When they left the hospital, Harry asked Kerridge, ‘Did Jones write those letters?’

‘Yes, he’s admitted to it.’

‘I haven’t been pestered by the press,’ said Harry.

‘We’re keeping it quiet until the trial. Amazingly, none of the guests at the ball seems to have known what really went on. So what are your plans now?’

‘More detective work,’ said Harry. ‘Lost dogs, scandals to be covered up, that sort of thing.’

‘What about Lady Rose?’

‘I don’t understand you.’

‘Are you getting married?’

‘You’ll be the first to know.’

But Harry could not bear the idea of a rejection. He had a feeling that if Rose refused him, it would be final.

Rose longed for the departure for the country. Her brief popularity had gone. It was put about that she had turned the catch of the season down. The Duchess of Warnford told everybody who would listen that she had discovered in Paris that Rose was seriously unconventional and would probably remain a spinster until the end of her days.

Daisy, too, longed for the day of departure. She was borne to her new home in Bloomsbury. Becket then had to go off immediately to chauffeur Harry.

The flat faced north. It was furnished in the heavy, oppressive furniture of the last century. The windows were shrouded in blinds, net curtains and heavy damask curtains and the rooms were dark.

The flat consisted of a long corridor with the rooms leading off it. Daisy removed her hat and sat down in the parlour and stared bleakly around. She remembered how she had longed for a home of her own and wondered what had happened to her.

Harry had installed a telephone. Daisy eyed it. Then she picked up the receiver and asked to be connected to Harry’s office number. The secretary answered and Daisy, trying to disguise her voice, asked for Mr Bernie King. ‘Who is calling, please?’

‘His sister,’ said Daisy, hoping Bernie had one.

His cheery voice came on the phone. ‘Bernie, it’s me, Daisy,’ she said. ‘I’m going mad with boredom. Is there any chance you could meet me for a cup of tea?’

She waited anxiously. ‘There’s a Lyon’s tea shop at Victoria, near the station. Know it?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll meet you there in an hour.’

‘Who was that?’ asked Becket, who was sitting in a chair in the outer office.

Just my sister,’ said Bernie.

‘I wonder what your husband would make of this,’ said Bernie, as he and Daisy sat over muffins and tea in Lyon’s tea shop.

‘I’m not doing anything wrong,’ said Daisy. She wondered if Bernie had noticed her hat, a straw cartwheel embellished with fat pink and yellow pansies. ‘My husband is working all day and I felt I had to get out.’

‘When do you leave for the country?’

‘Next week.’

‘Are you looking forward to it?’

‘I’m a city girl. Stacey Court is very quiet.’

‘How long will you be away?’

‘Just a couple of weeks. It was Lady Polly’s idea. She thinks fresh air would be good for me.’