Chapter 33

ALLEGRA WAS UNPACKING a box of vanilla-scented candles and feeling rather overcome by their sickly sweetness when she heard the door of the shop open and the ting-a-ling of the little bell that announced a customer.

‘Just a moment, I’ll be right with you!’ she said from her position on the floor behind the counter.

The customer said nothing but she heard footsteps walking about as whoever it was inspected the wares on the shelves. She quickly pulled out the last dozen candles, folded up the box and stood up.

This customer was a man, which was surprising: men almost never came into this shop, with its candles, scented drawer liners, padded hangers and lavender bags, except for just before Mother’s Day and Christmas, when there was an unseemly rush to buy gifts. The man was standing with his back to her, examining the liquorice and ginseng range, and wearing a rather gorgeous green tweed jacket over navy trousers and brown brogues polished to a conker shine.

Allegra was just frowning and thinking that the jaunty figure looked very familiar when it said sternly: ‘I’m very, very angry with you, young lady!’ The man turned round to face her. ‘You’ve been in London for weeks and you haven’t even let me know!’

‘Uncle David!’ she cried joyously.

‘That’s enough of the Uncle,’ he said, trying to look strict but unable to keep the smile off his face. ‘You’re grown up now. It’s time I was just David, I think.’

He came over and she dashed out from behind the counter to give him a hug. He kissed her on both cheeks, then pulled back and examined her. ‘Hmm, you’re looking rather radiant, considering you’ve just nabbed the post of official black sheep from your brother. Sent down from Oxford! What on earth did you have to do to get that dubious honour? Don’t worry too much, I’m sure Xander will be stealing this particular tag back from you in no time.’ David looked about the shop. ‘What can you be doing in this place? I didn’t expect to see you as a shop assistant. And how can you stand the smell? It’s like being inside a giant pudding!’

‘You get used to it,’ Allegra said. ‘I hardly notice it any more. I’m just passing the time until I work out what I want to do.’

‘Passing time? At twenty? My dear girl, never simply pass time unless you are in a dentist’s waiting room. You have to seize it while you can. Let’s go out for lunch and you can tell me all about everything and then we’ll work out something exciting for you to do.’

Allegra perked up. ‘That sounds fun.’

‘Yes. And you can explain to me exactly why you haven’t been in touch with me before now. As you can imagine, I’m furious. Now let’s go. We’ll go and have oysters and a very crisp Sancerre downstairs at Bibendum.’

‘I can’t! I’m all on my own here. My lunch break isn’t for another hour.’

‘Whose shop is this?’ David enquired, frowning.

‘Jane Armstrong’s.’

‘Oh, dear Jane! Her cushion shop must have failed, I assume. Well, candles are the next most obvious step. Better luck this time round. She’s a dear old friend. She won’t mind if I explain to her that you absolutely had to go out. Come on!’ David flicked the sign on the door round to Closed. ‘Have you got a key? I don’t suppose anyone will steal this lot, but we ought to play safe.’

Allegra giggled. Uncle David was irresistible. ‘I’ll get my jacket,’ she said.

Twenty minutes later they were sitting in the cool, tiled oyster bar beneath Bibendum. A huge silver stand, packed with ice and heaving with crustaceans, had just been put in front of David, who tucked a napkin into his Turnbull & Asser shirt and eyed them greedily.

‘My absolute favourite,’ he breathed. ‘Now, while I dig in, you tell me all about what happened at Oxford.’

Allegra peeled a langoustine and regaled her uncle with the whole story. He listened solemnly as he sprinkled shallot vinegar over his oysters and shook them out of their shells into his waiting mouth, swallowing them down with gusto. He nodded when she told him about the row with her father.

‘I imagine that’s shaken him up a bit,’ David remarked. ‘Your father’s not used to people standing up to him. You must understand, Allegra, his entire family relies on him for money, and he likes to use that power over them. Our father used to do the same to us. You can imagine how much your grandfather thought of my career – interior designer, that’s what I said I wanted to be! When I was supposed to go into the army, the Black Watch, like every other younger son in the family’s history. But, of course, I refused. Can you imagine how I would have survived that? There was simply no way on earth. So he cut me off. “All right then, Pa, if that’s the way you want it,” I replied, and gallivanted straight off to London. I haven’t looked back.’

