As the girls fanned out, Nancy lingered in the dressing room doorway, breathing it in. She and the chambermaids got to work. Then Nancy heard someone singing quietly to himself – and, when she turned, she saw the figure of Raymond de Guise gliding through the dressing room behind her. His black hair was thick with curls, more unruly than it was on those nights he waltzed so gracefully across the ballroom floor – and it seemed somehow incredible to discover that he did not always wear his evening suit. Today he was wearing strong pleated trousers and a white polo shirt – he seemed completely out of character.

Nancy did not like to think she was spellbound, because she was not that sort of girl, but what else might it have been rooting her to the spot? Raymond de Guise looked as striking off the dance floor as he did on it. He was tall and lithe and . . . Nancy tried to shake the sensation off. She did not believe in fairy tales. You quickly lost your faith in Prince Charming when you lived in a village like hers, with every miner’s son in a three-village radius badgering you, at some time or another, for attention. Besides, she had not forgotten what she had written to Frank. There were worlds within worlds in the Buckingham Hotel. Raymond de Guise belonged to another world to Nancy Nettleton.

Pull yourself together, Nancy! There are portraits of him in the ballroom, but he’s only a dancer . . .

She slipped into the dressing room.

Raymond de Guise had stepped into one of the wardrobes. It must have been bigger than Nancy realised because, for a moment, he vanished into the dinner jackets hanging there. Then, when he emerged, he was carrying a bulky, green canvas bag.

His eyes met hers. They darted down to the clothes he had collected, and then back up – almost, Nancy fancied, as if they had something to hide.

She was already flushing scarlet, so into the silence she said, ‘Thank you . . .’

Raymond de Guise screwed up his eyes.

‘That is to say,’ Nancy stammered, ‘for the other night. For . . . assisting me. If you hadn’t –’ she looked over her shoulder to make doubly certain none of the other girls were listening in – ‘Miss Edgerton would not have let the matter go. I would have been dismissed . . .’

Raymond seemed bewildered, then his eyes lit up in recognition.

‘You . . . work here?’ Raymond said, glancing over her shoulder, through the great swing doors, to where Mrs Moffatt and the chambermaids were gathered.

‘Yes.’