He shrugged. 'Artistic licence. It sells newspapers and thats something The London Pictorial needs at the moment. Our investors are nervous. He delved into a pocket and brought out a notebook, flicking it open to a blot-marked page covered in fingerprints and scribbles. I couldnt make sense of them it wasnt English. And nor, according to Lucca, was the single word written on the paper in my bag.

I wondered if he was right. Wed find out one way or another later today. I glanced down to the side of the desk. I could see the crisp creamy paper poking out through the metal clasp of the fabric pouch. Just before Sams unexpected arrival Id flattened the thick page out on the desk and stared at the odd letters.

'Whats that then? I pointed at the squiggles in the notebook.

'Pitman. I taught myself. Sam turned the notebook round and pushed it across the leather work top so I could see it clear.

'Its the fastest way to write with accuracy. Its phonetic.

I looked up.

'It means sound, Kitty these symbols reduce whole words to dashes that represent distinct sounds. I can note conversations at speed without missing a word.

I stared doubtfully at the marks on the paper. 'You might be able to get it all down, but can you read it back afterwards? Its just scribble and your grubby thumb marks cover half of it.

'Is that a challenge? Sam clapped his hands and rubbed them together. 'O, ye of little faith. Here, Ill show you. Choose any page you like and Ill read it aloud to you.

I folded my arms. 'And whos to say youre not just making it up?

He smiled. 'Because I will read the same page back to you a dozen times and each time it will be word perfect. If I had the talent to remember so many lines I rather think Id be performing on one of your stages, Kitty, instead of scratching a living as a scribe, dont you?

There! He dropped it in, casual as a tom cat sunning itself on a yard roof, all the while keeping watch for a sparrow.

One of your stages.

I sat back. 'What have you heard, Sam?

He twitched back his brown fringe and spread his hands wide. 'This and that. Gossip mainly I have my contacts, as you know. Id rather hear it from you, though. Our readers will be most intrigued to hear that their favourite songbird has slipped from the confines of her gilded cage to take up a new . . . perch.

I raised an eyebrow. 'Youve written that bit already, havent you? I recognise your style.

'Do you? He grinned broadly. 'Thats very flattering. I never thought of myself as a stylist, but now you mention it- 'Stop it, Sam! I was angry now. 'You havent come here to make chit-chat, youve come here for a story. Youve heard about me taking on the halls and its true The Gaudy, The Carnival and The Comet whats left of it are mine now. Im in charge.

I paused, wondering how much more he knew.

'But dont you see, this is excellent news! He reached across the desk for his notebook, brushing the handle of the tea cup with his jacket sleeve. It skittered across the wood and fell to the India rug leaking a pool of gritty tea leaves to form a new pattern among the threads.

'No harm done. He snatched it up and replaced it on the saucer.

Flicking to a clear page in the notebook, he produced a pencil from his pocket. The words came rattling out. 'Now, what I need from you, Kitty, is some background detail. Perhaps you might have some ideas for the future youd like to share with our readers. Are you, perhaps, working in secret on a thrilling new act? Will you ever perform again? Remember this is all good publicity. It will bring in the punters, I promise. The ceiling over at The Comet wont mend itself.

He licked the end of the pencil and stared across the desk, his eyes alert and suddenly quite hard. 'Lets start with how it came about, shall we? Why are you in charge?

I thought about what readers of The London Pictorial News would like to hear and I gave it to them.

The previous proprietor, I told Sam, had been impressed by my courage up there in the cage night after night. When circumstances of health meant they could no longer play a part in the running of the three halls, their thoughts turned to a successor.

'There was no family to pass it on to, I lied. 'But they liked what theyd seen and thought I was just the girl who could take on a challenge. So now, here I am.

Sam nodded. 'Its almost like something from a fairy tale, wouldnt you say, Kitty?

'Is that what you want me to say, Sam?

He looked up and grinned. 'That would be a very good line to add. The readers will lap it up.

I raised my eyes to the smoke stain on the ceiling and sighed. 'Scribble it down then.

He was right in a way, but it wasnt the sort of story youd read to a child at night. Id found Joey again, just like the girl who followed a trail of breadcrumbs through that wood, but it looked like Id found something else there too.

'And Mr Fitzpatrick who used to be here, I understand hes moved on? Sam licked the end of his pencil again. I heard the squeak of lead as his hand flew across the page.

'Hes still working for me. Hes got an office at The Comet. When we fix it up Ive a mind to install him there on a permanent footing as chairman. For all his faults he knows his way round the halls. And the punters respect him. You need a bit of beef to keep order in this line of work.

'And how does he feel about the, ah . . . new arrangement?

'Lets just say . . . its nothing I cant deal with. But I dont want you writing that its just between you and me, right?

Sam nodded, turned the page and paused. 'Tell me honestly and this also is just between us not for public consumption your predecessor must have been very . . . impressed by you, Kitty. Did you have to . . . That is to say, was part of the . . . deal something more . . .?