‘Is that when you started up the club?’ Allegra asked, interested.

‘Oh, well, no … not right away. I started out doing up people’s houses – friends of the family at first. I loved it and found I had an eye for it. I spent my days with dowager marchionesses picking out fabrics for their drawing-room cushions, or choosing antiques with countesses, lampshades with duchesses … generally amusing myself hugely with society ladies. But come the evening it was a different story. There were deathly dull dinner parties, or else dancing to the house band at the Old Hundred or Les Ambassadeurs, in full evening dress. And that was it. Really, the social scene was awful, so antiquated and stuffy! We needed something a little more amusing and no one else was doing anything so I thought I would open a little nightclub and see how it went.’

‘And that was Colette’s?’

David nodded. ‘Named after my favourite French novelist. It was really because a friend of mine, Eddie Frobisher, decided to open a casino. The gambling laws had just been relaxed and casinos were going to be the next big thing. He bought a house in Mayfair – a total wreck, so it was cheap, cheap, cheap! By Mayfair standards, anyway. And he brought me in to do the interiors. Comfort was the watchword. People had to feel utterly relaxed and yet cosseted in great luxury. It should be like a wonderful country house, full of muted grandeur, and yet as warm and comforting as a hug. We understood each other completely. I knew exactly what he wanted.

‘Before long, I was restoring the very gracious Georgian interior with the help of some wonderful craftsmen and plasterers – and that was when I stumbled on the basement. It was dark, dingy and damp – usually the things that turn me off the most – and yet … there was something about the place. It breathed magic over me. It felt like somewhere things could happen: naughty, nefarious, delightful things. And that’s when I thought – I know, I can do something with this, if only Eddie will let me. And I remembered my old idea of opening a nightclub and was sure I’d found my ideal spot.’

‘And he didn’t mind?’

‘Oh, no!’ David swallowed the last of his oysters and put the shell back on to the ice, sighing with pleasure. ‘Well, that was delicious.’

Allegra was fascinated. She wanted to hear more. ‘So he said, go ahead?’

‘He said more than that. He said, “What a bloody brilliant idea!” He was aiming his casino at the richest and most influential people in the land. They would gamble big money at his tables and then there would be a special added extra: an exclusive, members only nightclub where they could kick back, relax, enjoy the company of beautiful women – not whores but good pedigree girls who knew how to behave – and take a break from the intensity of the tables.’

‘And was that what you wanted?’

‘I wanted style,’ David said simply. ‘I wanted to create a beautiful, special place that belonged to me, that realised my vision. You see, I believe in the redeeming qualities of beauty, and the utterly worthwhile pursuit not just of luxury but the discipline of luxury. I aimed to create a place where everything was always perfect, from the table linen to the cocktails, from the bread rolls and butter curls to the way the towels in the lavatory hung over the rails. Somewhere you would always get the most sublime Martini, the best food, the most dedicated service. It would be a place that would never disappoint you. And where you would always be among friends.’

Allegra’s eyes were wide. ‘And you did it?’

‘Of course.’ David sipped his Sancerre. ‘I can’t pretend it was easy. At times I felt hugely frustrated. And the actual construction was a nightmare. In order to get enough space for the club, we had to excavate down and out into the garden – an administrative and architectural ordeal. Sometimes, standing in the dark, dirty shell, surrounded by heaps of mud and the whole thing open to the elements, I thought it would never be finished, would never be worth all the pain and hard work. But, eventually, it was done. And then the fun could really begin.’

‘What happened next?’

He eyed her with his piercing blue gaze. ‘I created Colette’s, of course.’ He gazed at her thoughtfully for a minute. ‘Would you like to go there?’

Allegra gasped. ‘Are you kidding? Of course I would!’

