She blushes, touching the soft waves near her cheek. ‘I don’t know. I hope so. Do you really like it?’

‘I do. Very fashionable and, I have to say, it suits you like that.’

She colours again.

The young man circles a finger over one of her coat buttons as he carries it away, totally oblivious to her.

Down there, he had said. She takes a deep breath. She can already hear music.

‘Harriet?’ Peter’s voice is there in her ear, above the sound of her own breathing. ‘Shall we?’ He puts a hand to her elbow and guides her to the top of the staircase. Each step takes her closer to the noise, the dancing, the heat of the club.

When she reaches the final step, she finds herself in a large, low-ceilinged, dimly lit room set with equally low tables, chairs and sofas. It is humming with people and with the insistent, syncopated beat of the music. The sound reverberates through her heels, into her ribcage, and makes her body itch to move. It is a pity she is not dressed for dancing; she is still dressed for the office, in a modest blouse and long skirt. Not at all decked out like the other women here. At least her hair is right. Fashionable. She stands, taking in the scene before her. She tries not to stare, tries to stand casually, as though she visits nightclubs every evening. The cavern is almost macabre in the way it is lit. Lamps on the tables give off little glow, just enough to illuminate the laughing features of men and women bent on a good time. One woman, with carefully painted red lips, walks across her path, and Harriet notices that she has a dull look about her eyes, as if she is only present in body and her mind is absent.

A waitress appears with two glasses on a tray. Champagne.

‘This isn’t quite your scene, is it?’ Peter asks in an affable tone as he gestures to seats at a table. ‘Not the Savoy, certainly – although our seats are a darn sight more comfortable.’

She smiles, making light of it as she sits and surveys the room from a new perspective. Two young women walk past in gossamer-thin dresses. ‘I’m only concerned that I’m rather overdressed. Do I stick out like a sore thumb?’

‘Not at all. We keep the lights low, so that everyone feels relaxed – even the people who are making their first visit. But tell me, how do you like it so far?’

She can just about make out a couple locked together in a passionate embrace on one of the sofas – the woman is sitting on the man’s lap. There is a dense, smoky heat to the room. She is finding the experience strangely dangerous, and intoxicating.

‘It’s…’ She cannot think of the right word. ‘Lovely.’