Percy’s shout cut through the mood of the tango, creating a tension that vibrated like a viola string. The music faded and people turned. Percy stood at the far end of the ballroom, his evening dress immaculate, dark and elegant and complete with a white jabot that frothed and creamed at his throat. His hands were behind his back and he was statue-like, one foot forward, the buckles on his shoes shining. I could see Marguarite with Bacigalupo, virtually in the position they had been as the tango bent her back and Bacigalupo lay over her, vulpine, almost salivating. She pushed at him, her eyes on Percy.