Ruby Mills is an arbiter of fashion now. She stands, considering, tipping her own head this way and that to assess the cut.

No one ever asks her opinion of anything.

‘I like it,’ she concludes. ‘I told you it would suit you. Makes you look…’ She searches for the right word. ‘Fresh. No, not fresh. It makes you look alive.’

Harriet lifts her chin a fraction, and, under the streetlamp, her face glows. Her eyes are shining.

‘New hat, too,’ Ruby says. ‘I like that as well.’ It is nearly the same colour as her best coat – the blue Poiret she took from Grace Bartlett’s warehouse, after much pleading. She recalls that she was wearing the coat when she and Billy raided the jeweller’s shop.

Harriet stands as if she is waiting for approval, acknow-ledgement, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Something about this pleases Ruby. She has seen younger girls in the Forties look at Annie Richmond like that, or sometimes Maggs. Like they are waiting just to be noticed, to be blessed by a nod or a smile from the Queen of the Thieves.

‘Really, though, what are you doing here, Miss Harriet Littlemore?’

Harriet does not answer immediately. She appears uncertain and her response is vague. ‘I know the owner, Peter Lazenby. We met yesterday evening, and he spoke of it. I wanted to see it for myself.’

‘Yesterday evening?’ Last night Peter Lazenby was in the club, pushing her in Alex Somers’ direction. ‘When?’

‘Oh, early. We were dining at the Savoy. We had cocktails – my fiancé and I, I mean – and then Peter arrived, and we were introduced. They were in France together, you see.’

‘Ah.’

Sweet and stupid, Peter had called her. And Ralph, the fiancé with money for diamonds, was one of his associates. He had told her all about Ralph Christie this morning – when he had not been screwing her or draped over her, fast asleep. ‘But he isn’t with you tonight?’

‘Ralph? No. No. But I wanted to see the club, so I came alone.’

Harriet may or may not be stupid, but she is certainly an innocent. Ruby would bet her best jewellery that she has no idea what Ralph involves himself with – or Peter, for that matter.

‘I can take you into the club if you like. Show you around. I know the people. I’m often around here, these days.’ It wouldn’t hurt to take her inside, introduce her to the barman, dip into the pockets of her coat…

‘No, I’ve been inside already, but I have to leave. The police are on their way. That’s why I was sent out of the back door.’

‘Coppers? Shit. Peter’ll be livid,’ Ruby mutters to herself. She narrows her eyes at Harriet and asks sharply, ‘When are they coming, do you know?’

‘No. Soon, I think. Half an hour, perhaps? Earlier than usual, the cloakroom boy said.’