‘What have you been doing today?’ Ralph asks. He is watching the man rather than her so does not see the colour rise to her cheeks.

‘Oh, this and that. I went shopping in town this morning, looked at a few things, that’s all, and then went into the office for an hour or two.’

She touches a fingertip to her earlobe, remembering her encounter with Ruby Mills earlier in the day. She can still, just about, smell her intoxicating fragrance. Or perhaps she is imagining it.

The glass arrives, with a curl of lemon peel half-attached at the saucer-sized rim. Harriet peers at it, recalling her last experience.

‘You’ll love it,’ Ralph says. ‘It’s the latest thing. Mr Craddock here created it. Try it.’

She lifts the glass and sips cautiously. The taste is not sweet, but rich and bitter with orange and lemon. It is ice cold. And delicious.

‘I do love it,’ she says in some surprise. The barman smiles modestly and moves away.

She turns in her seat and surveys the room. Everything glitters. The rectangular lights on the walls make the room bright. The men and women here, sitting at tables and talking in polite tones, are, like she and Ralph, young, rich and attractive. Even perched on the high stool, she finds herself relaxing in such company. The diamonds dazzle on her engagement ring.

She expects that they will discuss the wedding but hopes that they will also speak of his work and his plans. Their plans. Visiting the constituency, perhaps. Looking for a house there, even. She sips her drink again and finds herself glowing at the thought of a bright-starred future with the sort of man who is keen to share his vision and his political life with his wife.

A man across the room hails Ralph. The familiar sense of disappointment plummets in her stomach. She wanted a quiet evening, something to settle her after that encounter with Ruby Mills; just the two of them, talking and discussing. They cannot go anywhere without Ralph being recognised and inveigled into a conversation that somehow excludes her.

She takes a deep breath. This will be her life, as a politician’s wife. Everyone will want him. She must try to become used to it.

‘Lazenby, what are you doing in this part of town?’ Ralph returns the greeting. ‘Checking on the competition, or are you hoping to swipe the bartender for the Angel?’

The gentleman is a little older than Ralph, but they are clearly acquainted. Yet another member of the party, from the look of him. He carries himself like one of them: confident and at ease with his world.

‘My fiancée, Harriet Littlemore,’ Ralph introduces her. ‘This is Peter Lazenby, darling. A friend of mine.’

He looks rather dashing up close, Harriet thinks, reaching for her cocktail, needing something to hide behind as he nods to her.