“Ed, do you believe in guardian angels?” I say on impulse. “Or ghosts? Or spirits?”

“No. None of the above. Why?”

I lean forward confidentially. “What if I told you that there’s a guardian angel in this very room who fancies the pants off you?”

Ed gives me a long look. “Is ‘guardian angel’ a euphemism for ‘male prostitute’?”

“No!” I splutter with laughter. “Forget it.”

“I’ve had a good time.” He drains his glass and smiles at me. A full-on, proper smile. Crinkled eyes, uncreased brow, everything! I almost want to shout “Geronimo! We got there!”

“So have I.”

“I didn’t expect to end the evening like this.” He looks around the little club. “But it’s… great!”

“Different.” I nod.

He rips open a bag of peanuts and offers it to me, and I watch him as he crunches them hungrily. Even though he’s looking relaxed, the frown lines are still faintly etched on his brow.

Well, no wonder. He’s had a lot to frown about. I can’t help feeling a rush of pity for him as I think about it. Losing his fiancee. Coming to work in a strange city. Just getting through life, week after week, without enjoying it. It was probably really good for him to come dancing. It was probably the most fun he’s had in months.

“Ed,” I say on impulse. “Let me take you sightseeing. You should see London. It’s criminal that you haven’t. I’ll show you around. At the weekend sometime?”

“I’d like that.” He seems genuinely touched. “Thanks.”

“No problem! Let’s email.” We smile at each other, and I drain my sidecar with a slight shudder. (Sadie made me order it. Totally revolting.)

Ed glances at his watch. “So, are you ready to go?”

I glance over at the dance floor. Sadie’s still going strong, flinging her arms and legs around with no sign of flagging. No wonder all the girls in the twenties were so skinny.

“Let’s go.” I nod. Sadie can catch up with us when she’s ready.

We head out into the Mayfair night. The street lanterns are on, mist is rising from the pavements, and nobody’s about. We head to the corner and after a few minutes flag down a couple of cabs. I’m starting to shiver, in my skimpy dress and threadbare cloak. Ed ushers me into the first taxi, then pauses, holding the door open.

“Thanks, Lara,” he says in that formal preppy way he has. I’m actually starting to find it quite endearing. “I had a good time. It was… quite a night.”

“Wasn’t it!” I adjust my diamante cap, which has fallen lopsided with all the dancing, and Ed’s mouth twitches with amusement.

“So, should I wear my spats for sightseeing?”

“Definitely.” I smile. “And a top hat.”

Ed laughs. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever heard him laugh. “Good night, twenties girl.”

“Good night.” I close the door and the taxi roars off.

Next morning I feel a bit dazed. Charleston music is ringing in my ears and I keep having flashbacks to being The Great Lara. The whole thing feels like a dream.

Except it’s not a dream, because Clare Fortescue’s resume is already in my in-box when I arrive at work. Result!

Kate’s eyes are like saucers as I print out the email.

“Who on earth’s this?” she says, poring over the resume. “Look, she’s got an MBA! She’s won a prize!”

“I know,” I say nonchalantly. “She’s a top, award-winning marketing director. We networked last night. She’s going on the Leonidas Sports short list.”

“And does she know she’s going on the short list?” says Kate in excitement.

“Yes!” I snap, flushing slightly. “Of course she does.”

By ten o’clock the list has been finalized and sent off to Janet Grady. I flop back in my chair and grin at Kate, who’s staring intently at her computer screen.

“I’ve found a picture of you!” she says. “From the dinner last night. Lara Lington and Ed Harrison arrive at the Business People dinner.” She hesitates, looking puzzled. “Who’s he? I thought you were back with Josh.”

“Oh, I am,” I say at once. “Ed is just… a business contact.”

“Oh, right.” Kate is gazing at her computer screen, a little dreamily. “He’s quite good-looking, isn’t he? I mean, Josh is too,” she amends hastily. “In a different way.”

Honestly, she has no taste. Josh is a million times better-looking than Ed. Which reminds me, I haven’t heard from him for a while. I’d better call, just in case his phone has gone wrong and he’s been sending texts and wondering why I haven’t been answering.

I wait until Kate has gone to the bathroom so I have a little privacy, then dial his office.

“Josh Barrett.”

“It’s me,” I say lovingly. “How was the trip?”

“Oh, hi. It was great.”

“Missed you!”

There’s a pause. I’m pretty sure Josh says something in response, but I can’t quite hear.

“I was wondering if your phone was going wrong?” I add. “Because I haven’t received any texts from you since yesterday morning. Are mine getting through OK?”

There’s another indistinct mumble. What’s wrong with this line?

“Josh?” I tap the receiver.

“Hi.” His voice suddenly breaks through more clearly. “Yeah. I’ll look into it.”

“So, shall I come over tonight?”

“You can’t go tonight!” Sadie appears out of nowhere. “It’s the fashion show! We’re getting the necklace!”

“I know,” I mutter, putting my hand over the receiver. “Afterward. I have a thing first,” I continue to Josh. “But I could come around ten?”

“Great.” Josh sounds distracted. “Thing is, I’ve got a work bash tonight.”

More work? He’s turning into a workaholic.

“OK,” I say understandingly. “Well, how about lunch tomorrow? And we can take it from there.”

“Sure,” he says after a pause. “Great.”

“Love you,” I say tenderly. “Can’t wait to see you.”

There’s silence.

“Josh?”

“Er… yeah. Me too. Bye, Lara.”

I put down the phone and sit back. I feel a bit dissatisfied, but I don’t know why. Everything’s fine. Everything’s good. So why does it feel like there’s something missing?

I want to call Josh back and say, “Is everything OK, do you want to talk?” But I mustn’t. He’ll think I’m obsessing, which I’m not; I’m just thinking. People are allowed to think, aren’t they?

Anyway. Whatever. Move on.

Briskly, I log on to my computer and find an email waiting in my in-box from Ed. Wow, that was quick off the mark.

Hi, twenties girl. Great evening last night. Re: your corporate travel insurance. Might want to look at this link. I’ve heard they’re good. Ed

I click on it and find a site offering reduced insurance rates for small companies. That’s just like him: I mention a problem once, and he instantly finds a solution. Feeling touched, I click Reply and briskly type an email:

Thanks, twenties guy I appreciate it. Hope you’re dusting off your London guide. PS: have you demonstrated the Charleston to your staff yet?

Immediately an answer pops back.

Is this your idea of blackmail?

I giggle and start browsing online to find a picture of a dancing couple to send him.

“What’s funny?” says Sadie.

“Nothing.” I close down the window. I won’t tell Sadie I’m emailing Ed. She’s so possessive, she might take it the wrong way. Or, even worse, start dictating endless emails full of stupid twenties slang.

She starts reading the Grazia that’s lying open on my desk and after a few moments orders me: “Turn.” This is her new habit. It’s quite annoying, in fact. I’ve become her page-turning slave.

“Hey, Lara!” Kate comes rushing into the office. “You’ve got a special delivery!”

She hands me a bright pink envelope printed with butterflies and ladybugs, with Tutus and Pearls emblazoned across the top. I rip it open, to find a note from Diamante’s assistant.

Diamante thought you might like this. We look forward to seeing you later!