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detective in Paris, I recently change my job and work on prostitution, drugs, that kind of thing.’
    ‘This is a set-up?’
    Poppy half-rose and looked wildly around her, expecting uniformed officers with handcuffs to emerge from all corners of the room.
    Bruno put his hand on her forearm, drawing her back down.
    ‘Calm,’ he said. ‘You are not in trouble. Not at all. Don’t worry.’
    Poppy sat back down, but she couldn’t shake a strange sensation of being under arrest and bound to answer all interrogations.
    ‘It’s legal. I pay tax,’ she said.
    ‘OK, it’s OK, I know. I don’t say you are doing anything wrong. I am here for study. There are links between gangs in Paris and London. I am getting an idea of them, you know? A feel, you say.’
    ‘Gangs? There’s no criminal stuff going on at the club.’
    Bruno gave her a long look.
    ‘You believe that. But your whole club is a front for drugs and prostitution. It is used to launder money.’
    ‘No!’
    ‘Oh, Poppy, of course it is. My God. How old are you?’
    ‘Nineteen.’
    ‘Nineteen. I have a daughter, four years younger than you.’
    ‘You’re married?’
    ‘Divorced. This job, you know.’ He waved his hand, his face darkening.
    ‘I’m sorry. So what were you doing in the club? Investigating? Are you trying to catch somebody?’
    ‘No, not at all. Like I say, it is study. Research.’
    ‘And you came to me just because you wanted to question me?’
    ‘I’m afraid you think I am using you?’ Bruno laughed. ‘If a man wants to hit you or fuck you for money, that is fine, but if he wants to talk to you, that is very bad. You don’t think this is strange, Poppy?’
    ‘I don’t know. It is a bit, I suppose,’ she said, still feeling as if the cuffs were upon her.
    ‘Who is in charge of the club?’ he asked.
    ‘I don’t want to tell you, now.’
    ‘I can find out very easily,’ he said with a shrug.
    ‘She’s called Allyson. Allyson Bruce.’
    ‘She hired you?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And you really, absolutely truthfully, like working there?’
    ‘The money’s good. I’m a student, so I always need money. And it’s not exactly hard work.’
    ‘I would find it hard.’
    ‘You aren’t, you know, into that kind of thing.’ Poppy looked away, flushed. She suddenly felt very old and it wasn’t a good feeling.
    ‘If you were my daughter …’ he said.
    ‘I’m not. It’s my life. My decision.’
    ‘I wish I could take you away from it.’
    Poppy was trying to devise a coherent response to this when two people came and sat down at the table opposite them.
    One was Emma from the club, the other a gentleman Poppy recognised as the theatre critic, Peregrine Sands.
    ‘Poppy,’ said Emma, glancing at Bruno with a trace of steel in her eye. ‘Is this a friend of yours? Would you like to introduce us?’
    ‘This is Bruno,’ said Poppy, a sinking sensation of impending doom settling upon her stomach.
    ‘Hello, Bruno. I’m Emma and this is Mr Sands. How do you two know each other, then?’
    ‘We met in the club. It’s OK,’ blurted Poppy. ‘I know it’s allowed.’
    ‘Yeah, it’s allowed,’ said Emma. ‘But it’s your first night, love. It’s her first night,’ she said again, for the benefit of Bruno. ‘She’s new. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.’
    ‘Bruno isn’t a punt—’ opened Poppy, but a kick on the ankle from Bruno silenced her.
    ‘That is up to Poppy, I think,’ he said, accepting a peanut from the packet Emma proffered. ‘If she wants to be friendly to me, that is up to her.’
    ‘You don’t have to, Poppy,’ said Emma. ‘But if you’re hellbent on it, how about we make it a foursome?’
    Sands coughed. ‘Actually, Emma, I’m meeting Caroline for a late supper. I don’t have to worry about marking
her
. But thank you for the rather titillating idea. Who needs theatre when one’s life is so rich with dramatic colour?’
    He rose and left.
    ‘I’m sorry, Poppy,’ said Emma, once he had