Raymond was about to resist further when another finger tapped him on the shoulder and, stepping back, he saw his partner for the evening. At seventy years old she was more than twice Raymond’s age, diminutive but elegant in a Madeleine Vionnet gown that flared gracefully to the floor.

Raymond heard Miss Vivienne Edgerton saying his name, heard her repeat it – and after that heard nothing as, disgruntled, she retreated to her table and, with a click of her fingers, summoned a waiter in white and gold brocade.

‘Mr . . . de Guise?’ the lady ventured. ‘Raymond?’

‘Yes,’ he replied, smoothly, finding his voice at last. ‘Mrs . . . Adelman, I presume. Lovely to make your acquaintance.’

Mrs Adelman held out a hand, as wrinkled as a glove but adorned with an emerald ring that glittered in the light of the Grand’s chandeliers.

Raymond delivered her one of his most practised smiles. ‘Shall we?’

As he swept her into hold, Mrs Adelman looked back and saw the eyes of the auburn-haired girl piercing her from the side of the ballroom. ‘That girl, is she . . . ?’

‘Oh,’ said Raymond, trying not to be distracted as he brought Mrs Adelman close and began turning into the waltz, ‘nothing of the sort, Mrs Adelman. The young lady has been staying in the hotel for the summer. Vivienne Edgerton. You know the name?’

‘The Edgertons?’

‘The same,’ said Raymond. ‘She has requested that I teach her to dance and . . . well, I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her father, our benefactor and lord . . .’

‘Can anyone dance, Mr de Guise?’

‘Anyone who desires it.’