‘I know I’ve been promising you a trip there for years but I’ve never thought that the time was right. But now … now I think you’re ready.’ He leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘I’m going to show you the magic first. Always see the play before you inspect the set and the props. Do you have anything suitable to wear? Imagine a chic cocktail party where you might conceivably bump into a duke.’

‘Not really. All my best dresses are at home.’ Allegra’s face fell. ‘I’ve got some clubbing stuff, but that’s no good for somewhere smart. Oh, dear. I can’t turn up looking like a scruff.’

David looked about for a waiter and motioned for the bill. ‘I seem to recall that Chanel is just over the way. Let’s go and see what we can find.’

They spent a very enjoyable couple of hours in the shop, and when they left Allegra was holding a large black stiff cardboard bag with the word ‘Chanel’ on it in white capital letters. It made her think of shopping with Romily, but she put that out of her mind.

‘Go home and get ready,’ her uncle said. ‘I’ll meet you at the club at nine. That will give us time to look around before it starts to get busy.’

‘What’s the address?’ Allegra asked, enjoying the feeling of anticipation.

David looked surprised. ‘Don’t worry about that, darling! Just get into a cab and say you’re going to Colette’s. They’ll know where to take you.’

Allegra savoured every moment of getting ready, from the washing and careful drying of her long blonde hair to the unwrapping of her gorgeous new dress from its protective tissue. It was black, of course. ‘One of your most important colours,’ David had told her solemnly. ‘While you have that golden hair and pale skin, you’ll always look striking in black.’

She slipped it on and looked at her reflection in the mirror bolted to the back of the door. Her box room was so small there was barely space to turn around in front of it, but even by the light of the 40-watt bulb and its dingy shade, she could tell she looked good. The dress was knee-length. It had a silky undershell and over that a black shift heavily embroidered with tiny, bright ebony beads, with a high but very wide neckline so that her shoulders emerged, creamy and eye-catching, from the sparkling dark material. She wound her long hair up into a high bun and tied a black velvet ribbon around it. She’d gone for a sixties look in her make-up: smoky dark eyes with swoops of black liner, and pastel-pink glossed lips. The effect was definitely soignée, a blonde Audrey Hepburn off to a nightclub. She put her feet into kitten heeled, pointy-toed satin slippers. That was it. She was ready to go.

Susie was in the kitchen making herself some supper when Allegra passed by. She looked up in surprise. ‘Wow! You look amazing. Off somewhere nice?’

‘To Colette’s,’ Allegra said, and enjoyed seeing the impressed expression on Susie’s face. ‘Don’t wait up.’

The taxi took her through London’s most exclusive districts: purring up the King’s Road, circling Sloane Square and then up past the embassies and great private houses of Belgravia. Along the roadside, the most expensive cars were parked, some with chauffeurs inside, idling away the time until their employer returned from the theatre, restaurant or dinner party.

London’s so beautiful, she thought. It was all navy blue sky, orange street lamps and the white stone of monuments, hotels and houses as they passed Apsley House and sped up Park Lane, past the twinkling lights of the Dorchester. On the other side, Hyde Park stretched away. Xander had told her that the park was bigger than Monaco, which was probably more a comment on Monaco’s smallness than Hyde Park’s vastness, but still … how many other cities had a park bigger than an entire country? I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Between here and Foughton, there’s nowhere else on earth I’d rather be.

The taxi glided into Mayfair, passing red-brick houses with wrought-iron railings and vast chandeliers glimmering inside. They came to a large square, edged with office buildings, shops and private banks, all occupying what were once grand houses – but few people lived here now. In the middle of the square was a garden with benches and a statue in the centre.

‘Here we are!’ called the cabbie. He pulled to a stop in front of a grand, red-brick house with two sets of long sash windows to each side of its wide polished front door. An ornate iron arch spanned the steps leading to the front entrance, a large lantern hanging from its apex.

As the cab stopped, just to the left of the arch, a doorman uniformed in a dark blue jacket and trousers and matching cap, came forward to open its door. Allegra passed the cabbie a tenner and climbed out as elegantly as she could.

‘Is this Colette’s?’ she asked the doorman, looking up at the grand house.

