She pulls a mirror from her handbag and checks her make-up, applying a fresh layer of lipstick and pinching her cheeks before shaking out her hair so that it falls into its perfect, precise bob. She enjoys the way the music makes her hips sway of their own accord. It’s not busy yet – it’s far too early – but, even in the dim light and the fog of cigarette smoke, she can see that there are men and women drinking and talking, heads bent together, bodies close – some very close. There are tables and seats, in modern, uncomfortable-looking designs, near to the dancefloor. Against the walls, she can see alcoves set with low sofas, hiding their occupants from prying eyes. Languid women carry trays of drinks from the bar to the tables, each of them walking in the same stylised, effortless manner.

She lifts her chest, standing taller, and scans the room, but there is no sign of Billy.

‘Hello, pretty lady.’ A man snakes his arm around her waist. ‘I’ve not seen you here before. You’re all alone. Have you come to party?’

He’s wearing a well-cut suit and smells expensive. Ruby breathes in deeply and smiles up at him, taking in everything. There are flecks of silver hair at his temples. Wallet on the inside-left pocket, she guesses, a game she always plays. No gun or knife. He’s right-handed. The watch on his wrist is elegant rather than flashy – Cartier, she thinks, without examining it closely – and there’s a discreet ring on his right hand that looks like the sort that has been passed down through his family. The gold is old. She wouldn’t mind a closer look at it.

‘Perhaps I have,’ she says. ‘I’m expecting to see a friend of mine, but I could murder a drink while I’m waiting for him.’

She scans the room again, but Billy is still nowhere to be seen.

He still has a hand on her. ‘I’ll be your friend, if you like. Let me find you that drink to murder. Champagne? You look like a girl who drinks champagne.’

She laughs and pulls away from him. ‘Alright.’

He reaches out a hand and a waitress, hovering only a few feet away, moves gracefully towards him. He speaks quietly into her ear; she nods, deferential, and glides away.

‘Who are you looking for? This friend of yours, who is he?’

‘Billy Walsh. Do you know him?’

He does not respond immediately but stands listening to the orchestra reach the end of their piece before applauding them softly. Ruby does the same.

‘I know him. I know him well. He’s in the club this evening, I think, but busy at the moment.’

‘He’s here on business, I know.’