‘I can see that, Vivienne, but they’re about to—’

The dressing-room doors opened. One after another, the band members began to march through to the ballroom itself. The ballroom fell silent. Then, after a pregnant pause, the applause began. In the corner of her eye, Vivienne could see Louis Kildare and the rest soaking up the worship of the crowd. Then, one after another, the orchestra took their places upon the stage.

Nathaniel White’s eyes were on Sofía. Vivienne stepped in front of him, obscuring his view of everything else.

‘I can do it, Nathaniel. You know I can. I’ve watched you dance it. You showed me the steps yourself. We’ve danced almost every night out there in the ballroom.’ She smiled warmly, her eyes full of anticipation. ‘I can do it, Nathaniel. You’re the one who taught me . . .’ She was almost laughing now. Vivienne Edgerton had never believed in destiny, but this felt like destiny tonight. She reached out, trying to clasp Nathaniel’s hand. Perhaps she should have been perturbed when he did not immediately entwine his fingers with hers, but she was too high on the moment to notice. ‘Imagine it, Nathaniel – you and me—’

Nathaniel snatched his hands away.

‘You?’ he hissed. ‘Dance in the Grand? Dance for the lords and ladies out there? Dance for a king and queen? A crown princess?’ He had started out disbelieving, but by the time he was finished he was braying with laughter. ‘Vivienne, how much have you indulged yourself tonight? You told me you weren’t going to do that any more, not after you nearly killed yourself the last time . . .’

Vivienne’s eyes were still full of hope. ‘You’ll lead me, Nathaniel. I can do everything Hélène Marchmont can. The way we dance together, it’s—’

‘Child’s play,’ scoffed Nathaniel. His eyes darted back to the dressing-room door. The applause was beginning to die down as the band settled onto the stage.

‘Yes!’ Vivienne beamed. ‘We make it look so easy—’

‘Not like that,’ snapped Nathaniel. ‘The way we dance? It’s like dancing with a three-year-old, Vivienne. Like balancing somebody’s baby daughter on your feet and pretending you’re on stage at the Folies-Bergère. It’s all make-believe. Oh, Vivienne,’ he laughed, ‘you’re not serious, are you? You don’t really think I could take you out there? I’m to put on a show. I’m to romance the crown princess of Norway herself. I couldn’t let them see me dancing with someone like you.’

The malice in his words finally touched Vivienne. The effect was like putting a lit match to spilled paraffin. The flames caught instantly. Her eyes grew fat with tears. Her jaw trembled. One moment she had felt as big as the world; now she felt as diminutive as a child.

‘Somebody . . . like . . . me?’