‘Yes, she grows on you.’

She was evidently growing on Charlie.

‘Once I tried to diet faithfully,’ she was saying. ‘Day after day, week after week, not eating a thing but lettuce and steamed fish. But all I’d lost after six weeks was half an inch in height!’ She shrieked with laughter. So did Charlie and Jeremy.

They were playing the Rolling Stones latest record. I leaned forward, pressing my elbows together to deepen my cleavage. I saw Jeremy glance down at it and quickly glance away.

‘I’m mad for this tune,’ I said.

‘What are we waiting for?’ said Charlie, getting up.

Dancing is the thing I do best in the world. It seems to release all the frustrations from my body, all the evils from my soul.

I was wearing a long, gold, semi-transparent tunic, exactly the same colour as my hair, with a mass of gold chains round my neck. I felt like a piece of seaweed streaming with the tide of the music, flowing now this way, now that. I knew everyone in the room was watching me, the women with envy, the men with lust.

Charlie dances superbly too; his body seems to turn to rubber. I never fancy him so much as when we’re on the dance floor. Through a sheet of gold hair I saw Jeremy was watching me. He turned and said something to Gussie; she smiled and looked in my direction. The music stopped; hand-in-hand Charlie and I wandered back to our table.

‘We’re off,’ I said, deciding this was the ideal exit note.

‘Going home?’ said Gussie.

‘No, we’re going to another place,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s just been opened by a mate of mine. Want to come?’ He had changed his tune.

Jeremy looked at Gussie; she shook her head.

‘We’ve both got to get up early in the morning, but do give me your telephone number, Octavia. We must keep in touch.’

‘We must,’ I said, staring shamelessly at Jeremy. ‘You must both come to dinner.’