The doorman remained blank-faced. ‘No, miss,’ he said politely. ‘That is Frobisher’s. This is Colette’s.’ He gestured behind him and she saw that to the left of the front door of the main building was a gate in the railings that allowed access to the basement. The staircase down was roofed in grey lead, lined inside with striped fabric. It looked like the entrance to a smart marquee.

‘Are you a member, miss?’ enquired the doorman.

‘No. But my uncle is David McCorquodale. I’m Allegra. He’s expecting me.’

The doorman was clearly accustomed to keeping his expression neutral no matter how many society beauties, film stars or famous faces passed by, but even so Allegra detected a subtle change in it: an added sense of respect and deference. He stepped back and gestured down the stairs.

‘Thank you,’ she said, and began to walk carefully down them, not wanting to trip in her high heels.

The stairs descended to a level where there was a sharp left turn into the basement of the house above. Light came flooding out, as though beckoning her in, and Allegra walked straight into a long, narrow hallway through a pair of open saloon-style doors painted the same dull cream as the walls. A man in a smart suit stood by a reception-style window and nodded his head politely as she approached.

‘Good evening, miss. Are you with a member?’

‘No, no,’ she said, looking around for David. ‘I mean, yes. I’m Allegra McCorquodale. I’m meeting my uncle, David McCorquodale.’

‘Of course.’ The man smiled and gestured to a doorway behind her. ‘Would you like to leave anything in the cloakroom?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Then please follow me to the bar and I will find Mr Mac for you.’ He turned and walked ahead of her down the corridor. They passed a sitting room off to the left, and then, just ahead, the corridor opened up. On one side was a bar area with tall stools around the polished wooden counter, and on the other was another large sitting-room area. The immediate impression was of somewhere that was cosy and welcoming.

‘Where would you like to wait, miss?’ asked the man.

‘At the bar, please.’

He led her over and pulled out a stool for her. As she sat down, he said, ‘What would you like to drink, miss?’

‘May I have a white wine spritzer, please?’ That sounded suitably grown up and sophisticated, she thought. It was the kind of drink Miranda had when she was lunching at Daphne’s with her friends.

‘Of course.’ He nodded to the man behind the bar, who was wearing a pale grey jacket over a white shirt and black tie, and he immediately started preparing her drink. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll fetch Mr Mac for you.’

She glanced around at the bar. She noticed now that its ceiling was vaulted and there were pillars running the length of the corridor, no doubt supporting the house above. Between the bar and the corridor, and the corridor and the sitting area, the pillars had been semi-filled with a low wall that created both a visual barrier and a handy place for people to sit when there were no chairs available. It was quiet at the moment: at the other end of the bar, a businessman was sitting alone with the Evening Standard and a glass of something strong on the rocks. In the sitting-room area, a middle-aged couple were turned to each other on the red-velvet banquette, talking and laughing. The things she noticed most were the pictures: the walls were covered in them. Above the bar hung racing oils and prints; on the walls around it there were Bateman cartoons and Vanity Fair caricatures.

The barman placed her drink in front of her. She thanked him. It looked very inviting, packed with ice cubes. She took a sip that bubbled lightly over her tongue.

A moment later, David was standing beside her. ‘Hello, my darling. I was just in the office. What are you drinking? White wine spritzer? Oh, how vile. How is it?’ He examined everything critically as he spoke while the barman looked on anxiously, obviously hoping that nothing would be found wanting.

‘It’s fine. Very good.’ Allegra smiled at him. Her uncle looked very smart and Savile Row tonight, wearing a beautifully cut dark suit, a blue-and-silver striped silk tie and black Lobb shoes, his thick silver hair brushed back with a touch of the bouffant.

‘You look utterly gorgeous. Stand up.’ She did so and he looked her up and down with an expert eye. ‘You really are a ravishing creature, Allegra. You were quite ordinary as a child, I thought, but look at you now! I’m so jealous, you must have a perfect queue of gorgeous men.’

