He took her arm and guided her across the road through the traffic, which had ground to a halt as usual. The newspapers were complaining that the whole of London was seized up with too much traffic.

He found a corner table in the pub. A waiter came bustling up. ‘What will you have, miss? Champagne?’

‘No, I might try some gin. My mother used to like gin.’

‘Gin it is. Make it a large one, and I’ll have a large whisky.’

When the drinks arrived, Guy introduced himself Ailsa thought of using a different name but then gave him her real one.

‘Drink up,’ said Guy.

‘My father always used to say, “Bottoms up”, and drain his glass. I’ve never tried that.’

‘Let’s try it now.’

‘Bottoms up,’ said Ailsa and knocked back her glass in one gulp. Guy followed suit.

He called the waiter and ordered another round. ‘That poor waiter, running to and fro,’ said Ailsa. ‘Why does he not just bring the bottles?’

‘Good idea!’ Gosh, thought Guy, she’ll be putty. A few more glasses and she’ll do anything I want. He surveyed Ailsa with her flat chest, thin pale face and hooded eyes. Probably had nothing stronger than a glass of sweet sherry in all her life.

The waiter, as ordered, brought a bottle of whisky and a bottle of gin to the table.

‘I’ll be Mother,’ said Ailsa, just as if she were pouring tea instead of liquor. ‘Bottoms up!’

Guy soon began to feel his senses reeling. ‘I shay,’ he said, ‘where d’you work?’

‘I work for an orphans’ fund,’ said Ailsa. ‘This is fun. Bottoms up!’

‘You mean you don’t work for Captain Cashcart?’

‘Never heard of him,’ said Ailsa. ‘Bottoms up!’

Guy lurched to his feet. He had made a dreadful mistake. He had followed her from the office in Buckingham Palace Road. But there were other offices there.

‘Gotto go,’ he said thickly.

Ailsa watched as he staggered from the pub.

Lady Glensheil was late for a dinner party. She opened the trap on the roof of her carriage with her stick. ‘The traffic has cleared, John,’ she shouted to her coachman. ‘Go faster. Spring those horses.’

‘Very good, my lady.’

Guy, lurching out of the pub onto the road, never saw the carriage hurtling towards him until it was too late.

At the sound of the scream and the crash, everyone ran out of the pub.

Ailsa gathered up her scarf, gloves and reticule and walked out. A carriage was lying on its side and an aristocratic lady was being helped out. Guy was lying on the road, blood pouring from his head.

‘Are the horses all right, John?’ called Lady Glensheil. ‘Yes, my lady.’

‘Thank goodness for that. I would not like to think good horseflesh had been ruined by some drunk.’

The conspirators did not hear the bad news until they read the following day’s Evening News. ‘Young man-about-town, Mr Guy Delancey, was killed when he walked in front of Lady Glensheil’s carriage. Witnesses say he had been drinking heavily in the Fox and Ferret with a lady. Police are urging his companion to come forward.’