Chapter 6
Harry wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting the entrance of the Hot Spot to look like, but she had not imagined a shabby black front door that simply bore a brass knocker and no number.
‘That’s rather the point,’ Seb murmured when she expressed her surprise as they climbed out of the cab. ‘It’s a private party, only accessible by invitation. It’s supposed to be nondescript, at least on the outside.’
He gave one short rap on the door knocker and stood back expectantly.
Beside him, Beth merely shrugged, as though she attended illicit bottle parties in Soho every night of the week.
She certainly looked the part, Harry thought, feeling alarmingly drab in comparison.
Her dress was long, a flash of azure-blue satin peeping from beneath the sumptuous, almost floor-length coat wrapped over the top.
She had not seemed the least disappointed when Harry confessed she did not own a fur stole to complete the look.
Her dark hair was fastened into a sleek bun at the nape of her neck, coaxed into fashionable waves that framed her neat features and transformed her into an elegant reinvention of a bright young thing, the thrilling group who had ruled London’s nightclub scene for most of the previous decade.
And she had managed to buy everything she needed at a fraction of the money it would have cost at Selfridges.
‘I drive a hard bargain,’ she’d explained over tea in Harry’s apartment, when Harry had exclaimed over the amount she’d tried to return to her.
‘Then you earned it,’ Harry said, shaking her head in astonishment. ‘Consider whatever is left as payment for this evening.’
Seb was quite taken with her too, beaming with approval when Harry introduced him to her friend Lizzie in the taxi cab. ‘What an utter delight to meet you, Miss Devine. I can tell you are exactly the kind of friend my sister needs to rescue her from self-imposed spinsterhood.’
Beth smiled, her cheeks dimpling as she dipped her head. ‘Charmed, I’m sure.’
Deciding as they dressed that it would be too risky for Beth to attempt to disguise her Cockney accent, they had invented a wealthy merchant father who indulged his daughter’s ambitions of rising above her East End roots.
They kept the details of how and where the two of them had met vague – at some get-together or another would suffice – and agreed that admitting to a loose connection would allow Beth to drift away as the night wore on, the better to undertake her mission.
Thankfully, it appeared Seb was too captivated by Beth’s appearance to question the likelihood of his sister making such an acquaintance.
Gerrard Street was in the heart of Soho, an area of such wild reputation that Harry had not felt the need to visit.
She took the opportunity to gaze curiously around as they waited for the door to be opened, taking in the crowd spilling from the pub on one corner and resisting the temptation to tap her foot to the music floating above the laughter and chatter on the frosty air.
It was not yet ten o’clock, perhaps too early for the wildest behaviour to manifest itself, but she could only see people enjoying themselves.
It seemed to her that rumours of Soho’s debauchery were greatly exaggerated.
‘Ah,’ Seb said, turning an expectant look towards the door at the sound of bolts being drawn back. ‘Open sesame.’
The door was pulled back enough for a sharp-faced, diminutive woman to peer out at them. She looked them up and down in turn, showing no sign of recognition as her scowl travelled over Seb. He smiled in return. ‘How are you this evening, Nell? You look as radiant as ever.’
The woman was unmoved by his honeyed tone. ‘Names?’ she snapped.
Seb remained unperturbed. ‘Samuel Black, Hortensia Croft and the esteemed Laura Doone.’
Harry did not dare glance at Beth as he pronounced the unfamiliar names.
Nell made a show of consulting a dog-eared notebook, somehow managing to eye them with disfavour at the same time.
After a moment, she let out a grunt of satisfaction and opened the door wide enough to allow them inside, slamming the bolts home as though shutting out a pack of crazed wolves.
The hallway beyond the door was narrow and badly lit.
One yellowed bulb hung from the ceiling, revealing peeling wallpaper and a threadbare carpet that led to a single staircase at the far end.
It was not the most welcoming of entrances and Harry could only hope the club beyond was better furnished.
‘Sign here,’ Nell demanded, pointing to another book, this one on a small table behind the door.
Seb bent to scribble carelessly on the page, then handed the pen to Harry.
She squinted down at the writing, locating the name Seb had given for her and saw that the neighbouring column detailed an order for a bottle of champagne.
