“Yes, she is,” Petra chimed in, gliding across the marble floor to greet him with a kiss on the cheek. “How lovely to see you, Charlie.” She gave him her cheek. “Would you like a drink before we leave?”

“No, I think we should go right away, if you don’t mind.” He ran an appreciative eye over her. “Only you could wear that boa, Petra.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you.” She dropped a mock curtsy. “I’m quite ready if you are. Did you bring the barouche?”

“I did, it awaits my lady’s pleasure.” He gestured in invitation as Foster opened the front door.

Charlie handed Petra up into the open carriage and followed to sit beside her. “Trocadero all right?”

“Lovely,” Petra agreed, hoping she could do justice to dinner after her River Room lunch. Well, she’d be dancing off any excess at the party afterward, she reflected, and she’d need her strength for an energetic evening.

* * *

The Andersons’ house on Grosvenor Square was ablaze with light in every window. As the barouche drew up after dinner, the doors stood open to the street and the sounds of music and voices drifted across the leafy square. Footmen stood on the pavement outside the open doors ready to direct carriages to the mews and to escort their occupants into the house.

Petra and her escort walked up the wide sweep of the horseshoe staircase to where their hosts waited to greet them. The double doors to the glittering ballroom behind them stood open. As she waited her turn to greet her hosts Petra glanced quickly inside the ballroom to see if she could identify anyone in the moving throng. She caught sight of Diana’s dark head bobbing amongst the dancers.

“Lady Anderson, Sir John.”

“Petra, my dear, delighted you could join us. Have you heard from your parents recently?” Lady Anderson asked. “I understood your dear mother was not enjoying the waters. Lady Cartland has just returned from Baden-Baden where she spent several days with your parents.”

Petra, who hadn’t heard anything from her mother in weeks, murmured something vaguely suitable in response and moved away, Charlie at her side. “It’s embarrassing,” she said in a low voice, “but my mother is an appalling correspondent. She only ever writes if she has something most particular to tell us, or to ask us. It doesn’t surprise me that she doesn’t appreciate the healing qualities of the spa water, in fact I’m surprised they haven’t moved on to somewhere more lively, like the South of France.”