She raised her glass in a discreet toast. ‘I wish I could kiss you,’ she said.

He raised his glass in return. ‘I wish I could make love to you,’ he whispered, and he enjoyed her sudden blushing as much as the wine.

He arrived at W. L. Winn’s at ten minutes of three. The gilt-lettered windows were steamed up because of the wet weather, and it was difficult to see inside. He paused under the front awning, took down his umbrella, and shook it vigorously. The doorman watched him from the shelter of the entrance, like a gopher in a dry burrow, and made no move at all to come out and assist him. That was one advantage of the rain, thought Collis. The real doorman was far less likely to come out and collide with the fake doorman, and cause unnecessary scuffles.

Collis had already walked past the fish-crate wagon, which was waiting around the corner. Its two six-year-old oxen were dripping with rain, and its Chilean driver was hunched under a wet sack. Collis had to admit that Andy Hunt had done his bit. The fish crates were stacked precariously high, and there were baling hooks and stray pieces of timber sticking out in all directions. There was no chance that Sarah’s carriage would be able to draw to one side of the street to let the wagon go by — not unless the coachman wanted to lose half of his varnish. Collis took out his pocket watch, checked the time, and then stepped inside the fountain.

It was crowded and bright inside, and chirpy with the talk of young ladies taking tea. There were cream-painted iron pillars and frondy palm trees, and the furniture was elegant wrought iron. Collis stood for a moment in the doorway, looking out over the strawberry ices and the cream cakes and all the fluffy and feathery bonnets, trying to see if Sarah had arrived already. But she hadn’t, of course. She was too well mannered to be punctual. One of the waiters came forward and asked him if he wished to take tea.

‘I want a table for two,’ he said, still looking around for Sarah. ‘I’m expecting a young lady guest in a short while.’

‘Of course, sir. I have one here at the back, if you’ll follow me.’

‘There’s a table free by the window,’ said Collis.

‘I’m sorry, sir. Reserved. Now — please come this way.’

Collis reached out and discreetly seized the waiter’s wrist. He twisted it around, hard, just to make his point, and then he pressed a dollar into the man’s palm and forcibly closed his fingers over it.

‘I said, there’s a table free by the window,’ he repeated.

The waiter winced. ‘Yes, sir. For a moment I didn’t see.’

Collis sat down, flicked out his coat-tails, and picked up the menu. There was a mahogany clock on the wall behind the cash register, and it already said two minutes of three. Underneath it, the lady cashier was lancing her iron-grey bun with hairpins. Collis inspected the menu quickly, and when the waiter came back, he ordered ‘Coffee, black; and a pastry.’