Hermione was obviously besotted with him and when he had rung to suggest an evening at the Four Hundred she had responded with embarrassing enthusiasm. ‘But not the Four Hundred. That’s frightfully old-fashioned now. The place to go is the Cocoanut Grove – you know, in Regent Street.’ Hermione sounded brittle and over-eager but, as he reminded himself, the telephone strangled the voice so maybe it was just her excitement.Edward’s worst fears were realized at ten o’clock that evening after dinner at the Savoy, when he escorted Hermione to the Cocoanut Grove, a jungle in more ways than one. They descended a narrow staircase, a fire hazard if ever he had seen one, to a gigantic dance room got up like some film producer’s vision of King Kong’s natural habitat. Pillars sprouted green fronds and the walls were adorned with fanciful paintings of tropical islands, volcanoes and palm trees. In one corner of the room there was a large glass tank filled with water in which a few depressed-looking fish swum round and round as if they knew they ought not to be there.
