If I had felt depressed before, I was now well and truly in the dumps. What else could possibly go wrong? I had come to London full of hope and excitement, and nothing seemed to be working out. Then I caught sight of myself in the hall stand mirror and recoiled in horror. “Just look at you!” I said aloud. “You look like a drowned rat. If the queen could see you now.” Then I started to laugh. I laughed all the way upstairs to the bathroom, where I took a long soak in the tub. By the time I had dried myself off I was feeling quite normal again. And I wasn’t going to spend another dreary evening alone in Rannoch House with only the radio for company. Someone apart from me must be in London. And of course I immediately thought of Belinda. She was one of those people who never stayed in one place for long. When last seen she was flitting off to a villa in Italy but there was just a chance she might have tired of Italians and come home.

I sought out the least rumpled of my summer dresses (having had no maid to iron my clothes for a while now and very little idea how to iron them myself), hid my wet hair under a demure cloche hat and set off for Belinda’s mews cottage, in nearby Knightsbridge. Unlike me, Belinda had come into an inheritance when she turned twenty-one. This had enabled her to buy a dinky little mews establishment and keep a maid. Also her living costs were practically nil, given the amount of time she spent in other people’s homes, not to mention their beds.

The thunderstorm had passed over, leaving the evening air slightly cooler but still muggy. I picked my way past puddles and avoided the taxicabs that splashed through standing water on the street. I was at the entrance to the mews when I heard a loud roaring sound behind me. I was conscious of a sleek dark shape hurtling toward me and only just had time to fling myself aside as a motor bicycle came at me. It shot through the enormous puddle that had collected at the mews entrance, sending a great sheet of muddy water all over me.

“I say!” I tried to shout over the roar of the engine as it continued into the mews without slowing. I took off in pursuit, absolutely boiling with rage now, not pausing to consider whether the bike riders might be bank robbers or burglars fleeing from the police. The motorbike skidded to a halt farther down the mews and two men dressed in leather jackets, leather helmets and goggles were starting to dismount.