He roared at his own joke and Donna followed him along the corridor and down into the bar itself.

As they walked down the narrow stairs she heard the chattering and clinking of glasses that was the trademark of bars everywhere. Unlike the upstairs, this bar had softer music being played from a large stack unit behind the bar. Pink Floyd’s Welcome to the Machine was playing, and Donna saw in the dimness a few people dancing.

As they approached the bar, Henry said, ‘This is where the real money is, as you know. The peep’s a good front, it’s legal and smelly enough to keep out most of the Vice Squad. They want the bigger fish, always have done, though they’ve closed us down a couple of times because of the filth up top. The booths get rotten with the punters, you know. In the height of summer the smell would knock down an elephant. Some of the girls stink like pole cats, the dirty whores. What can I get you to drink?’

‘White wine and soda, please.’ Donna sat on a tall stool at the bar and looked around the room. It was decorated with pictures of women and men in the nude. Some were the everyday kind of thing you could pick up in Wool-worth’s, others were blown up from hardcore magazines. Women touching themselves, men with women; but no children visible anywhere, thank God.

At a corner table, Donna saw a girl of about fifteen talking to a man in his sixties. The girl had on a small crop top and a tight leather skirt.

As Henry handed Donna her drink she flicked her head and said, ‘She looks a bit young. Surely that’s asking for trouble, employing jailbait?’ Her voice came out hard and neutral and she was amazed at herself.

Henry shrugged. ‘She’s sixteen, love. Looks younger, but that won’t last. A few years tomming and they age overnight. One day you see them and you’re shocked, you know. But she’s a real pro, worked the Cross for two years before she came to us. Hard as nails she is, and an excellent little worker. With respect, Mrs Brunos, this is the rough end of a rough trade. That’s where our money comes from. All the men in here are regulars or are brought by regulars. We have live shows here on a Friday and Saturday, we cater for all sorts. All the whores here, women and men, are specially recruited and they work here because they want to. It’s like I said to Stephen a while ago. If we don’t employ them, someone else will. He’s a bit greedy, your brother-in-law, and these people know their worth. They have to, to survive.’