Allegra smiled. It was certainly pleasing to be complimented by Uncle David, and as she knew he had wonderful taste, she was particularly happy. ‘Thank you.’

‘Bring your drink and I’ll show you around. It’s very quiet at the moment. We only open at eight o’clock and generally it’s just a few members in the bar then, savouring the quiet before going home. Some people are in for an early dinner – there’s usually an eight o’clock table or two – but things don’t really start moving until ten, then take off at midnight. We close at three. I’ve been a night owl for longer than you can believe – lucky that I don’t need much sleep.’ He led the way out of the bar. ‘We’ll have a spot of dinner ourselves once I’ve shown you around.’

Beyond the bar was a long vaulted room carpeted in rich, dark rugs and with columns running the length of both sides, no doubt structural, and a series of bays between these. Each bay was designed like a tiny private sitting room: a cosy sofa was piled with cushions, and to each side stood comfortable armchairs with smaller antique chairs and stools set in front of a low table. Every inch of space was occupied by something: on the walls hung gilt-framed paintings of all styles and periods – oils, watercolours, sketches and oriental silk prints all packed together; every surface held another gorgeous lamp with a classic pleated silk shade in dark red or old ivory, or a plant emerging from a Sèvres cache-pot, or a vase of creamy flowers, or a sweet statue of an eighteenth-century lady or bronze figure of a dog, or a row of gilded, leather-bound books propped up by bronze bookends. The fabrics used were all luxurious and the colours were rich: dark reds, forest greens, golds and purples. The lighting was kept discreet, with only the soft glow of lamps and tiny spotlights illuminating the pictures. The effect was warm and welcoming with so many tasteful little details that it seemed entirely idiosyncratic, not at all like the bland, corporate vision of modern restaurants and hotel chains.

‘It’s just like someone’s home,’ exclaimed Allegra, looking about her.

‘Yes,’ David said simply. ‘My home. Come on, I’ll show you the dining room.’ The sitting rooms led into another vaulted chamber but this was opened out into one large room. Along the sides ran sage-green velvet banquettes with stiff square cushions in the same fabric. In front of them stood a row of tightly packed small tables, each covered with a thick cream linen tablecloth and dressed with napkins, wine glasses, silvery cutlery and a small square-based lamp with a square cream shade. The wood-panelled walls were hung with hundreds of cartoons from Hollywood’s golden age.

Several of the tables were occupied and David cast his eagle eye over each of them. Then he went to the maître d’, who stood so quietly and respectfully at the entrance to the room that Allegra hadn’t even noticed him, and whispered quietly in his ear. The maître d’ looked stricken but immediately summoned a waiter and conveyed David’s orders in a low voice.

‘David, hello!’ called someone from the nearest table. A businessman in a dark suit was waving and smiling broadly. ‘How are you?’

‘Hello, my dear,’ David said smoothly. ‘How wonderful that you’re here. How are you? Do you have everything you need?’ He went over and spent a few minutes talking to the businessman and his guest, and then went to all the other tables in turn to ask if they had what they wanted and how things were, before expertly disengaging himself and returning to Allegra’s side. Meanwhile, a waiter had arrived with fresh jug of water for one table while another refilled the wine glasses on a second.

‘I like it done just so,’ David muttered as he put an arm round her waist and guided her down the long room. ‘I can’t bear things not to be right. Now, there’s also a private dining room that seats thirty just over there behind that door. And over here is another small bar and more seating. And that, of course, is the dance floor.’

They were now standing at the far end of the club. It seems to go on for a long way, but really it’s a very small space, thought Allegra, glancing back towards the main part of the dining room. She turned to look at the dance floor once more which took up about a quarter of the dining room, with the DJ booth tucked in behind it. It was only about two metres by three and very dark, with a blue underlit floor flickering with hundreds of tiny star lights and more little lights shimmering in the ceiling above. More banquettes, this time in a black-and-white zebra print, were built into the wall so that tired dancers could rest for a moment before returning to the fray. Soft, innocuous melodies floated out of hidden speakers.

