‘Goodnight, Mr Lazenby. You can consider the work already done.’

He nods to Ruby before leaving. ‘I’d better go. I’ll see you around.’

Ruby leans into Peter’s chest before Billy has taken three strides. ‘Do you want to go upstairs? It’s quiet tonight.’

He eases her away and holds her by the shoulders, studying her, approving. ‘Not now. It’ll be busy in here soon enough. And I have work to do.’

‘You’re always working. Who’s that you’re with?’ She nods towards the office door. ‘The man with Charles Haversham?’

‘Ah, I think you’ll be interested in this one. A sweet treat for you, perhaps.’ He leans close to her ear. ‘That’s Ralph Christie. Your friend Harriet Littlemore’s fiancé. The one I told you about.’

‘Really?’ She cranes to take a better look.

‘You’ll like him; he’s immensely rich. He plays our game exceptionally well. You’d never know it, but he’s as much of a thief as you are. In truth, he’s a better one. He’s made most of his money quietly manipulating the stock exchange over recent years.’

‘How do you do that? Is it like fixing a horse race or a boxing match?’

‘Cleverer. Do you know, even with the restrictions on the stock markets during the war, Ralph Christie was able to make money. We were in France at the time, so I’ve no idea how he managed it. Fiddling the government bonds, probably.’

‘Stinking rich, then?’ The diamond on Harriet’s hand springs to mind again.

‘Positively reeking. He’s a useful ally, as well as a wealthy one. He’s going to be a big noise in government very soon, and we need the protection of people in power. If you find yourself in trouble, it’s wise to have powerful friends.’

‘Are you in trouble?’

‘Not at all.’ He fingers a lock of her hair, smiling softly as he tucks it behind her ear. ‘But it’s always smart to have insurance. Bubbles burst, now and then.’

Ruby watches Ralph Christie. A confident man, from the way he stands.

‘So, how about you come and keep us company?’ Peter touches the diamonds in her ear, then trails a thumb gently down her throat and strokes her collarbone. ‘Drink champagne? Give us something lovely to look at?’

‘Well, given you’ve asked so politely, I suppose I shall.’

‘Good.’

‘What’s Billy Walsh up to? You sent him away; where’s he gone?’

Peter’s thumb reaches her clavicle, pauses, then presses a little harder. ‘I told you before not to worry about Mr Walsh. He’s taking care of some business for me. Tedious work, carrying some merchandise over to Mayfair. Come and meet Ralph.’

He takes her hand and escorts her past the watching man with the satchel, who’s sitting nursing a now-empty glass.