I was sharp. 'There were no personal favours involved if thats what youre driving at, Sam Collins. What do you take me for?

He put the notebook and pencil down on the desk. 'No, please . . . I dont . . . I didnt think. I just . . .

He flicked back his hair and stared at me. 'Forgive me. It was a crass question. I happen to know that your benefactor was a woman . . .

Of an instant it slotted into place. I didnt know whether to laugh or throw him out.

'So you took me for a Tom? You wondered if Id bought my place here through a womans bed. Is that it?

Sam flicked at the edges of his notebook. I could tell he was embarrassed so I let him stew.

When he finally spoke he didnt look at me. 'I know that in the theatres such things are common. People turn a blind eye. Lucca and you its a front, isnt it? You appear to be a couple, but I know he is . . . his interests lie elsewhere. He looked up from his notebook now and stared across the desk. Hed taken on the look of a whipped puppy.

'Look, I know its none of my business, but I am right, arent I?

I laughed, I couldnt help myself. On the one hand Peggy thought me and Lucca were a regular pairing, and on the other Sam Collins thought us a most irregular couple.

'Youre right about one thing at least its none of your business. But as youre a gentleman of the press you might as well hear it straight to stop any rumours flying about. No, Im not a Tom and you can take that down in your Pitman and shove it.

I was surprised at what happened next. Sam reached across the table and caught my hand in his.

'Im so very glad to hear that, Kitty. You have no idea how . . . He stopped himself and released me. Taking up his book again he opened it at the notes hed been taking during our conversation. I recognised the thumb mark at the top of the page.

'No idea what, Sam?

He smoothed the paper and took up the pencil. 'I merely meant to say . . . you have no idea how these rumours can spread and the effect they can have on a business. He swallowed. 'I will endeavour to make the situation very clear whenever I hear gossip about you.

Something became very clear to me just then. He was sweet on me, I was certain of it.

Now, heres a thing. It wasnt Sams feelings I thought about just then, it was mine. Of an instant David Lennoxs dark face sidled into my mind. How would it be, I wondered, if he was sitting there in front of me now making a sort of declaration? Would the skin of my hand prickle where hed just touched it? Would he look at me with his fine green eyes and lean across the table to stroke my face with his long fingers?

Of a rule, Im not one to daydream, but it would have been sorely easy to carry that one along.

I dug my nails into my palms. It was ridiculous. Get a grip on yourself, girl, I thought.

I looked at Sams straggly fringe as he bent over his notebook and I thought about fetching my workbox, taking out my scissors and giving it a neat trim by way of a peace offering.

We sat there in uncomfortable silence. From the hall outside I heard the sound of voices and a couple of seconds later there was singing. I nodded at the door and started to speak, but the words came tumbling out too fast.

'Its the new routine. "The Sailor in Peril", you should go out and see it give it a write up for us in The London Pictorial. Ive been running through it with them this morning and weve made a couple of changes to sharpen it up. Its fresh. The punters will go mad for it all them girls dancing barefoot. And its funny too its not the sea hes got to contend with, its his wives. All of them furious and all of them waiting for him to come ashore.

Sam grinned. 'Poor chap. I wouldnt want to do battle with an angry fish wife. Ill mention it in my article about you. Do you want me to read it all back to prove I can read my scrawl?

I shook my head and snatched the notebook from his hands.

'Thats too easy! Anyone could remember what Ive just told you word for word. Ill choose and you can read it to me twice. Ill know if there are any changes. I flicked through pages dense with curling symbols searching for a particularly complicated section of Sams coded scrawl. They all looked the same, except just occasionally a proper word, written in English, stood out.

Of a sudden I stopped. I recognised a single word printed neatly (for Sam) halfway down.

'Whats this? I pointed at the letters. Sam took the notebook from my hands and scanned the page.

'Sometimes I write a word in full if its unfamiliar or foreign. Pitman isnt foolproof, you know.

'Youre not a fool, Sam, whatever else you might be.

He glanced up. 'Do I detect a compliment? He frowned. 'Youre very pale, Kitty, and thinner than last time we met. I noticed that when I came in. Is everything . . . all right?

I fiddled with the ball of hair at the back of my head, pressing the pins deeper to hold it in place. 'Im fine. Why wouldnt I be? Now, are you going to show me your party piece or not? Read that page. I pointed at the notebook.

Sam looked down. 'Ah this was at the end of last week. I talked to a representative of The Ballet Moika. Apparently Moscow and Paris are too small for them now, they wish to conquer new worlds. Have you heard of them?

I nodded. It was the word Moika that caught my eye.

'Go on then.

Sam ran his finger down the page. 'I was talking to a man called Misha Raskalov. Hes come over to look at possible venues. They are very particular about the places where they perform.

Misha?

