I realized as I was driving back to the hotel that I’d left Algie to fend for himself. He’d probably bring the scenery crashing down on top of the stars. Still, it would serve him right for telling such fibs. A dear childhood friend indeed, and I’d be willing to bet that there wasn’t a single Tudor in his family. Let him find his own way home on the tram.

It was strange to go into an empty bedroom and realize that there was no Queenie. I’d half expected that her American employer might have thrown her out by now and she would have returned with her tail between her legs, but it hadn’t happened. I took off my clothes, went for a quick swim, ran a bath and then changed into my dark blue backless evening gown—the one in which I looked almost sexy. Was this wise? I asked myself as I examined my reflection in the mirror. Did I want to encourage a man like Craig Hart? But then I didn’t want to look like a frump, either.

“It’s just dinner,” I told myself. “An experience. Something I’ll be able to tell Belinda about in my next letter.”

When Mummy heard about the dinner with Craig, her eyes lit up. “Oh, isn’t he a peach taking us to dinner again.”

“Not you, Mummy. Me. He’s taking me to dinner.”

“Whatever for, I wonder,” she said. “Maybe he has a thing for virgins. You want to watch yourself. The backseat of these American automobiles is big enough for a multitude of sins.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“And you know what we used to say on the stage? If you can’t be good, be careful, and if you can’t be careful put a sixpence between your knees.” And she laughed.

Craig arrived for me at eight and off we went, to the Cocoanut Grove again. It was rather heady being the center of attention. Flashbulbs flashed. Gossip columnist Barbara Kindell came over to us. “Well, here’s a couple I’d never have expected to see together,” she said, grinning at my discomfort. “And I hear we’re off to Alhambra Two, right? Away from prying eyes.”

I’d forgotten that that was what Cy Goldman had called his castle.

“A whole group of us, Miss Kindell,” I said.

“I might just secure myself an invitation. Should be fun, especially since I gather that Mrs. Goldman is coming into town.” And off she went, presumably to write about us in tomorrow’s newspapers.

Craig drove me home about ten. He was a perfect gentleman in the taxicab. “I’ll see you safely to your bungalow,” he said.

Alarm bells went off in my head. “It’s lovely,” I said. “I share it with my mother and our servants.”