‘This will be heaving later,’ David said. ‘But it’s pretty much deserted early on. This discotheque bit was part of what made Colette’s so special when we first opened. All the other clubs had live bands playing the hits of the day, like some sad, countrified wedding reception. But we had two turntables and a DJ playing records seamlessly. That’s what brought the young crowd in. You wouldn’t believe who I’ve seen dancing in here: everyone from royalty to pop stars. I gave a party for the Rolling Stones in the seventies. People are still talking about it.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Or so I like to think. Shall we go and sit down? I don’t know about you but I’m famished.’

They went back into the main part of the dining room and David pulled out a chair at the table nearest to the door so that Allegra could sit down. ‘Hope you don’t mind if I take the banquette. It helps if I can see what’s going on. Lots of owners take the best table in the house, but I prefer to take the least best. There is no bad table, but somehow everyone seems to consider this to be it. So I make everyone’s life easier by taking it myself, and that seems to keep them all happy.’

A white-coated waiter appeared and handed them the menus: stiff cream card printed with dark green flowing script.

‘Now, let’s see. What do I feel like tonight?’ David said critically. ‘The wood pigeon is very good … but perhaps I’ll have the grouse. No, I shall ask Adrian to make up my favourite, a steak tartare. It’s not on the menu today but he keeps some beautiful fillet just for me.’

Allegra cast her eyes over it: it was a very English and very traditional menu, featuring potted shrimps and roast game and rich nursery puddings. ‘I’ll have the chicken,’ she said, noting that there were no prices on her menu.

‘Oh, Allegra, if we were anywhere else I’d be very cross. Chicken is always for the faint of heart. But, luckily, you are in Colette’s, where the chicken is spectacular. Adrian is under orders to make it so. Now, champagne, I think, if you’re finished with that ghastly spritzer thing.’

The service was so discreet that Allegra hardly noticed her food and drink arriving, but suddenly there it was in front of her and it was delicious: everything tasted wonderfully of itself, without too much tinkering and fancification. Meanwhile David talked on, about the club and how he had come to create it.

‘Just friends at first, and friends of friends. I had to raise rather a lot of money and naturally none of it was forthcoming from Papa. I’d burnt my boats there – so I got most of it from my rich pals, promising them founder membership of the place. I knew I had to make it three things: very expensive, very exclusive and very, very sexy. And it was – right from the start. It helped that the opening night was attended by Terence Stamp and Jean Shrimpton, two dukes and at least one royal princess, along with hundreds of others, and that the party went on until dawn.

‘The nights we had! The jeunesse dorée all came: beautiful young debs in mini-skirts, louche young aristocrats just down from university and looking for fun, models, actors, artists … I devoted myself to making sure that they would all have the best time possible – the best food and wine, surrounded by luxury. I planned endless parties: carnivals, festivals, themed weeks. All I insisted on was perfection – and that’s not so very much to ask, is it?

‘Colette’s quickly became my life and has stayed so ever since. I’m here every night, making sure that everything is as it should be. I also have my staff, who are all immensely loyal. I don’t much care for change. I like things to stay exactly the same, and so do the members. That’s why they keep coming back.’ David relaxed in his seat and smiled. ‘You know, the funny thing is – I only did it for the laughs. I never expected it to last. Even when we were the rage, the toast of the town, turning them away from the door, I always thought it would all blow over soon enough, and quieten down. But it never has.’

‘How many members are there now?’ asked Allegra, eating a wafer-thin slice of Scottish smoked salmon which had arrived with golden triangles of toast.

‘About five thousand.’ David smiled at her. ‘Such a relief they don’t all want to come at once!’

Allegra looked about her. The dining room was filling up a little more with dark-suited men and women in smart evening dresses. She hadn’t seen anyone of her own age yet. ‘It’s very formal, isn’t it?’

‘Of course it is, darling!’ Her uncle looked scandalised at the idea it could be anything else. ‘The rules are: jacket and tie for men, and absolutely no jeans or trainers. Anyone who’s inappropriately dressed is turned away, I don’t care who they are. No exceptions. Cocktail dresses for women – and if they arrive wearing furs, so much the better.’

