‘It’s in the cause of nailing a man who doesn’t like answering questions about himself, and finding out what he has to hide,’ Fran said firmly.

Joey ran a finger around the inside of his collar. His short, undistinguished person looked uncomfortable in the black tie and dinner jacket that was de rigueur for the men.

‘I can’t believe you came here looking like a goddess just to work,’ he said, eyeing her slender figure, pale skin and red-gold hair with wistful lust.

‘Down, Fido,’ Fran said amiably. ‘Tonight this is my work outfit. I need to look as if I belong in this place.’

She’d succeeded in her aim. Her dress seemed to be solid gold glitter with a neckline that plunged low, and a side slit that came up to her thigh. She was rather disconcerted by the dress’s frank immodesty, and had hired it only with misgiving. But she was glad now that she’d done so. In the glittering, sophisticated ambience of The Golden Chance, London’s premier casino, this was how to look.

As well as the dress, she’d hired the solid gold jewellery that went with it. Hanging earrings accentuated the length of her neck, heavy gold bracelets weighed down her wrists, and a long gold pendant plunged between her breasts, emphasising her décolletage.

I look like a kept woman, she thought, faintly shocked at herself.

But so did every other woman here, and in that respect the outfit was a success.

Certainly she could have held her own among the women who crowded around Sheikh Ali, competing for his attention, and being rewarded with a smile, or a kiss of the fingers in their direction. The sight made her seethe.

‘Arrogant so-and-so,’ she muttered. ‘Men like that are supposed to be extinct.’

‘Only the ones who can’t get away with it,’ Joey told her wisely. ‘Those who can are as bad as ever.’

‘You’re jealous,’ she said indignantly.

‘We all are, Fran! Look around you. Every man in the place wants to be him, and every woman wants to sleep with him.’