James took Gina to a hotel on the front that had a restaurant. Gina was pleased with the white tablecloths and being waited on at table, and delighted with her gammon and chips, though she noticed James was less enthusiastic about the place and the food. This was what it must be like in Pimlico, she thought, where James lived: eating out in restaurants or hotels. He was so used to this that he couldn’t see how special it was. It was a life she could get used to, as well, she decided. Perhaps she would, if she played her cards right. After all, he’d already said that they had a lot in common, and that was surely the first step to a happy relationship …

When they had eaten James said, ‘I have in mind a little club we can go to, if you like?’

Gina didn’t care that it was late: she was having a lovely time. James had been very amusing while they ate, telling her stories about the various cars he’d owned and their unreliability. He made exciting adventures of being stranded at the side of the road in winter, when anyone else would have thought it an ordeal, and the rescues all seemed to involve having to spend lonely nights in creepy isolated castles. Gina didn’t really believe a word of it, but she enjoyed the tales. He could certainly tell a good story.

‘How do you know all these places?’ asked Gina, linking arms with him as they stepped out into the street.

‘Maybe I’ve just been here a few times before,’ he said.

James led her down the road to where the lights were brighter, then round a corner to a side street. There were some steps down into a basement and a discreet sign, ‘Tom and Tabby’, outside the door at the bottom. When he pushed open the door there was a thick curtain, which a woman in a black dress and very red lipstick drew aside to admit them. The club was dimly lit, and Gina was disappointed to see there was no music or dancing, though there was a bar at the back.

James found a table, drew out a chair for Gina, and then, without asking her what she wanted, went to the bar. He came back with two glasses of gin and tonic. Gina had thought it a strange drink when she had asked for one almost as a joke, remembering Mrs Thwaite and her stolen bottles, but now she had begun to acquire a taste for it.

‘This wasn’t quite what I was expecting,’ said Gina, looking round. ‘I thought it’d be livelier, like, with dancing and that.’

‘I’ll take you dancing another night,’ said James. ‘I’ve got to see someone.’

‘What, here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who is this person?’

‘Just someone I do business with from time to time.’