Ginie navigated the social gaffe gracefully with a laugh, saying ‘I’m sure you look nicer in it than I do.’ But she feared that Rachel really did look better and her confidence was shaken. By that stage, her marriage to Paulo was over and her money was running out. She couldn’t afford to doubt her ability to conquer.

She looked across the room for an excuse to remove herself and saw a tall, broad man sitting by himself, gazing at the sea of china and crystal on the table in front of him. He wasn’t classically handsome, his face was too square, his nose aquiline and there were dark shadows under his eyes. But there was something about him that made her take notice. It was his stillness, Ginie decided, the sense of unknown things going on at the back of his mind. She wanted to know what they were. She was pleased when she found she’d been placed next to him at dinner. He stood up and held out his hand. His blue eyes were surprisingly intense. His bearing was military, his grip warm.

‘Stephen Courtauld,’ he said. ‘Glad to meet you.’ The name Courtauld sounded familiar.

‘I’m Virginia, though my friends call me Ginie, as must you.’ She smiled at him.

‘Delighted to.’

He pulled her chair out for her as they sat down, made sure she was comfortable. His manners were impeccable.

‘You’re English,’ she said.

‘Yes, I am.’

‘You’re a soldier.’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you a hero, then?’

He flinched. ‘Every man out there was a hero.’

She touched his arm; it felt strong and hard. Curiosity quickly turned to attraction. Stephen didn’t speak for a long time.

‘Aren’t you going to ask anything about me?’ Ginie inquired, coquettishly.

He looked up quickly.

‘Why, of course I am. Um. . . Where is it that you’re from?’

‘Oh, everywhere and nowhere.’

A gleam appeared in his eye and vanished again. She wanted to make it come back; it transformed his face. She waited for him to question her further, but he didn’t.

‘Papa was a shipping merchant; we moved around a lot while I was growing up. He’s Italian, Mama is from Transylvania. I was educated at a convent school in England.’ She didn’t tell him that she was born in Romania. If only her mother had the sense to give birth to her in an acceptable country.