She does not ask how he knows her imagined father. She does not care. She has forgotten about Harriet Littlemore for now. Her mind is full of diamonds, full of the designs that she will share with Solly. It will be just like old times: the two of them, setting glass in paste and imitating wonders together.

She will return on Thursday, her pockets full of pretend.

36

36

Monday afternoon

Harriet runs her fingers through her hair as she stares at the blank piece of paper in her typewriter. She caught a taxicab from Waterloo Bridge and is pretending that she has been at her desk all day – and not just since lunchtime. So far, she has avoided Mr Pickford.

‘You’ve cut your hair.’

Jimmy’s comment, as he passes her desk, makes her jump.

‘Yes.’ She waits for a further remark or criticism, but he makes none. It was a mere observation, a telling of the fact. He swings his satchel from his shoulder and drops it onto the floor next to his desk. She sees him light a cigarette and leaf through his notebook. He is not interested in her hair – or her – only in his work. She types half-heartedly and observes him.

‘Are you still embroiled in corruption?’ she asks, half an hour later, placing a cup of tea at his elbow.

He doesn’t look up from his notebook. He is scribbling intensely.

‘I am. More than before. Although Pickford thinks I’m writing a report on a burglary in Knightsbridge, so I really ought to get on with it.’

‘How much corruption have you found at the Angel nightclub?’

His head jerks up. ‘Why? What would you know of the Angel?’

‘I was there on Saturday night.’

‘You were what?’ He nearly drops his pencil. ‘The Angel?’

She ducks her head. She will not tell him that she was reading his notebook. ‘You told me about it, remember? When you were telling me about corruption and illegal goods the other day.’

‘Did I? I don’t recall –’

‘Well, you did,’ she says, becoming more confident in her lie. ‘And I decided I would go and find out about it.’

He frowns, puzzled. ‘Why would you do that?’

‘I know the owner.’ She tries to sound casual. ‘Peter Lazenby. So, I paid a visit to his club.’

Jimmy turns around and drags a chair from the desk behind his. She sits.

‘How do you know Peter Lazenby? Are you often at his club?’

She is beginning to regret telling him. His questions are sharp.

‘No. No, I’d never been before. It was my first time there. I don’t visit clubs like that at all. But I know him. Well, I sort of know him. He’s a friend of…’ She does not mention Ralph. It is too complicated. ‘He’s a friend of a friend. As I say, I don’t visit nightclubs as a rule, or bars – well, certainly not on my own.’