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courtier’s—topped off with a black-leather coat. He’d clearly worn what he felt like, in the way that people do when they have nothing to prove.
    I found myself watching as he crossed the room. He seemed to know everyone in the place. He stopped to talk to people at a few tables, before sliding into one of the booths in the VIP section. It was clearly one of the best seats in the house, and I guessed it had been reserved for him.
    â€œAnd who’s that?” I nodded in his direction, and Jas followed my gaze.
    â€œThat’s Alexander Noble. His family own this place.”
    The revelation floored me for a moment. And then suddenly it fell into place—the way he’d spoken about Duncan Noble, calling him “the old man.” It hadn’t even occurred to me at the time that he might have been referring to his father.
    But then, having met preppy Giles, I’d never have guessedthat Alexander was his brother.
    â€œSo that’s Giles’s brother?” I said, just to confirm I’d understood correctly.
    â€œYep. Alex is a couple of years younger—twenty-two, I think. He’s also nothing like Giles. Alex is a total player. He’s here most nights, surrounded by adoring girls. Gets one of the best tables in the place and blows a fortune on champagne.”
    I looked back at Alexander Noble. He certainly didn’t look like his older brother, either—if Giles had stepped out of a Ralph Lauren catalogue, then Alex was more Guess or Diesel. Right now, he was sprawled across the banquette, looking bored. There were three people in the booth—a tawny-haired man with a baby face and ruddy cheeks, and two expensive-looking blondes.
    â€œWho’s that with him?” I asked, hating myself for being interested.
    â€œLondon’s bluebloods,” Jas said, tossing her hair in a theatrical gesture. I raised an eyebrow, looking for a fuller explanation. “You know the type. They’ve all grown up in Kensington or Chelsea, with wealthy parents, and gone to the same schools and ski resorts, and now they hang out in the same clubs.”
    â€œBut it’s a weekday. Don’t they have jobs?”
    She laughed. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t seem to stop them.”
    I looked at her, waiting for a fuller answer.
    She sighed. “The girls tend to work in PR or art galleries or fashion. They’re employed for their contacts, so no one cares if they turn up bleary-eyed. The guys who work in finance just do a line as a pick-me-up. And then there’s the trust-fund kids, like Alex Noble. The likes of him don’t need to work.”
    Her answer had just intrigued me more. But before I could pursue the conversation any further, raven-haired Mel materialised in front of us.
    â€œIs there a problem here, girls?” Neither of us said anything. “I thought not. So why don’t you do a little less talking and a bit more work. After all, those glasses aren’t going to collect themselves.”
    * * *
    The rest of the night passed quickly enough. Just before closing time, I was walking by the bar, when a loud, drunken banker stumbled off a bar stool and managed to spill beer all down my tunic.
    Jas wrinkled her nose as she examined the damage. “That stinks. You’d better go and change. You’ll find a spare top in your locker.”
    I hurried to the staff changing room. I hadn’t expected anyone to be there, so I was already pulling my tunic up as I walked in, looking to save time.
    â€œDon’t mind me,” an amused male voice said.
    Ihastily pulled my top back down, and drew up short as I saw Alexander Noble before me. He was sitting astride the bench that dissected the room, looking like he’d stepped out of a photo shoot with his perfectly symmetrical bone structure and mussed-up black hair.
    I wondered for a second what he was doing there. Then, as if to answer my question, he bent over, his