Tom shook his head.

‘Nor a dirty old man?’

‘No, quite a reasonable sort of bloke. Bit of a nob really. Plum-in-the-marf voice and wearing a monkey suit.’

‘Oh, go on, Bella,’ said Rosie. ‘He might be super.’

‘All right,’ said Bella. ‘I can always tell him to go if he’s ghastly.’

‘Great!’ said Rosie. ‘I’ll finish off my face in the loo.’

‘No!’ yelped Bella, suddenly nervous. ‘You can’t leave me.’

At that moment Queenie, the dresser, appeared at the door.

‘You’d better get out of that dress before you spill make-up all over it,’ she said to Bella.

Bella looked at herself in the mirror. Against the low-cut white nightgown, her tawny skin glowed like old ivory.

Let’s knock Mr Henriques for six, she thought.

‘Can I keep it on for a bit, Queenie?’ she asked.

‘And I’m supposed to hang about until you’ve finished,’ said Queenie sourly.

‘Come on, you old harridan,’ said Rosie, grabbing her arm and frog-marching her out of the room.

‘You can have a swig of Freddie’s whisky to cheer you up.’

Bella sprayed on some scent, then sprayed more round the room, arranged her breasts to advantage in the white dress and, sitting down, began to brush her hair.

There was a knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ she said huskily in her best Tallulah Bankhead voice.

As she turned, smiling, her mouth dropped in amazement. For the man lounging in the doorway was absurdly romantic looking, with very pale delicate features, hollowed cheeks, dark burning eyes, and hair as black and shining as a raven’s wing. He was thin and very elegant, and over his dinner jacket was slung a magnificent honey-coloured fur coat.

They stared at each other for a moment, then, smiling gently, he said: ‘May I come in? I hope it’s not a nuisance for you.’

He had an attractive voice, soft and drawling. ‘My name’s Rupert Henriques,’ he added as an afterthought.