Trying to look natural, she jiggled the pen to create a perfectly illegible signature.
Beth followed suit and placed the pen on the paper.
Beside them, Seb peeled off three pound notes and handed them to Nell, who took them without smiling.
‘Up the stairs,’ Nell said, jerking her head towards the end of the hallway. ‘Ask for Albert.’
Seb made a little bow. ‘Always a pleasure, Nell.’
Harry thought she saw a faint softening around the woman’s eyes. ‘Don’t know what you mean, Mr Black. We never met before tonight.’
Harry waited until they had reached the bottom of the rickety staircase before turning to her brother. ‘Hortensia Croft?’
He gave a sage nod. ‘First rule of bottle parties, Sis. Never give your real name on the paperwork.’
She saw Beth suppress a smile. ‘I’ll be sure to remember that.’
The door at the top of the stairs was every bit as nondescript as the one facing the street.
Seb rapped on it with his knuckles and they waited again, although Harry could now feel the vibration of an insistent beat through the barely covered floorboards.
After the scrape of more bolts being drawn back, this door opened to reveal a heavy gorilla of a man who stared out at them without any discernible expression. ‘Yeah?’
‘Hello, Pierre,’ Seb replied pleasantly, raising his voice to be heard over the music that was now thumping from beyond the man. ‘We’re here to see Albert.’
‘Names?’
With a patience that was evidently born of experience, Seb repeated the false names he had given Nell at the front door. Pierre ran a thick finger down the list he held and nodded. ‘Welcome to the Hot Spot. Albert will be delighted you’re joining him this evening.’
They stepped past him into another corridor, much shorter than the entrance hall below.
This one also ended in a door, but it was swept open as they approached.
A blast of frantic jazz hit them, the wail of trumpets mingling with the heavy thud of the beat and sibilant hiss of the brush on snare.
Accompanying it was a torrid swirl of heat, the foetid air laced with a heady haze of smoke and alcohol fumes that swarmed over them with the fury of a sandstorm.
But it was the scene expanding before them that really took Harry’s breath away.
What looked like the entire upper floor had been opened into one enormous room.
The band occupied a small raised dais along the furthest wall, with a dance floor in front that was filled with moving bodies.
White-clothed tables were dotted at regular intervals, surrounded by chairs.
Elsewhere, Harry saw armchairs and settees, grouped around low tables.
All were lit by crimson-shaded lamps that painted everything a deep, unsettling red.
It put Harry in mind of Dante’s Inferno, which described a journey through Hell.
She shook the thought away. Really, what had she expected?
As they reached the threshold, a dark-haired man dressed in an immaculate cream suit stepped into their path, his arms thrown wide in exuberant welcome. ‘Mr Black, it is so good to see you!’
Seb’s mouth quirked. ‘Albert, I presume?’
‘The very same!’ the man cried, his luxurious black moustache quivering as he waved them through the door. ‘It’s an honour to welcome you to my humble abode.’
Harry heard Beth snort. ‘If this is his home, I’m the Queen of Sheba.’
Albert turned his smile upon her and widened it to include Harry. ‘But where are my manners? Which of you is Miss Croft and which is Miss Doone?’
Beth surprised Harry by stepping forward, her hand outstretched. ‘Lizzie Devine. Pleased to make your acquaintance.’
Albert let out a gurgle of delight as he took her hand. ‘The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.’ He eyed Harry with undisguised amusement, giving her the distinct impression he knew not only her real name, but her relationship to Seb too. ‘And what may I call you this evening, dear lady?’
She sighed. ‘Would you believe me if I said Hortensia?’
His laughter was a shout. ‘Here you can be whomever you choose and someone entirely different tomorrow.’ He leaned towards her confidingly. ‘Tonight, we shall be Albert and Hortensia, yet with the dawn, we may shake off those names like serpents shedding their skins.’
Harry blinked. ‘Well… quite.’
And then Seb was there, tucking her hand under his arm. ‘Will you show us to our table? I suspect darling Hortensia is in need of a drink. The heat, you understand.’
‘Of course,’ Albert said, with a small bow.