‘You remembered my little story.’ He laughs. ‘Well, no one ever forgets it, of course. I’m not sure he’s playing tonight.’ The colours dance about his face as he moves.

‘I should like to see it. The club.’

‘The club? I thought you wanted a taxicab?’

‘Well, yes, of course. But would you show me the Angel? It sounded so wonderful, when you described it.’

‘I’m not sure it’s the place a lady like you should visit on her own.’

‘But I’m not on my own, am I? I’m with the owner. Is it far away?’

‘No. It’s just here.’

He points to an ordinary doorway. It might be a solicitor’s office. Unlike the shining pubs and shops, this is a door that pulls itself back from the street, hides in the darkness, makes itself indistinct. There is a man standing outside who looks similarly anonymous, in a dark overcoat that makes it seem as though he is blending into the wall, camouflaged.

‘This is it?’ She cannot keep the disappointment from her voice.

‘This is it.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean –’

‘Not at all. I prefer a discreet entrance. We have an exclusive clientele, and there’s nothing worse than appearing brash, is there?’

‘No. Of course. I see.’

‘Harriet, I really think that you should go home. Your parents will wonder where you are.’

‘I’m not a child, Peter. And I really should like to see inside before I go home. I’ll take just a quick look, and perhaps a drink, and then I promise I’ll climb into a taxicab.’

For a moment, he does not move; and then, apparently coming to a decision, he gestures to the doorway. The man standing guard nods to him and opens it. Harriet is ushered into a small lobby. It is already full of people milling about, which is strange because she had not noticed anyone entering. But then, she had not noticed the door at all. She had been expecting something ‘brash’, from his talk of it. Instead, the place looks reassuringly respectable. She is mildly disappointed.

Peter guides her to a cloakroom at the side of the lobby, and to a languid young man who is embracing someone else’s coat – stroking the collar, lost in thought. He’s a beautiful creature, slight and almost feminine in the way his thin fingers caress the fur. His manner fascinates her.

‘Daniel will take your coat and hat,’ Peter commands.

The young man starts from his reverie and hastens to hang the coat the moment he hears Peter’s voice.

‘It’s warm down there,’ Daniel says, smiling, as he takes her coat from her.

She sees him squeeze the sleeve, as if he is assessing the quality of the wool. ‘Thank you. Yes.’

‘I say, you’ve cut your hair!’ Peter laughs. ‘How very fetching you look. Will Ralph approve, do you think?’