They waited a long time. Finally Kerridge emerged. ‘I think we’ll pull in this Mr Jones for questioning. He may have nothing at all to do with us, but I’d like to see what he’s like.’

‘I’ll meet you at Scotland Yard,’ said Harry. ‘I would like to see him for myself.’

‘Can’t do that,’ said Kerridge. ‘I’ll get a rocket for letting an amateur into a police interrogation. I’ll telephone you and let you know how I get on. If you want to get away, you can call at the Yard tomorrow and we’ll take your statement there.’

Mrs Blenkinsop, a society widow, had recently moved to a splendid house in Park Lane.

Lady Polly’s face was plastered with white make-up. The de-tanning cream had only removed the brown in patches. ‘Who would have thought a Cairo tanning would last so long?’ she mourned. ‘That is the trouble with middle-aged skin. Now I want you to be particularly charming to young Roger. A great catch.’

Rose hoped Harry would be there. Then her heart sank as she remembered all the evenings in the past when they were officially engaged and he had failed to turn up. Her finger hurt. Her mother had ordered a jeweller to come round to the house and take the offending engagement ring off. It now resided in the depths of Rose’s jewel box.

She missed Daisy’s cheerful company. Rose was wearing a white chiffon gown with long lace sleeves and a lace panel at the front. On her head she wore a tiara of pearls. As she climbed down from the carriage, her taffeta and silk petticoats rustled. That rustle, thought Rose bitterly, was supposed to be seductive, but what was the point of appearing seductive if the very man one hoped to charm was not likely to attend?

When they were seated in the music room, Lady Polly nudged her daughter. ‘That’s Roger there,’ she hissed, pointing with her fan.

Rose surveyed Roger. He was undoubtedly very handsome. He had thick wavy fair hair and a strong nose and firm mouth.

As if conscious of her gaze, he turned his head and gave her a half smile. Rose ducked her head and twiddled with the sticks of her ivory fan. ‘He smiled at you!’ exclaimed Lady Polly. ‘You must flirt, girl.’

Fortunately for Rose, any further lecture was cut short by the start of the concert. A heavily built German gentleman sang Lieder, followed by a soprano who sang ‘I Dreamt That I Dwelt in Marble Halls’. She received noisy and rapturous applause from an audience who did not have to dream about living in marble halls because they already did. The soprano was followed by a Pole who played Chopin with great verve and then came the interval.

Lady Polly stood up and called, ‘Elizabeth!’ She pinched Rose’s elbow. ‘Roger’s mother. Be charming.’

‘Polly, my dear.’ Lady Cherm, who joined them, was unfashionably thin, to the point of emaciation. Her low-cut gown showed sharp bones.