“I knew Dr. Broody was a nice guy!” said Emma. “And he’s right, too, you do have something worth watching.” She raised her brow, hopefully. “When you say he was asking about you—”

“Purely professionally,” said Sophie. “I don’t think I’m his type.” She twirled solemnly past Lulu and swept her gaze around the room. “I don’t think anyone here is, if you know what I’m saying.”

“Dr. Broody?” Emma’s jaw dropped: Colin Hobbes was rarely out of the gossip columns, and almost never without a pretty girl on his arm.

“Well, what do you think they’re going to do, take out an ad in the papers?” Sophie dropped to a chair, suddenly serious. “And none of you are allowed to mention this, by the way. Not a word to anyone, not any of you, and I’m specially looking at you, Emma Gossipykins Atwater. If I get on in this profession, I might be telling you things sometimes that you can’t talk about ever to anyone, and I have to be able to trust you about it, because if I can’t trust you, I can’t talk to you anymore. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” said Emma reluctantly. “Lips are sealed about Dr. Broody, I promise. What I don’t understand is why you’ll tell us something like this about him, but you won’t tell me how tall he is.”

It was strange, thought Lulu a couple of days later, mopping a beer puddle from the countertop, how much lonelier she could feel at the Crown & Sceptre than she ever had at Goncharoff’s. At Goncharoff’s there had been long periods when little had happened, drowsy afternoons when the sun hung heavy in the air and there had been no sound but the rustle of papers on Mr. Goncharoff’s desk or the flicking of Sasha through his catalogues; but there had been peace there, too, Lulu thought, and pleasantly unspoken companionship. Here, where customers spilled cheap beer and vinegary wine and Michelle watched her relentlessly, avid for a cause for criticism, there was neither.

Then give it up, suggested a corner of her mind. It was certainly not what she was going to do for a career, so walk away. Find something else to do, and let them find another relief barmaid.

But she had committed to work until the end of September, and if she quit before then, she would leave both Michelle and Jasmine in a difficult situation. Which Michelle was sure that Lulu was going to do anyway. And one thing that Lulu was not about to do was prove Michelle right.

“Are you bored?” Michelle herself was standing over her, her frown mark more pronounced than ever. Lulu realized that she had stopped mopping and was standing with the cloth idle in her hand.

“Sorry,” she said. “I just got distracted for a moment.”

“I’m sorry you have to come to work, love,” said Michelle. “Sorry Daddy doesn’t make quite enough to give you a private income. It must be terribly hard for you.”