Allegra laughed. Her empty plate disappeared, and a moment later her chicken arrived as her champagne was topped up. ‘It’s not much like the kind of club Miranda goes to,’ she said confidingly.

To her surprise, a look of hurt passed over David’s face. ‘Why ever not?’ he demanded. ‘She’s very welcome to come. I like pretty women in here. She could bring lots of her friends, the ones she goes skiing with. I’ve noticed they all have very good legs.’

‘She’s down at those Chelsea places – you know, the kind with three dance floors, VIP areas, cocktails in goldfish bowls with a dozen straws, dry ice and dance music.’

David shuddered. ‘How grim. Why on earth does she like those places?’

Allegra didn’t know how to explain. Colette’s was beautiful, she could see that, but it wasn’t exactly hip and groovy. Most of the people she’d seen so far were in their forties and fifties, and the atmosphere, while expensive and luxurious, was sedate and calm. David had said the dance floor would be heaving later, but she hadn’t yet seen any signs of it. Still, in nightclub terms it was still early. ‘I suppose it’s just what young people like,’ she said at last.

‘Why wouldn’t young people like this?’ her uncle demanded, and waved his hand to indicate the dining room.

‘Perhaps it’s just a little too quiet for some,’ she said soothingly. ‘But I love it! I think it’s amazing.’

‘It’s not quiet,’ he said grumpily. ‘It’ll be simply throbbing later. You’ll see.’

Later, there were more people in the club, and a few younger ones at that, although Allegra was still struck by the lack of anyone like her own friends. The young people here looked just like the old ones in their dark suits and safe evening dresses. The DJ played the latest music, and a dozen figures bopped around the starlit floor, some more in control of their movements than others. Allegra was not tempted to join them. Instead, she enjoyed observing everything from the small bar where she and David sat and talked on. She told him all about what it had been like to be sent down, her desire to do something different, and her complete lack of ideas as to what that might be.

‘Do you want to do something serious?’ he asked. ‘Study law, or medicine, or go into banking?’

‘Not really.’ Allegra shook her head. ‘I know I’ve got talents, I’m just not sure what they are yet. And I don’t want to commit myself to anything that demands three years of study without knowing if it’s what I really want.’

‘Mmm.’ David sat back and stared at her. ‘Tell me what you think of Colette’s.’

She looked about. ‘I think it’s the most glamorous place I’ve ever been. I think it’s amazingly enduring – I can hear all the echoes of the good times that have been had here. It’s timeless and gorgeous.’

‘But …’ David raised an eyebrow. ‘I can hear what your undertone is. It’s not for you.’

‘On special occasions!’ she protested. ‘I can imagine having a wonderful birthday party here, or getting engaged, or something like that. But not for every night.’

‘I see. And Xander? Do you think he would come here?’

‘Oh … well …’ Allegra thought of Xander and James Barclay and Luca and all the other rich boys, with their drugs and their drinking and womanising. ‘Perhaps. But I don’t know if you would like having them very much.’

David seemed to think about this and then frowned. ‘You know what, Allegra, I have an idea. I think it’s rather brilliant myself. It’s this: you must come and work for me. You might wonder what on earth needs doing in a club that’s just a restaurant and bar, but you’d be surprised. It takes a lot of work and organisation to keep this going. And besides that, I’m considering a little bit of expansion. And I’m not stupid. I know this place will only survive if the fashionable young things want to come here. The original members are starting to fall off their perches. Plenty of people want to join, of course, that’s not the point. Too many of them are corporate types, only wanting to wine and dine clients in impressive surroundings. I need to keep the genuine spirit of Colette’s alive: the spirit of meeting friends, good times, love and laughter. And for that I need youth. I think you could help me to do that.’

Allegra stared at him, her mouth open.

‘Well?’ he prodded. ‘What do you think?’

She blinked at him. A whole new life had suddenly opened up in front of her, entirely unexpectedly. And yet, as soon as she imagined it, she knew that it was exactly what she wanted.

‘Oh my God! I think I’d like that. I think I’d like that very much.’