She does have plans. Such big plans. But she does not know how to share them with Solly. She does not know how to articulate them even to herself. How can she find the words to tell him that she wants so much more than this? How can she tell him that she dreams of being someone, something, special, when she is only alive at all because of him?

The clock ticks in the silence as she eats, solemnly considering her plate.

‘I need to open up the shop, Ruby,’ he says eventually, standing.

‘I’ll be down soon.’

She sits in the kitchen for a while, listening to Solly rattling around downstairs and watching the clouds through the window as they race hard across the pale grey sky, before reaching into the pocket of her skirt and pulling out a single card, three inches by two. She had found it when she went through Billy’s jacket – as she does habitually. She flicks the business card over and over in her fingers. It carries the name of a Soho nightclub – the Angel – and is decorated with a feminine figure, her wings outstretched in an ecstasy that looks more sensual than religious.

On the back of the card, someone has written a date and time: Tuesday’s date, seven o’clock. Four days from now.

The handwriting is not Billy’s. It might be Moss’s.

Billy has not said anything about the Angel or what he’s up to – and he’s up to something.

She turns the card again and stares at the angel.

Something flickers deep inside her.

15

15

Friday morning

Another theft at a department store. Hoisters. Lifters. An arrest this time.

Harriet listens to the men discussing yesterday’s incident at Debenham and Freebody. She sets down the tea tray and pours out cups for Jimmy Cartwright and Michael Pickard – another of the Gazette’s reporters.

‘Sugar?’

Michael only nods and continues to share the story with Jimmy. Jimmy takes the second cup from Harriet.

‘You’ll be interested in this,’ he says. ‘It’s your thieves again.’

Something in his eyes suggests that, despite what he told her yesterday, he is a little ashamed of taking her story about Enderby’s.

‘It was her, do you think? Ruby Wilder? The so-called film star with the black bobbed hair?’ She is interested.

‘No, not this time. This one’s name is Alice Dunning, but she’s another of the Forty Thieves. She’s been in court before, Michael says.’

‘I reported on it.’ Michael gulps down his tea and reaches for his notebook. ‘I expect I’ll cover this trial as well.’ He spends a lot of his time at the magistrates’ court.

‘You’re going there now?’