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wearing concrete booties in the Thames.’
    Alfred went pale. ‘Fuck, I had no idea, she swore I was her first and only lover. I was crazy in love with her. But thanks for tipping me off. Have a Merry Christmas, Mr Blade.’
    â€˜Ditto, Alfred. Keep your chin up. Believe me, you can do better than Miss Gottfried.’
    Jim glanced at Cat but she was distracted by a tray of warm party pies going past. He unloaded four from the tray and took the opportunity to confiscate her brandy eggnog. A pair of canoodling young lovers had blocked Cat’s view of the proceedings, so Jim hoisted her up onto his shoulders. She made no protest about the eggnog and became absorbed in watching a pair of heavily rouged adolescent girls nudge an obese Texan oil tycoon up the stairs. Everyone watched his ascent with bated breath but nobody cheered when he reached the top. Jim’s shoulders sagged.
    Then a gleaming black limousine appeared from nowhere and when the doorman dramatically swung open the rear door, an elegant leg in a silver shoe appeared. The crowd strained forward, trying to see who was emerging. It was none other than the famed Italian opera singer Miss Sabina Quattrocelli. The crowd murmured appreciatively. Miss Quattrocelli was dressed in a sinuous silk sheath that paid tribute to her magnificent voluptuous figure. Slipping off her powdered shoulders was a sleek black fur stole, the exact same lustre as her hair. She was accompanied by two handsome British tenors, groomed and polished to perfection.
    The tenors gently grasped Miss Quattrocelli’s elbows and virtually carried her across the red carpet that extended from the gutter and up the stairs. Bringing up the rear was her latest lover, a well-known British theatre impresario, decked out in a tailored black dinner jacket, white evening tie, silk top hat and white gloves. And tucked securely under his arm was Miss Quattrocelli’s nervy chihuahua. The crowd tittered and even the snogging young couple came up for air to ogle the bulging eyes of the trembling dog.
    All four artistes lingered under the coloured Christmas lights, signing autographs and graciously acknowledging their audience, while the chihuahua shivered.
    It was the night before Christmas and all was well at the Hotel du Barry.

5
Bad to the Bone
    Daniel took Cat aside. He gently smoothed her unruly hair back from her face. ‘There’s something I need to tell you. Even though I think you know anyway. I adopted you when you were a tiny baby.’
    Cat grinned. ‘Daniel, I found out years ago. I just figured it was better to pretend I didn’t know. Sort of like when I found out about Santa Claus but kept right on pretending I was asleep, when you and Mary were crashing around my bedroom trying to fill up my stocking in the dark.’
    Daniel kissed her. ‘Cheeky. But I get your point. But do you really know just how much you mean to me?’
    â€˜Yes and I’m so glad it was you who got me. And not someone else.’
    Cat adored Daniel with the fierce devotion only female children can give their fathers. She’d heard all the salacious rumours about him but effortlessly shrugged them off.
    At the end of a long working day, when Daniel had finished debriefing his hotel managers, he liked to sit with his daughter and read her stories. When she was younger he’d read her fairy stories, but these were soon neglected in favour of Lord Byron’s verses and worldly tales of travel and misadventure. Cat soon started readingbooks on her own and Charles Dickens gave way to Henry Fielding’s tales of wanton women and virile men. While reading The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling, Cat realised that fairy tales were like her dreams, in that they carried secret hidden messages that would ease her transition into the world of grown-ups. She hoped that one day she’d find her own Tom Jones; a young man so worldly and devious that he could match her own untested