There is nowhere else, no other dazzling palace or mansion in Mayfair, that the finest members of society would rather be.

But now . . .

The guests cease their toing and froing and turn to the head of the ballroom, where arched doors lead to a place of enchantment beyond. It is from these doors that the proud musicians of the Archie Adams Orchestra make their daily march. It is from these doors that the Buckingham’s feted dancers glide and twirl to take up their positions on the hotel’s legendary ballroom floor.

And it is from these doors, now, that a chaos of black smoke erupts.

The doors explode outwards, disgorging frightened musicians and dancers. On a tide of roiling black smoke, they come, clinging to each other as they escape the blaze behind. Soon, the guests are flocking to the edges of the room, making for the doors. Sensing danger, they take flight, up and out of the Grand Ballroom itself.

In the middle of the dance floor, one dishevelled figure stops. Doubled over, taking great gulps of air, he gathers his composure and draws himself to his full height. His black hair is unruly, his stature imposing. His sad, dark eyes suggest a certain, tragic kind of beauty.

He looks back.

Through the dressing room doors, beyond the churning smoke, somebody is screaming.

Somebody is screaming his name.

‘Raymond!’

Raymond de Guise, lead dancer at the Buckingham, barely misses a beat. His eyes pan around, taking in the guests and hotel staff who are rushing to the ballroom to lend what assistance they can, and pick out one figure among them. Nancy Nettleton tries to push through the crowd to reach Raymond – but Raymond is already resolved, his mind already made up.

He turns to face the doors that just cast him out. The flames are fiercer now, advancing angrily through the smoke.

‘Raymond!’ the voice calls. ‘Raymond!’

There are moments in life when you act without thinking, when you forget all thoughts of the future and act now, because you must, before it’s too late.

Lives change in moments like these.

For Raymond de Guise, this is one of those moments.

So he plunges into the fire . . .

Eight Months Earlier . . .

April 1937

Chapter One

THE INAUGURAL SPRING BALL AT the Buckingham Hotel was about to begin, and in the Grand Ballroom, strings of yellow lights were arranged in garlands.

The saxophonists, trumpeters and trombonists of the Archie Adams Orchestra had already taken their places on the ballroom stage when the doors opened up and there, framed in their light, stood Archie Adams himself. Distinguished and grey, wearing his trademark black bow tie, with eyes the cobalt of the skies above Berkeley Square, he soaked up the applause of the guests who filled the ballroom. Then, taking up his stool behind the grand piano, he ran his fingers along the ivory keys . . . and the ballroom came alive.