Listen to yourself,’ Nancy cried. ‘Bad blood? You don’t really believe in bad blood. If you do, you’re the same as the rest of them. As Lord Edgerton and all his fascist set. No, there’s no bad blood, Raymond. There’s only . . .’ Nancy paused. They were almost at Vivienne’s floor. ‘If you’d seen what my father was like, then maybe you’d understand. If you’d seen the way his addiction changed him from being the most wonderful, caring father – into someone who cared only about where his next dose was coming from. It turned him into something else, Raymond. If not a monster, then a ghost. I didn’t matter to him. He barely remembered I had a brother.’ She stopped. The lift had come to a halt, and with the ring of a bell the doors slid open. ‘It wasn’t him, Raymond. That’s my point. He did the most terrible things, but he wasn’t himself.’