‘That sounds like a great idea,’ she said.

He nodded, satisfied.

‘Here, why don’t you come over and join us for a drink?’ he suggested.

Without waiting for her response, he turned and strode away, leaving her to follow him. The crowd parted like water to let him through and, ahead of them, Bailey saw Nancy sitting in the corner. Although physically small, she seemed to command the room like a dark, malevolent spider at the centre of a web.

She patted the seat next to her with a predatory smile. ‘Sit down for a drink with me, Bailey. What’ll you have?’

‘A vodka and blackcurrant.’

Nancy turned to Stephen who was sitting on the other side of her. He had already fixed Bailey with a moody stare and if there was one person she knew she hadn’t won over quite yet, it was him.

‘Go and get Bailey a drink, will you, Steve?’ said Nancy. ‘And you can get me another Courvoisier while you’re at it.’

Stephen looked a little piqued at the request, but Nancy appeared not to notice. He stood up and went to the bar.

‘Don’t mind Steve,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘He’s very possessive. I kind of adopted him when he was a young ’un.’

Sitting so close to Nancy, Bailey detected the odour of stale cigarette smoke, and on top of that she recognised the floral spicy tones of Black Orchid perfume by Tom Ford; it was a good choice for older women and Bailey had considered buying some for her mother but hadn’t bothered in the end, thinking that it probably would have been wasted on her.

‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ said Bailey, reiterating her commiseration.

Nancy acknowledged her with a thin, bloodless smile, a marginally warmer response than she’d given in The Admiral.

‘Tell me about your family, Bailey,’ she said. ‘Do you have any siblings, or are you a single child?’

When it came to small talk in situations like this, Bailey always found it best to try and stick to the truth where possible. It meant less false information to juggle and less chance of tripping up on your own lies later on down the line.

‘I have… I had a sister.’

‘You had a sister?’

Bailey hesitated a moment. ‘She died when I was young.’

Nancy’s dense close-set eyes scrutinised Bailey, some kind of cogitations taking place behind them. Nancy was quite obviously very shrewd and very astute, and, as Dale had warned, someone to be very wary of.

Bailey didn’t particularly want to dwell on Jennifer, so she decided to steer the conversation in a different direction.

‘So you like Matt Monro?’ she said conversationally.

Nancy seemed flattered by her observation. ‘I do indeed. My favourite track of his is “My Kind of Girl”. My husband, Arthur, played it for me at our wedding.’

Nancy’s eyes momentarily took on a dreamy far-off look, and Bailey noticed now that she was still wearing her wedding ring even though Arthur had been dead for many years.