‘That’s the long story, but I live in hope. And you, did you find yourself some hope too or is the Texas Ranger your last chance saloon?’ He roared with laughter at her phrasing, drawing everyone’s attention to their conversation and Ginnie quickly to his side.

‘I can’t leave him alone for two seconds before he’s chatting up some skirt. You never told me you knew each other?’

‘We don’t. Just passing the time, aren’t we, Mrs Hunter? Nice to meet you.’ Drew put his arm around his fiancée and smiled sweetly. Netta watched as they swayed back to the dance floor. Ginnie gripped his arm, giving Netta a long hard look that signalled: Do not muscle in on my property. Keep to your place in the pecking order.

Netta watched Drew staggering, Ginnie draped all over him like a stole. To look good in Highland dress a man needed firm full calves to show off the skean dhu in his stocking, broad shoulders and a neat waist to give the jacket and kilt definition. There was nothing distinguished about Drew Stirling. He was too lanky and spindle-legged with a slight stoop to his shoulders as if he was afraid to uncurl himself to his full height. Yet it was that very stoop that caught Netta’s eye as she could see him sobering up fast, trying to concentrate among the chatter, glancing furtively in her direction. What strange misalliance of stars had brought those two lovebirds together? she wondered.

She no longer felt safe, knowing Drew Stirling was living at such close range. What he knew about her private life could bring down her fragile house of straw with one puff: all the little half-truths of its façade scattered by his first drunken gaffe. So he was a doctor? That was why he had been quick to make a diagnosis of her illness. Was he still practising medicine or had he been dishonourably discharged from the army? She was curious but would never risk a function at the Scotia again just in case.

Ships that pass in the night was all they had meant to each other in Park Royal but he had recognised and remembered as much of her as she did of his sad story. Billie Mackeever, the builder, was quite the elder of the kirk now, indulgent with his daughter perhaps but not enough to want her to marry a drunk, whatever his nationality.

Netta’s knees had stopped shaking. There was no reason for them ever to meet again socially. It need not stop her dancing on Thursday evenings. As for the Texas Rangers, it was a fantasy to think any of them would ever use her services when there were big stores locally and London only hours away.