Vincent.

Lucien looked towards the door but didn’t move. It was strange. I needed him gone before Vincent came in, but part of me also wanted him to stay. He seemed to feel the same.

‘What I said, it means “Greetings, how do you do?”’

‘All of it?’

‘Yes, in Mende, in Yoruba and in Zulu. I have made it my business to learn useful phrases and I wanted to see if you had any knowledge of your heritage at all.’

Another rebuke, but I didn’t snap back like I usually would.

‘Buwa, kahunyaina,’ I repeated. I liked the way the words felt on my tongue, I wanted to remember them. Lucien smiled at me then, a real smile that crinkled his eyes at the corners, before he headed for the back door.

‘No, not that way,’ I called. But he’d already gone.

I leant my head back against the wall, tired again. The smell of cedar lingered. My head ached with the encounter, but I had barely time to think on it before I heard again the rumble of Lucien’s deep voice and Vincent’s Surrey drawl in response.

The back door in the foyer opened out on to an alley that ran alongside Crillick’s and went all the way from the Strand to the river. It was where I had sneaked in in my failed bid to see the acrobats four years before. The performers came in and out that way during the day when Crillick’s wasn’t open to the public, and Barky often went out there to smoke. Crillick and his friends used it too. Now Lucien had run into Vincent there. I edged towards the door and peered out, quiet so they wouldn’t notice me. It hadn’t rained for days but there were puddles on the uneven ground. The alley was so narrow that even the autumn sunshine couldn’t squeeze in to dry it out. Vincent blocked Lucien’s way. He’d come up from the river, which meant he’d spent the evening at Pascoe’s, his club. There was only space to pass if one man would give way to the other. Vincent was an inch or two taller but Lucien was stockier. I didn’t doubt he’d had more cause for fighting than Vincent and shuddered as a small thrill of fear ran down my back. I wished Lucien had got away before Vincent came. Why hadn’t I warned him to use the front entrance? Was Ellen still around? She’d know what to do to stop a scuffle.

‘Excuse me,’ I heard Lucien say, his voice pleasant but no ‘sir’ or ‘please’. Couldn’t tell what Vincent was or didn’t care. It was hard to see from where I stood, barely daring to breathe.

‘What are you doing here? This entrance is for the performers.’