Bannerman carried these thoughts with him across the street and up the driveway to the door of the white house. Slater and Marie-Ange walked ahead as though he were not with them. The door was opened by a white-jacketed butler and they were shown into a large brightly lit hall. At the far end of it a staircase rode up to a halfway landing where more stairs branched off to left and right. To their right, double doors stood open, leading to a crowded reception room. It was already thick with smoke and voices, the smell of drink and perfume. The butler took their coats and tiptoed away across thick-piled carpet.

Marie-Ange looked around with a critical eye. If she was impressed she didn’t show it. ‘We don’t have to stay all evening do we?’ she said to Slater.

He smiled patiently. ‘Just showing our faces, Marie. Appearances are everything in this town. You should know that.’ He turned to Bannerman. ‘Would you look after Marie-Ange for a bit? I have a little business to attend to. Shouldn’t be more than about fifteen minutes.’

Bannerman glanced at Marie-Ange. She was clearly unimpressed, but seemed resigned to her fate. ‘Sure,’ he said.

Slater squeezed her hand. ‘Back soon.’ He slipped away among the dinner jackets. Bannerman lifted two glasses of champagne from a tray carried by a passing waiter.

‘Drink?’

She glanced at him and then the glass, before taking it without a word.

‘So where did you and Tim meet?’

She sipped on her champagne and Bannerman saw its bubbles break around her lips. She turned her head to look at him very directly. ‘Not sure that’s any of your business, Mr Bannerman.’

‘Probably not. But I’m a nosy bastard.’

She smiled. ‘And nothing if not blunt.’ Then, ‘You also have a very strong handshake.’

‘I do.’

They moved aside to make way for another group of arriving guests. ‘Shall we go in?’ she said.

Bannerman nodded, and took her arm to steer her into the reception room. Immediately the sensation of being observers dissolved and gave way to the discomfort of being part of the crowd. Voices rose and fell in half a dozen different languages, socially consolidating awkward political alliances. There were too many people laughing too easily. Waiters offered smoked salmon and whisky from silver platters. A manufactured bonhomie hung in the air like smog.

‘So this is how they live in the Euro-ghetto,’ Bannerman said, and took his first sip of champagne.

She eyed him curiously over her glass. ‘You disapprove?’

‘I’m not here to judge, just report the facts.’

‘And yet I sense you have already made a judgement on me and Tim.’

‘Do you?’ He raised an eyebrow in surprise and shook his head. ‘It’s not really a judgement, Marie-Ange. More an observation.’