The rumpus subsided, the orchestra returned to its dais, the Negresses were changed back into naked pink chicks and retired. A mellifluous tenor, all eyes, teeth and sob-in-the-voice, came out and sang ‘Santa Lucia’ and other familiar pieces. He too moved among his audience. Lady Braceley gave him a piece of everlasting greenery from her table decorations.

He was followed by the start of the programme, a celebrated black singer of soul music. She was beautiful and disturbing and a stillness came over the Cosmo when she sang. One of her songs was about hopelessness, injury and degradation and she made of it a kind of accusation. It seemed to Sophy that her audience almost disintegrated under her attack and she thought it strange that Lady Braceley, for instance, and Kenneth, could sit and look appreciative and join so complacently in the applause.

When she had gone Grant said, ‘That was remarkable, wasn’t it?’ Alleyn, overhearing him, said, ‘Extraordinary. Do modern audiences find that the pursuit of pleasure is best satisfied by having the rug jerked from under their feet?’

‘Oh,’ Grant said, ‘hasn’t that always been so? We like to be reminded that something is rotten in the State of Denmark. It makes us feel important.’

The programme ended with a very stylish ensemble, the lights were subdued, the band insinuated itself into dance music and Grant said to Sophy, ‘Come on. Whether you like it or not.’

They danced: not saying very much, but with pleasure.

Giovanni appeared and Lady Braceley danced with him. They did intricate things with great expertise.

The Van der Veghels, half-smiling, closely embraced, swayed and turned on sixpence, keeping to the darkened perimeter of the floor.

Major Sweet who had made a willing but belated attempt upon Sophy sank back in his chair, drank champagne and moodily discoursed with Alleyn. He was, Alleyn concluded, the sort of practised drinker who, while far from being sober, would remain more or less in control for a long time. ‘Lovely little girl, that,’ he said. ‘Natural. Sweet. But plenty of spunk, mind you. Looks you bang in the eye, what?’ He maundered on rather gloomily: ‘Just a nice, sweet, natural little girl—as I was saying.’

‘Are you going on to this other show?’ Alleyn asked.

‘What about yourself?’ countered the Major. ‘Fair’s fair. No names,’ he added more obscurely, ‘no pack-drill that I’m aware of. Other things being equal.’

‘I’m going, yes.’

‘Shake,’ invited the Major, extending his hand. But finding that it encountered the champagne bottle he refilled his glass. He leant across the table. ‘I’ve seen some curious things in my time,’ he confided. ‘You’re a broadminded man. Everyone to his own taste and it all adds up to experience. Not a word to the ladies: what they can’t grieve about they won’t see. How old am I? Come on. You say. How old jer say I am?’

‘Sixty?’