The Sugared Game - K.J. Charles Page 0,3

not exactly the usual sort of”—he mimed a tube—“but it still looks right for the fashion, only it’s right for you. Does that make sense?”

“Thank you,” Maisie said. “That was what I meant to do. It’s ridiculous to squeeze women my shape into styles that don’t suit, and I shan’t follow some absurd grapes-and-water diet to whittle myself down to a stick. You need to dress for your own body, not pretend you’ve someone else’s, don’t you think?”

“Quite right. I wouldn’t be seen dead in a flapper dress.”

Maisie cackled. “I should hope not, with your shoulders. Well, I ask you: Phoebe said the other day that frocks now would suit Kim better than me, and what does that say?”

Will had a sudden picture of Kim in a flapper dress. He’d probably wear something shimmery in purple, and it probably would look good on his tall, slender frame, for a value of ‘good’ that Will didn’t want to consider too closely. Phoebe would doubtless dress him up if he wanted, and Will felt a ridiculous pang of envy at that, because Kim and Phoebe loved each other so much that it hurt to be on the outside of it, looking in.

“It does seem a bit silly,” he said. “After all, most women have, you know.” He started to mime again and thought better of it. “Chests.”

“Exactly, so someone ought to be making dresses that don’t pretend we’re a completely different shape that doesn’t work. Sorry, I’m going on. I know you don’t care about this.”

“You listen to me talk about football.”

“Which isn’t easy, I can tell you.”

“And that’s not even my job, unlike you. Well, hats are your job—” Something clicked into place. “Wait a minute. Maisie, did you make that dress yourself?”

Maisie flushed. “It’s my own design.”

“That is cracking. Absolutely first rate. Have you shown Phoebe?”

Her cheeks darkened even more. “This is what I wanted to tell you about. I’ve been waiting to say in case it didn’t come off, but I’ve been working on ideas for a while now, and I showed her them back in December, and Will, she loved them. She gave me some notes and we’ve come up with some more designs together, and she’s going to take them to people. We’re going to. You know she was a mannequin for Worth once, and she’s friends with Lanvin—Jeanne Lanvin!—and Edward Molyneux?” She wriggled. “It’s too exciting. And she’s got marvellous ideas and knows such a lot and has such a good eye and she really thinks people would want my designs. That I could do it, that we might be able to do something together. And she asked her father, and he’s going to lend her, lend us money to start up a venture!”

“Maisie Jones!”

“I know! And of course I’m not setting my heart on it working, but—well, it’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is,” Will said. “Look at you, the newest Bright Young Person. This is wonderful.”

“Touch wood.” Maisie rapped the table. “We’ll see, but I’m so excited. And look at you, with your own business and a house and everything. We’re doing all right, aren’t we?”

“Not bad for a couple of bumpkins up from the country.” Will raised his glass again, and Maisie met it with hers. “Cheers.”

They talked her plans through as they finished their glasses and had another, then Will led her onto the dance floor. The band was as good as he’d ever heard, and they danced for a solid half hour. Will loved dancing. He found it easy to lose himself in action, focusing on nothing but the movements of his own body and that of his partner, fitting together without the need for words.

Finally, too soon, the music came to a stop and they halted in a swirl of silver and crimson. Maisie beamed up at him.

“Excuse me.” It was a woman standing next to her. “May I ask, where did you get that divine frock?”

“Maison Zie,” Maisie said immediately. “This is an early model.” She spoke in cut-glass English, disturbingly like Phoebe’s accent, with no hint of her usual Welsh lilt. Will clamped his expression into the poker face he’d learned in the army.

“Really. And where—” The other woman leaned in to ask more, her attention clearly snagged, and a couple of other ladies gathered round. Will glanced over to see the musicians taking a well-earned breather. He caught Maisie’s eye, jerked his head to indicate he was going off to find the lavatories, and received