Sam looked up and smiled. 'Im afraid The Gaudy, The Carnival and not even The Comet, before you brought the house down, would be considered good enough for the illustrious Ballet Moika.

I shifted forward. 'This Misha you spoke to him here in London?

'Of course. We arranged to meet outside The Opera House, Covent Garden. He had a parlez there with the management. Then I took him to The Nell Gwynne, but he didnt seem to like it a great deal. He asked for champagne, Kitty. Can you imagine the cheek of it? Of course I paid up. It will be something for The London Pictorial to have the news first. They were said to be a sensation in Paris. All the same it was very expensive.

'Did he speak English, only I dont reckon your Russian- 'He told me he speaks six languages fluently Russian, obviously, French, German, English, Spanish and Italian.

I tapped the page. 'So what did he say, then?

Sam looked down and started to trace the pencil marks with his index finger. He cleared his throat. 'Mr Raskalov said, in quite impeccable English: "Only the finest dancers and musicians are admitted to our ranks. We enjoy the patronage of the Imperial Family and are fortunate to consider ourselves to be the most favoured of all the great Russian companies. Paris has been good to us, but now it is time to perform to new audiences. We wish to bring the brilliance of The Ballet Moika to London in the summer so that its citizens may be dazzled by our artistry. I assure you, it will be like a new dawn for your capital. When your people see us, they will shield their eyes and then they will faint with pleasure and amazement. Even the jewels of your queen will seem dull in comparison. Truly the English have never seen such majesty, we are extraordinary. Your city will be blessed by our presence."

Sam paused and winked at me. 'He wasnt exactly modest, I must say. Im going to have to tone a lot of this down for the readers or theyll turn up armed with rotten fruit and worse. Do you want me to continue?

I cocked my head and tried to make out where he was on the page. 'Is there much more?

'No a couple more paragraphs in very much the same vein, then a bit about someone called Ilya Vershinin, who, according to Misha just here, Sam pointed at a couple of squiggles, '"is the most remarkable performer of our age. He inhabits the spirit of any character he plays. His mastery of physical transition has been compared to a kind of magic. Ilya Vershinin dances like a god, leaping so high he could pluck down the stars."

I thought of Joey hed said much the same thing about Ilya, hadnt he?

Sam flicked over the page. 'Lovely bit of hyperbole there. I cant use it. And then theres some detail about dates and possible venues. Between you and me, I dont think the meeting at the opera went that well. Humility is a virtue in London, but not, it seems, in Moscow or Paris.

He leaned back and the chair cracked again. 'So, do you want me to read that back to you to prove I can do it?

I shook my head. 'No, I couldnt sit through it again. Misha Raskalov what did he look like?

Sam raised an eyebrow. 'Ah intrigued by the thought of a wild Russian, are we?

I pursed my lips. 'And not two minutes ago, Sam Collins, you reckoned I was a Tom. No, Im professionally interested, thats all. It doesnt do any harm to hear about the competition out there. You saw him last week?

'On Friday, but he told me hed been in London researching for almost two weeks now.

Two weeks? I clasped my hands together under the desk out of Sams view. Luccas Misha it had to be him, didnt it? must have arrived in London only a few days after we came back from Paris.

If I had any doubts on the matter, Sams next words wiped them clear.

'Hes quite a striking fellow tall, piercing blue eyes, very blond. Most particular about his dress. And the smell of him he was soused in something. All very continental no doubt. When we cut along to The Nelly together I noticed several ladies turn their heads. But to be perfectly frank, Kitty . . . he leaned forward conspiratorially, 'I think Lucca would be more to his tastes, if you follow me.

You dont know the half of it, Sam Collins, I thought.

There was a light rap on the door. Right on cue Lucca stepped into the office.

Sam jerked back like hed been caught dipping a pocket. He sprang up and offered his hand.

'Mr Fratelli, Lucca, good to see you. He shot a guilty look at me as he pumped Luccas arm a little too enthusiastically. 'Actually, weve just been talking about you, havent we, Kitty?

I stood up. 'I was saying that it was time for Mr Collins here to go because you and I have an appointment. You ready then, Lucca?

He nodded. 'S, but it is raining again. We will need an umbrella even if we take a hack. The streets outside are like rivers. Its the drains again. You might need to take a look at the cellars here.

'Ill get Fitzy on it. He likes to wallow in filth. I reached for my bag and pushed the letter down inside before snapping the clasp shut. Lucca took my coat from the hook on the back of the office door and passed it to me. As I pushed my arms into the sleeves I wondered how to tell him about Misha.

I glanced over he was looking at the open notebook on the desk.

'Another story for The London Pictorial, Fannella?

Sam swiped up the notebook and shoved it back into his jacket pocket. He grinned awkwardly and jerked his fringe back from his eyes. 'Ill make sure you and your halls get a good showing, Kitty. Its a fine story rags to riches and all that. A just reward for a plucky young woman. "Songbird Spreads Her Wings!" There thats my title! The readers will like it.