She looked around, then laughed again. “Why not? You only live once, don’t you? And I’ve never yet said no to a decent champers.” She strode ahead of us, through the crowd and into the main hall of the building. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen my maid, have you?” she asked, her eyes searching the crowd. “Timid little thing. Looks as if she expects everyone to bite her. I told her to meet me here with the dress I plan to wear tonight. She damned well better show up or I’m sunk. I can’t go to a party dressed like this.”

We made our way toward the bar but there was no sign of a maid. “Probably waiting for me at the hangar, which is where I left the motorcar, thank God. At least it will be dry.”

“You have a motorcar, do you?” Paolo asked, eyeing her with interest. “Any chance of a ride into town?”

“Sorry, old thing. I’m heading for deepest Sussex. No use at all.”

“Too bad,” Paolo said. “I came on my motorcycle and I do so hate getting wet. Now I have no choice but to leave the wretched thing here and go back to London by train.”

“What a hardship for you,” Belinda said in a clipped voice.

He put an arm around her shoulder. “I didn’t mean it like that, mi amore. I just meant that once I am in London I will have no means of transport except for those horrible taxicabs that creep around slower than beetles. I’m sure Ronny drives deliciously fast.”

“I certainly do, old bean,” she said, and laughed again.

We were just entering the bar when a young woman called out, “Miss Padgett!” and came toward us, staggering under a large suitcase. She looked red faced and distinctly flustered. “Oh, Miss Padgett, I’m so sorry I’m late,” she gasped. “It started to thunder when I was halfway from the station and I had to take shelter. I’m mortally afraid of thunder, you know. I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you.”

“Of course you bloody well have,” Ronny said. “You can’t seem to get anywhere on time. But you’re lucky this once. I’ve been waylaid to drink champagne, so run along to the motorcar and wait for me there.”

“The motorcar?”

“It’s in the hangar. You know. Number 23? You’ve been there before. Where I keep the Moth.” She turned to us. “Heavens, it’s like talking to a brick wall. I take it you have efficient maids, Lady Georgiana?”

“Please call me Georgie, everyone does,” I said. “And at the moment I have no servants at all. I’ve recently moved to London and frankly I’m still slumming it.”