She climbed up on to a stool, while Ken stood at her side.
The barman served two martinis, and then moved away to serve a tall negro who had just come in.
Ken looked at the negro curiously.
He was a massive man, standing about six foot four, with shoulders that looked as wide as a barn door. His head was closely shaved, and he had a crinkled scar that began just under his right eye and went down in small puckers to his mouth.
He wore a lavender-coloured velveteen jacket, black trousers, a white nylon shirt and a mauve bow tie. A big diamond glittered in the centre of his shirt and flashed every time he moved.
“Hello, Sam,” Fay said, lifting her hand and wriggling her fingers at the negro.
He gave a slow, expansive smile, revealing a mouthful of big, gold-capped teeth.
“Enjoy yourself, honey,” he said in a deep, rich voice.
His black eyes dwelt on Ken for a brief moment, and then he gave him a little nod. He carried his drink across the room and sat down beside a thin mulatto girl in a low-cut green evening dress who was smoking a cigarette in a foot-long holder. She caught Fay’s eye and waved.
“That’s Sam Darcy,” Fay told Ken. “He owns this joint. He gave me my first break. He’s a swell guy. That’s Claudette, his wife.”