And there was more. Generally, Frank gave her two surprise gifts a week, every week. Christ, she loved this.

A slight frown puckered her brow as she pored over her haul of presents. Of course, the negligee and robe were more for Frank’s benefit than hers. Frank enjoyed buying her stuff like that, but he enjoyed even more stripping them off her, staring hungrily at her lush naked young body and then pushing her onto the bed and shoving his cock into her, before puffing away like a steam train whipping down a tunnel. He was ridiculous in bed, she thought. Not like Dickie.

The thing was, Frank was small down there, which was ironic, given the way everyone kowtowed to him. If only they knew.

Still, his modest dimensions were a bit of a relief, because she didn’t like him pawing at her anyway, and mercifully it never lasted long. Oh, she acted like she relished it. The pretence was all part of the game, panting and groaning as if she loved it, she realized that; it was all a necessary part of getting the gifts and keeping Frank sweet. She had to keep Frank sweet; everyone did.

But even though in her mind she mocked him, what she never allowed herself to forget was that Frank was dangerous. His hair-trigger temper could explode at the merest provocation, like it had with that poor Tony Dillon. Then watch out! But right now, she was Frank’s girl and it was nice – well, apart from bedtime, but she could handle that. She could even plead ‘women’s problems’. When she did that, like most men he reacted with disgust and left her alone. It was nice to be in a fancy suite at the Savoy, to summon room service whenever she felt like it, to live a life which until now she could only ever have dreamed of.

And beside the gifts? There was more.

Frank took her out to glamorous nightclubs, fabulous restaurants. Beauty brought its own rewards in this wider world, she was beginning to understand that now. Her beauty had brought her some rewards at home. When she was small her mum had given her tidbits of fruit, saying ‘Don’t tell your sisters . . .’ and sometimes half of her own boiled egg in the morning. June had always been moaning that she was hungry, but Dora had been OK, and Lil too. Lil was strong and feisty, effortlessly shoving her way to the front of any food queue.

And now Dora had Frank. Frank was even willing to pay for the singing lessons she wanted. Mum had scrimped and struggled hard to pay for them before, and her dancing classes, going short herself to push her daughter forward in the world. Dad had objected. The sisters had scowled and mocked. Frank, however, did not.

‘Whatever makes you happy, baby doll,’ he said. ‘I got a friend runs a place up West, you could sing there. If you wanted to.’