Maggs is watching from further down the street. She is pretending to be interested in the flowers outside a florist’s shop. Who is ever interested in orange chrysanthemums? She will be bored already.

Ruby moves to the door of the shop and finds that it is opened for her. A man in a perfectly cut dark suit lets her in. He is twice her size and has an unblinking stare. She knows the look. She has seen it often enough. He’s another one back from the war. She wonders, as she passes, nodding politely, what he was before – before the guns stole his peace of mind. He might have been a banker, a stockbroker, a lawyer. He looks like any of those in his smart suit. But now he is employed for the size of his shoulders, doing a job where he does not need to think, only do as he is bidden. At least he has a job.

The man behind the counter is altogether different. He is a hawk, an aging bird of prey with a small sharp nose and tiny bespectacled eyes that watch her with interest, as though she is a mouse approaching his nest. What is he looking for? Is he expecting a thief? She gazes around the shop like someone who has time and money on her hands, breathing carefully. No. He is doing exactly what she would do: he is estimating her value. He is costing the pearls at her throat and the jewels in her ears. He is looking over her coat and deciding whether it is made by a reputable fashion house, or whether it is a cheap imitation made by a friend on a sewing machine at home. This is a man used to wealthy customers. He will spot a fraud as easily as he will pick out a glass bauble in a tray of diamonds.

But she is not a fraud. She is not a thief. Like an actress in a film, she is playing a part. She smiles, imagining herself as languid, gracious and moneyed.

This is what she loves. This is the best part of it. Observing herself becoming someone else. She would like to be someone so untroubled by life. Someone who does not need to earn her money with men like Peter Lazenby. Or Ray Calladine. But for now, she can pretend.

‘May I help you?’ The bird-featured man narrows his eyes. Only a fraction, but she is aware of the scrutiny. The first impression she makes is the one that will determine whether she looks at jewellery or finds herself thrown out by the guard.

She throws the jeweller a bored look, as though she is hardly bothered by his bracelets and cuffs. She has so many already.