‘How do you do?’ he says. Then, turning to Ralph: ‘A fiancée, eh? I never knew.’

‘Join us, why don’t you?’ Ralph suggests. Harriet bites down her frustration and smiles pleasantly, as if in complete agreement.

‘How very generous of you. Shall we move to a table? There’s more space. No, don’t trouble, I’ll find myself a drink and come over. I want to catch Craddock first.’

Ralph carries Harriet’s drink to a small circular table surrounded by stiff white armchairs. They are only a little more comfortable than the stools, however stylish they look.

‘He’s full of entertaining stories,’ Ralph says as she sits. ‘But try not to let him charm you.’

‘I’ll try not.’ Harriet watches the man chat with the barman before collecting a single glass of champagne.

‘He owns a nightclub in Soho. It’s called the Angel,’ Ralph says, following her gaze as Peter saunters over. ‘He’s utterly disreputable.’

Peter Lazenby gives her a dazzling smile, once he has settled himself into the seat.

‘Ralph tells me you own a nightclub, Mr Lazenby,’ Harriet tries not to sound prim and disapproving, as though she meets nightclub owners every day.

He groans. ‘Ralph Christie, you swine. You might have given me a chance to make friends with your lovely fiancée before denting my reputation.’

‘Not a chance.’

He doesn’t look like Harriet’s idea of a nightclub owner – if she had ever considered what one might look like. More like a gentleman of private means, even an aristocrat of some sort. He certainly has the manner of someone brought up to be refined.

He appears to sense her disapproval. ‘I should say I have a very small interest in the actual running of the club. I provide the funds and other people come and enjoy themselves. I’d say we need a little latitude after all we’ve been through recently, wouldn’t you? Just…’ He winks at her. ‘Please don’t tell my mother, will you?’

She laughs at this. ‘Your secret is safe with me, Mr Lazenby.’

‘Peter. I insist.’

‘Is it truly very disreputable? Ralph says it is.’

Peter raises his eyebrows at Ralph before turning his attention back to her. ‘Extremely. You would be most welcome anytime. I’ll give you the full tour.’

‘Certainly not,’ Ralph interjects. ‘I won’t allow it.’

Harriet giggles and reaches for her cocktail.

‘How do you two know one another?’

‘France.’ Peter’s eyes meet Ralph’s. ‘I found him in a hell pit just south of Lille.’

‘That’s right,’ Ralph agrees, clearing his throat.

‘We made some good friends in that particular hell. In fact, I believe it was there I had the very notion to open a nightclub, when we returned home.’

‘The Angel, you called it,’ Harriet says. ‘I suppose it’s fitting that the idea came to you in the hell of war.’