London. 1929.
Ada stepped out of the nightclub and onto the street. The air was filled with the warmth of the city in midsummer and so, despite the early hour of the morning, she felt no need to don her bolero.
Her evening had been spent, as so many of them were in the madness of youth and freedom, dancing and drinking.
That terrible war had ceased almost a decade ago; replaced by an explosion of life and love and laughter, and young women like Ada - now emancipated by parliament and the political equals to men - stood on the cusp of a new age of womanhood; fearless, indomitable, liberated.
The world - and the pleasures it offered - were hers for the taking, and she lived free and unfettered by the shame and repression suffered in former years.
Ada moved slowly down the street, a little unsteady as the champagne from the evening continued to roll and reel in her head.
Her dress, shortened to above the knees in the style of the age, hung free and easy on her body as she walked, her dancing heels clicking on the paving stones.
As she walked, she glanced up at the clear sky and a smile of association touched her lips. In an instant, the music of the nightclub came flooding back and she began to hum Crosby's 'Get Out & Get Under the Moon' to the pale, silver disc that illuminated her way.
And as she walked, she became aware of the noise behind her. It was the clicking of metal on the street; a twin to the heels of her buckled shoes.
Ada stopped briefly and turned to look. She had expected to see a fellow young woman but saw instead the well-dressed gentleman moving steadily toward her.
His face was shaded by the brim of his hat, but Ada recognised the fine cut of his evening clothes. She had danced with him in the nightclub some hours before, one of many men she'd danced with.
There, in the frenzied heat, she'd found him interesting, but swept up by the gaiety of the evening they'd danced awhile then parted ways. He'd seemed a little disappointed at the parting, but chivalrous about it and she'd seen nothing of him for the rest of the evening.
Now he walked toward her, the metal tip of his evening cane clicking on the pavement.
"Good evening, sir," said Ada cordially as he approached.
"Good morning, miss," he corrected, raising his hat and giving her a smile. "I heard you humming Crosby. Beautiful little tune, isn't it?"
She nodded silently, politeness dictating she answer the question but tiredness dissuading her from engaging in conversation.
In the nightclub she'd found him interesting but here, on the street in the early hours, the polite conversation was simply a barrier to her reaching her flat and collapsing into bed and a well-deserved rest.
"I love Crosby," smiled the man. "I know most of his records. Going home?"
Ada gave another nod. "Going home," she repeated.
"Alone?" came the question.
"Alone," came the firm repetition.
The man stood quietly for a moment. The warm summer breeze ruffled Ada's dress and she suddenly felt her nipples begin to harden beneath the thin fabric. He'd noticed them too. His eyes ran hungrily over her body for a moment, then he flicked them back to meet her firm, defiant gaze.
"May I escort you?" he asked, smiling warmly
Ada paused for a moment, then she shook her head. "No," she replied. "Thank you, but I live very close." A pause. "Goodnight."
There was another pause whilst he stole a final glance at her body, then replaced his hat. "Goodnight then," he said politely. Then he turned and walked away, whistling Crosby's 'Don't Somebody Need Somebody' as he went.
Ada watched him go and was suddenly aware that her heart had quickened during their brief meeting. Had he just wanted to escort her, or had there been another motive? Had the hour been earlier, and her mood different, she might have accepted his offer, indeed she might have tempted him into her flat once they reached it, but her body was fatigued from the dancing and her brain fogged from the drink.
She felt her pulse slow as she watched the dapper figure walk further down the street, his cane clicking rhythmically as the whistled tune echoed from the houses.
A little way along the street she turned into a side-road. It was a thin passage that ran along the back of the nearby shops; railings along one side and a hard stone wall on the other. It was unlit, and by no means an ideal thoroughfare, but was at least a quiet shortcut.
Besides, she preferred not to continue along the main street and so give the man the idea she was pursuing him.
As she neared the other end of the side-road she heard a whistle up ahead. The sound grew louder and, a few steps on, a dark figure stepped around the corner, blocking her passage.
Though silhouetted by the lamplight behind, the figure was unmistakable.
The man with the hat and cane paused a moment, then began to walk slowly toward her, his tuneful whistle now recognisable as Crosby's 'I've Got the Girl'.
Ada felt her heart jump suddenly and she slowed her pace, then stopped dead.
"Good morning again," she said defiantly as he approached. "I still don't need escorting."
The whistling came to an abrupt halt and he smiled a wolfish smile. "But you do need attending to, don't you?" he asked, his eyes running hungrily over her thin dress.
Ada felt a sudden wave of adrenalin surge through her body, prickling the skin and shaking her from the fog of the alcohol.
She made to push past him along the street, but there was a sudden rush of movement as his cane swung through the air and came to rest on the railings with a dull clang, barring her exit.
"What do you want?" she demanded.
He stepped closer, his eyes glittering beneath the shade of his hat.
