‘I think women want to read about more than fashions. I wrote about the Savoy this morning.’ She pulls a face, recalling how bad a piece it was. ‘But my best so far was a page on one of the famous Forty Thieves. She was something of an inspiration. Ruby Mills, her name is.’

He raises his brows. ‘It was you who wrote that piece about Ruby Mills?’ He sounds mildly incredulous. ‘I never knew that. The Jewel of the Borough, you called her. Ha. It seems you really did meet her… Well, well.’ He shakes his head, laughing at some private joke. ‘And you wrote it?’

‘I did. Did you read it?’

‘Certainly. You captured her rather well, if a little too admiringly.’ His attention has moved again to the other side of the room. He frowns at something.

Harriet starts. ‘You know her? You know Ruby Mills?’

‘Yes, I do… Damn it, what’s he doing –?’ A flicker of annoyance crosses Peter’s brow. ‘I apologise, Harriet. Do you mind if I leave you here for a moment? There’s something I need to deal with.’ He is already leaving.

‘Not at all. I’ll just enjoy all of this.’ She gestures to the dancefloor.

She watches on as he strides away – so much the man in charge. At the bottom of the stairs, he meets the young man from the cloakroom. He upbraids him about something, so that the man hangs his head. It looks as though he is bleating some sort of apology, twisting his hands one around the other.

Peter pushes him rather roughly out of the way and runs up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. The young man, almost in tears, trails after him.

Something has happened upstairs, perhaps. Something that the young man is incapable of dealing with.

Harriet drains her glass and turns her attention back to the dancing. They are beautiful, the women. So very young and bright-eyed, they all seem. One of them is laughing at something her dance partner has said – in that forced way one does when a man is particularly tedious, but you are trying to be polite – throwing back her head, mouth wide open.

She watches for a while, but Peter does not return. There is little point in staying if he is busy. She will go home, now she has seen the club and it is not quite as outrageous as she had imagined or hoped. She will find a taxicab and invent some excuse to her mother for her lateness. Deal with the consequences of her haircut. But she needs to find some relief first. She has drunk too much, and she will never make it back to Onslow Square. Surely, there will be somewhere.