She remembered looking up into the eyes of Eros and feeling the shoulders of tourists and theatregoers jostling for position to capture his statue in Piccadilly in all its glory. Love and arrows and digital cameras and camera phones, and the waft of steam from the illegal fast food trolleys, she could picture all of that too. What she did not remember was ever having a membership at Century, the private club and restaurant halfway up Shaftesbury Avenue. The receptionist, a flighty, silly girl from Watford, recalled hearing the intercom buzzing and looking into the security camera and seeing a person she knew to be a member, and unlocking the door, remotely. The footage from the security camera later showed that the young woman who was admitted was not a member at all, just a random strange
