She was still daydreaming when they reached their destination.

The city of Buffalo was in upstate New York, near the Canadian border. Woodlawn Beach was a mile of sand on the shore of Lake Erie. Daisy parked and they walked across the dunes.

Fifty or sixty people were already there. These were the adolescent children of the Buffalo elite, a privileged group who spent their summers sailing and water-skiing in the daytime and going to parties and dances at night. Daisy greeted the people she knew, which was just about everyone, and introduced Eva around. They got glasses of punch. Daisy tasted it cautiously: some of the boys would think it hilarious to spike the drink with a couple of bottles of gin.

The party was for Dot Renshaw, a sharp-tongued girl whom no one wanted to marry. The Renshaws were an old Buffalo family, like the Farquharsons, but their fortune had survived the crash. Daisy made sure to approach the host, Dot’s father, and thank him. ‘I’m sorry we’re late,’ she said. ‘I lost track of time!’

Philip Renshaw looked her up and down. ‘That’s a very short skirt.’ Disapproval vied with lasciviousness in his expression.

‘I’m so glad you like it,’ Daisy replied, pretending he had paid her a straightforward compliment.

‘Anyway, it’s good that you’re here at last,’ he went on. ‘A photographer from the Sentinel is coming and we must have some pretty girls in the picture.’

Daisy muttered to Eva: ‘So that’s why I was invited. How kind of him to let me know.’

Dot came up. She had a thin face with a pointed nose. Daisy always thought she looked as if she might peck you. ‘I thought you were going with your father to meet the President,’ she said.

Daisy felt mortified. She wished she had not boasted to everyone about this.

‘I see he took his, ahem, leading lady,’ Dot went on. ‘Unusual, that sort of thing, in the White House.’

Daisy said: ‘I guess the President likes to meet movie stars occasionally. He deserves a little glamour, don’t you think?’

‘I can’t imagine that Eleanor Roosevelt approved. According to the Sentinel, all the other men took their wives.’

‘How thoughtful of them.’ Daisy turned away, desperate to escape.

She spotted Charlie Farquharson, trying to erect a net for beach tennis. He was too good-natured to mock her about Gladys Angelus. ‘How are you, Charlie?’ she said brightly.

‘Fine, I guess.’ He stood up, a tall man of about twenty-five, a little overweight, stooping slightly as if he feared his height might be intimidating.

Daisy introduced Eva. Charlie was sweetly awkward in company, especially with girls, but he made an effort and asked Eva how she liked America, and what she heard from her family back in Berlin.

Eva asked him if he was enjoying the picnic.

‘Not much,’ he said candidly. ‘I’d rather be at home with my dogs.’

No doubt he found pets easier to deal with than girls, Daisy thought. But the mention of dogs was interesting. ‘What kind of dogs do you have?’ she asked.