He smiles, looking at the street ahead rather than her. ‘No, of course you’re not. You’re just a girl who likes a good time. And you’re a thief.’

She tries to breathe steadily. ‘Is that what you want, then? A thief?’

Still, he does not look at her. Instead, he nods to an older man they pass on the pavement and wishes him a polite ‘good morning’.

‘What do I want with you, Ruby Mills? I want you to work for me.’

‘I’m not sure I want to work for you.’

Now he looks down at her, slackening his pace. ‘Ah, but you owe me. That watch is worth a lot of money – more than you can afford. Raymond Calladine was greedy.’

‘He’s always greedy,’ she says, unable to pretend anymore. ‘He said you paid him a reward.’

‘Is that what he called it?’

They reach the door of the Angel. The man on the pavement outside nods to Peter, ignores Ruby and opens the door for them.

Ruby expects that Peter will escort her upstairs to his flat, but instead he gestures downstairs, to the club itself. ‘We’ll go to my office. Business, not pleasure, this time.’

The club is empty except for a couple of women clearing and wiping down tables and a barman clanking bottles and glasses behind the counter. It is too early for revellers. Or perhaps too late. Peter passes a sharp comment about the state of the floor and tells one of them to see to cleaning it, snapping his fingers; they scurry to obey.

He propels Ruby to the door in the far corner – the one from which she had seen Billy emerge with the blonde. Beyond this is a corridor with a flight of stairs at the far end, which she supposes is the back exit. Any club selling unlicensed alcohol or serving non-members or providing a welcome environment for cocaine dealers is exactly the sort of place to be raided by police, and she is willing to bet the smarter gentlemen who come here will be ushered out onto a back street whenever the coppers come to call.