So he took her hand, looked into her amazing eyes, and gave what people called a shit-eating grin.

She kept hold of his hand as she said: ‘I’m so happy to meet you at long last. Your father has told me all about you – but he didn’t say how handsome you are!’

There was something unpleasantly proprietorial about this, as if she were a member of the family, rather than a whore who had usurped his mother. All the same he found himself falling under her spell. ‘I love your films,’ he said awkwardly.

‘Oh, stop it, you don’t have to say that,’ she said, but Greg thought she liked to hear it all the same. ‘Come and sit by me,’ she went on. ‘I want to get to know you.’

He did as he was told. He could not help himself. Gladys asked him what school he attended, and while he was telling her, the phone rang. He vaguely heard his father say into the phone: ‘It was supposed to be tomorrow . . . okay, if we have to, we can rush it . . . leave it with me, I’ll handle it.’

Lev hung up and interrupted Gladys. ‘Your room is down the hall, Greg,’ he said. He handed over a key. ‘And you’ll find a gift from me. Settle in and enjoy yourself. We’ll meet for dinner at seven.’

This was abrupt, and Gladys looked put out, but Lev could be peremptory sometimes, and it was best just to obey. Greg took the key and left.

In the corridor was a broad-shouldered man in a cheap suit. He reminded Greg of Joe Brekhunov, head of security at the Buffalo Metal Works. Greg nodded, and the man said: ‘Good afternoon, sir.’ Presumably he was a hotel employee.

Greg entered his room. It was pleasant enough, though not as swanky as his father’s suite. He did not see the gift his father had mentioned, but his suitcase was there, and he began to unpack, thinking about Gladys. Was he being disloyal to his mother by shaking hands with his father’s mistress? Of course, Gladys was only doing what Marga herself had done, sleeping with a married man. All the same, he felt painfully uncomfortable. Was he going to tell his mother that he had met Gladys? Hell, no.

As he was hanging up his shirts, he heard a knock. It came from a door that looked as if it might lead to the neighbouring room. Next moment, the door opened and a girl walked through.

She was older than Greg, but not much. Her skin was the colour of dark chocolate, and she wore a polka-dot dress and carried a clutch bag. She smiled broadly, showing white teeth, and said: ‘Hello, I’ve got the room next door.’

‘I figured that out,’ he said. ‘Who are you?’

‘Jacky Jakes.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m an actress.’

Greg shook hands with the second beautiful actress in an hour. Jacky had a playful look that Greg found more attractive than Gladys’s overpowering magnetism. Her mouth was a dark-pink bow. He said: ‘My dad said he had got me a gift – are you it?’