I gave my hair a quick brush and shrugged on a jacket. We went into the night – she really did wear her slippers – and I listened to her talk about how wonderful Chateline’s was, and how much she liked the eponymous owner, and how he could turn even the simplest meal into a work of art. She was obsessed with Chat’s honey loaf; the recipe was a closely-guarded secret. As she brought it to life with her words, I felt I was glimpsing a world I would never belong in. If I had just worked out what Jaxon had wanted to see from me, this could have been my life.

We passed the sundial pillar, and she led me into the tiny, inconspicuous alleyway that led to Neal’s Yard, a hidden nook between the buildings of Seven Dials. Inside was a shop – or what I’d thought was a shop – that I’d passed a few times while I was carrying out errands; I’d never had cause to go in. Eliza pushed open the door.

The interior was beautiful in a moth-eaten way, an ode to lost grandeur. Patrons crowded the tables, which were lit by wax candles. Nick was waiting for us in a booth in the corner.

‘Evening, Muse.’ A bald, ruddy man was cleaning the bar. ‘I see you’ve finally brought the newcomer.’

‘I’ve decided to let her in on our haven,’ Eliza said, and he chuckled. ‘Dreamer, this is Chateline.’

‘Chat.’ He held out a callused hand. The other arm ended in a stump below the elbow. ‘Muse and Vision have been telling me all about you.’ I blinked. ‘Seeing as this is your first time eating here, dinner’s on the house. Whatever you want.’

‘That’s kind of you,’ I said, surprised. ‘Thank you.’

‘Ah, if you’re a friend of Binder, you’re a friend of mine.’

We joined Nick at the booth. He, too, looked as if he had just rolled out of bed.

‘Hi, sötnos,’ he said, moving a silk cushion to make room for me. ‘I took the liberty of ordering our usual. We wanted to give you your official Chateline’s initiation.’

‘We have a tradition,’ Eliza chimed in. ‘Breakfast for supper, here, every Friday.’ She leaned closer and laid a ring-clad hand over mine. ‘And from now on, you’re coming, too.’

I tried to smile, with limited success. ‘I’m honoured.’

They chattered away for a while, and seemed content to let me nod and smile in the right places. Chat brought us platter after platter of breakfast food, cooked to perfection, along with a brimming coffee press and a silver tureen of cream.

‘What made you choose West Street?’ Eliza said to me, between mouthfuls of pancake.

I poured coffee. ‘I just … thought Metyard would dispose of the body close to home.’