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“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“You look lovely,” he said.

Despite herself, pride swelled in her chest. She knew that he’d fallen in love with her first for her beauty, and she was grateful that she could still make him stop and admire her fourteen years later.

She popped her lipstick into her handbag, closed it, and said, “I’m ready.”

He nodded and she followed him out of the bedroom into the entryway.

“Let me help you with your fur,” he said.

She turned, holding her breath as he settled her mink wrap onto her shoulders. His hands lingered for a moment. She closed her eyes, tempted to lean against him for a moment. But then he dropped his hands and straightened.

“We should leave,” he said.

She nodded, but as soon as his back was turned, she let a little smile play over her face. Perhaps all was not lost between husband and wife.

“It feels as though all of London is here!” Sylvia shouted above the din of band, dancers, and drinkers who filled the nightclub where she had decamped with Hugo, Claire, and Rupert after supper at the men’s club.

“They could be a little more discerning about their patronage,” said Claire, huffing as someone bumped into her elbow.

“Have another drink, darling. Perhaps it will improve your mood,” said Rupert as he reached for the bottle of champagne chilling next to their table.

Claire stuck out her glass without looking at her husband.

Sylvia raised a brow in Hugh’s direction, but he was watching the dancers on the increasingly crowded floor. There was something in the air that evening, and it wasn’t just the almost-manic desperation to drink and dance and generally let loose that had characterized all nights out since the Germans had started dropping bombs on London.

Sylvia and Hugo had arrived at supper and found Claire and Rupert sitting at their table in silence. Both husband and wife had nearly finished their cocktails.

“Sylvia, thank goodness you’re here,” Claire had said, rising half out of her seat to give Sylvia her cheek to kiss. The distinct scents of gin and musky rose twined around the other woman.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” she said, settling into her seat.

“Five minutes,” said Claire, as though five minutes alone with her husband was far too long.

“Claire is eager to see you both,” said Rupert, an edge to his voice.

She’d slid a glance at Hugo, but he was busy taking out his cigarette case.

“Claire?” he asked, holding the case out.

“Thank you, Hugo,” said Claire, accepting the cigarette and leaning over so he could light it. She caught Hugo’s hand to steady the flame and then let go to settle the cigarette between her long fingers. “Now, Sylvia, you must tell me everything you’ve been up to lately. I feel as though I hardly see you anymore.”

“Oh, everyone is so busy these days,” she said, again trying to catch Hugo’s eye, but her husband was already engaged in conversation with Rupert.

“Is everything all right?” she asked Claire in a low voice.

“Rupert’s just being a bit of an ass,” said Claire.

“What’s happened?” she asked.

“Apparently he’s been operating under the assumption that, while he was serving, I was going to sit at home like a nun and think about nothing but him. Ridiculous man. Anyway, we don’t need them to have an excellent evening.”

The two couples had spent most of the meal speaking husband to husband and wife to wife, but despite Sylvia’s gentle suggestion that perhaps they have an early night, everyone insisted on going dancing.

Now Sylvia was beginning to regret not being more forceful in her insistence. She really should find a way to speak to Hugo privately and suggest that carrying on with an arguing couple might not be the best idea as the night rolled on. However, before she could suggest that they dance, he said, “Claire, old thing, finish that and I’ll push you around the dance floor a bit.”

Claire gave him a look and then tipped her glass back to drain every last drop of champagne. Then she popped the glass down on the table and stuck out her hand. “If you insist.”