She sat behind Stephen’s secretary’s desk, noticing that the rest of the offices were locked up and aware that this was a subtle insult to her. The girl plonked herself down on a settee and lit a cigarette.

‘Are you going to wait for me?’ Donna asked.

She nodded absentmindedly. ‘That’s what Mr Brunos said. He told me to let you in and to sit and wait until you’d finished. Then I was to let you out and lock the door behind me.’

Donna smiled once more. ‘Is he nearby, waiting for the keys to be delivered back?’

‘As far as I know, he’s still in the club in Wardour Street,’ the girl told her, ‘but he could have gone by now. I’ll just give the keys to Daragh.’

‘Daragh?’

Cathy Harper smiled at the question in Donna’s voice.

‘Daragh O’Flynn. He’s an Irish bloke who runs the club for Mr Brunos. Funny name though, ain’t it? We all laugh at it - behind his back, of course.’

Donna laughed with the girl and said conspiratorially, ‘Of course.’

Cathy beamed, happy to find that the woman was fun. She had been wary of her mission, knowing that some of the people Mr Brunos dealt with were not exactly the answer to a maiden’s prayer, being rough, determined, and for the most part vicious. This pretty woman, with the chestnut hair and the subtle make-up, was like a breath of fresh air. Cathy settled herself further into the sofa and picked up a magazine.

Donna took her cigarettes out of her bag and lit one, slowly savouring the smoke as it was drawn into her lungs.

‘Where do you work, Cathy?’ The question was innocent enough, but hinted that Donna knew more about the operations than she did.

‘I work in the clubs and I do the peepshow on Mondays and Fridays. It’s easier for me like this, gives me a bit of time with the kids, like. I prefer the peeping to be honest. I ain’t got to actually do nothing and the money’s regular. In the club you can sit all night with some bloke and only come out of it with the hostess fee. Some of the customers are as mean as catshit, know what I mean?’

Donna nodded, looking as if she had been there once or twice herself. Cathy warmed to her even more.

‘What peepshow are you working in?’

‘La Bohème, just off Dean Street. A right shithole it is and all. The smell! It’d knock you down, but you get used to it, like.’

‘You work there for Stephen . . . Mr Brunos?’

Cathy nodded. ‘I’ve worked for Brunos since I was nineteen. He ain’t too bad, none of them are. But I expect you know that, being married to one yourself.’