Soon, Raymond had given himself to the dance – and Mrs Adelman, more reluctantly, perhaps fearful that she might make a fool of herself in this most elegant of ballrooms, had done the same. Mrs Adelman must have danced before, because soon her feet were remembering the steps and Raymond loosened the way he was holding her, no longer directing her every movement. The music swayed, the chandeliers above shimmered so that, in moments, the ballroom seemed to be the surface of the ocean itself, ripples of light spreading all around. When the music stopped, the dancers seemed to carry on, filling the brief interludes between music with movements of their own. More than once, Raymond caught Hélène’s eye across the floor as her gentleman clasped her too tightly and awkwardly. With a single arched eyebrow, Hélène could tell Raymond everything: the man’s hand was too high and too tight, he held her like a mannequin in some expensive Knightsbridge boutique – afraid to drop her, determined to direct her every move, as if it was not Hélène Marchmont who had been crowned Queen of the Ballroom at the Royal Albert Hall two seasons past. But Hélène didn’t mind. As they twirled past each other, Raymond even saw the hint of a smile in the corner of her lips. A certain sort of man, she seemed to be saying, just needed . . . indulging. They needed to feel as if they were masters of the dancing arts. Hélène, Raymond knew, loved the evenings with the guests – giving them a glimpse of her and Raymond’s world. She didn’t mind if they couldn’t dance; just that they loved to dance. Yet, Hélène lived for the demonstrations they put on each day, when, together with Raymond, they could show the world their talent.

Raymond danced on. At least Mrs Adelman was not trying to prove anything to him. She had no need to. She was here for the thrill of the ballroom itself.

As the hours ticked by, the Grand Ballroom became more crowded still. A little champagne always brought more guests to the dance floor, but so too did the music itself. Somehow, it seemed to infect everyone who heard it with a desire to move . . .

Mrs Adelman rose up on her tiptoes and put her lips to Raymond’s ear.

‘She’s still watching you, you know.’

Raymond furrowed his brows.

‘That girl. Your Edgerton girl. Have yourself an admirer, do you, Raymond de Guise?’

Raymond chuckled softly. ‘With these looks?’ he joked. ‘More than one, I shouldn’t wonder . . . It is, after all, part of the job . . .’

‘Part of your job to let them fall in love with you?’

The music reached a climax, an explosion of trombone and tenor horn.

‘Perhaps we might find somewhere a little more private? To . . . talk,’ Mrs Adelman said carefully.