The doors to Berkeley Square opened and Billy saw that a black limousine had drawn up outside. Moments later, the doorman stepped into the reception hall, inclining his head in a deferential bow. The next thing Billy saw, through the open doors, was the rounded peak of a top hat as its owner ascended the marble stairs.

Billy Brogan had only ever seen Lord Edgerton once. The day after he had acquired a majority position on the board, he had descended on the Buckingham Hotel to declare the start of a new era. Everyone here, from the lowliest garage attendant to the hotel director himself, had gathered in the ballroom while Lord Edgerton stood tall on the stage and surveyed them like a general does his army. He was a tall and sinewy man, not given to fat, and his face was dominated by a silver moustache. Beneath the bushy thatch of his eyebrows, his eyes were small and dark, hidden behind spectacles with tortoiseshell frames. There was something imposing about the man. His shoulders were broad, his chest big and round – and, though the way that he dressed was gentlemanly, he carried his cane not as a gentleman would, down at his side to assist in his walking, but in both hands, almost, Billy thought, as if it was a cane meant for thrashing errant children.

Vivienne Edgerton stepped forward, curtseying for her step-father – who condescended to kiss her once on the cheek. Once Vivienne stepped back, Lord Edgerton shook Maynard Charles’s hand and allowed himself to be led into the Queen Mary dining room. Vivienne followed.

Was Billy mistaken, or was the way Maynard Charles had taken a handkerchief from his lapel and dabbed at his forehead a sign of some distress? New figures were streaming through the doors. These gentlemen seemed as estimable as Lord Edgerton himself. Dressed in gaberdine and tweed, they allowed the swarming concierges to take their coats and hats, and soon they too were swept into the Queen Mary.

Maynard Charles returned. His eyes locked with Billy. Billy froze.

‘Mr Brogan,’ he said, heels clicking across the black and red chequered squares as he reached Billy’s side. ‘Do you know who those good people are, young man?’

Billy nodded. ‘It was Lord Edgerton, sir. The Lord . . .’

‘And the rest?’

Perhaps he ought to have known, but again Billy Brogan froze.

‘Those, young man, were confidants of Lord Edgerton. They’ve chosen our hotel as a forum to discuss the most delicate matters. You know, of course, about the union?’

‘The union, sir?’