The first tune struck up, to be met by a wall of applause. The band would begin the evening gently, with their ‘Californian Serenade’. Maynard Charles had heard it a hundred times before, but tonight it was only the hors d’oeuvre. He himself had signed the invoices to pay for the guest singers. Alfredo Bianchi had played the game well, countering the Buckingham with an offer he’d received from the Savoy. Tonight, the music would be perfect. The guests here could dance until the band played their big band version of ‘Auld Lang Syne’. Then they could dance on into the dawn.

The band played on, but no dancers had appeared.

Maynard Charles cast his eyes around the room. The longer the music played, the more bewildered the glances that came his way. He crossed the ballroom to where Lord Edgerton reclined with his wife at his side and his entourage around him. The royal party themselves were on their feet, waiting for the doors to open and the dancers to appear. Until they did, the night had not formally begun.

‘Is something the matter, Mr Charles?’ Lord Edgerton intoned.

‘Nothing, sir. The Buckingham runs like clockwork.’

‘You are behaving in a most skittish manner for someone who believes there is nothing wrong, Mr Charles. Need I remind you . . .’ Lord Edgerton’s eyes rolled over to where the royal party gathered. The crown princess was a vision of vermillion, holding her mask on a stick in front of her eyes. ‘Find out what’s wrong,’ Lord Edgerton hissed. ‘Music in a ballroom without dance is a farce, not a celebration.’

Maynard nodded. He felt the sweat gathering at his collar. He cast his mind back, to Aubrey sitting up high in the Park Suite, to the visions of foreboding he’d had last night. Somebody would know what was going on back there. Where was Billy Brogan when you needed him?

Maynard Charles stomped across the ballroom – but he had not gone halfway when the doors at the head of the Grand burst open, and from them appeared two dancers, frantically turning around each other until they reached the centre of the floor. Behind them came the rest of the troupe. Each partnership spiralled away from the others in a flourish, perfectly synchronised.

The band struck up a new song. The guests were suddenly on their feet. Couples rushed to the edge of the dance floor, eager to see the performance before they too could get lost in the music. Maynard muscled through them to do the same. But there was something bothering him about the two principal dancers who had led the others out onto the ballroom floor. They were wearing masks so he could not see their faces, but there was something about the way they held themselves, something about their statures and shapes. He lifted his half-moon spectacles up from the bridge of his nose.