If there was an answer, it was because she was as serious about her work as her appearance, which was very serious indeed. And today she’d blown it.

‘There was one moment when I thought I was winning,’ she told the picture. ‘He looked at me in such way that I thought-I was almost sure-but he just got away from me at the last minute. You wouldn’t have let him get away, would you?’ She sighed. ‘And I won’t get a second chance, either.’

But, against the odds, the second chance presented itself next morning in the shape of a gilt-edged card announcing that King Daniel was pleased to invite her to a ball at the Voltavian embassy that very evening. After a whoop of triumph she got down to the deadly earnest business of making an impact.

The evening dress she chose was black velvet and swept the floor, but there all semblance of decorum ended. It was cut to show off her shoulders and bosom. The neckline was within the bounds of propriety, but only just. The bodice clung, and fitted tightly all the way down to her small waist, before outlining the flare of her hips, the length of her thighs and then down to her ankles. It would have been impossible to walk in such a dress but for the slit at the rear, through which the vision of her stunning legs came and went.

It was a dress for a woman who wanted to be noticed and could afford to be noticed: not always the same thing, as the Dame had frequently observed in her most caustic voice.

Lizzie had booked the cab with time to spare. No matter what the function, the rule was that royalty arrived last. To be late was to be shut out.

To her relief she reached the embassy in good time, and was shown into the great ballroom that looked as though time had passed it by. Glittering chandeliers hung overhead, the mirrors were framed by gilt, and its glamour was the glamour of another age. At the far end was a dais with a throne. Over it hung the coat of arms of Voltavia, dominated by a snarling bear. For a thousand years the bear had been the country’s symbol.