The Sugared Game - K.J. Charles Page 0,30

in and kissed him, putting a gentle hand to his face. “Look, this part is all right, isn’t it? You and me, here, door locked—that works, even if it’s a mess outside.”

“I don’t want to bring the mess in,” Kim said, a little stifled.

“Then don’t.” Will shifted so they lay together, squashed on the sofa, his arm tight round the slim shoulders. Kim leaned into him, hiding his face, and Will stroked his fine hair with the quiet compulsion he’d feel for a cat on his lap. His heart was painfully tender in his breast.

All his tangles were tugging tighter, and he couldn’t blame anyone but himself.

Chapter Seven

Will arrived at the High-Low Club around half past nine on Saturday. The band was in full swing. A waiter escorted him to a side table and brought him a pint of beer with the resigned expression of one who didn’t expect much of a tip, and Will sipped it as he looked casually around. Mrs. Skyrme’s office was lit. As he watched, someone moved between a lamp and the blind, casting a momentary shadow on the slats.

It only took a few moments for one of the club’s hostesses to say hello, an over-painted young woman with weary eyes. She introduced herself as Cynthia, paid him a couple of insincere compliments, took him for a dance, and then plunged into the subject that was really on her mind: where his lady friend from last time got that beautiful dress. Will dredged up everything he could remember about the subject of fashion, ordered a bottle of champagne with an internal wince at the cost, assured Cynthia it was fine for her friend Doris to join them, and managed to play his part in an animated conversation, interspersed with more dances.

He was pretty sure this was how men were meant to behave in night-clubs: flirting with women who were being paid to do it, splashing his cash. He felt like a bloody idiot, but at least he had something to think about that wasn’t Kim.

He danced, drank champagne, and chatted to the girls. There was no sign of Mrs. Skyrme or Fuller. Beaumont was moving around a set of tables on the other side of the dance floor; Will tried not to look at him. He just kept a smile on his face and let the clock tick.

He and Doris returned to the table together after an energetic foxtrot. They sat, and Will poured out the last of the bottle.

“Shall I order more?” Doris said, unsurprisingly. Doubtless she got a cut; quite possibly her job depended on sales. Mrs. Skyrme would make a lot of her legitimate profits this way.

Will made a unilateral decision that Kim would be paying him back for this one. “Go on, then.”

She gave him a wide professional smile. “You’re a gent. Here, Bob!”

Will handed over the notes without obvious wincing, and glanced at his watch. It was five past ten; he had ten minutes before Phoebe’s arrival.

“Tell me about yourself,” he suggested to Doris.

“What, me? Nothing to tell.”

“How’d you get into this line of work?”

Doris bridled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Look, I don’t mind,” Will said. “You’re great girls and I’m having a good time with you. I wanted a drink and a dance with someone pretty and I’ve got double what I bargained for.” Cynthia giggled, but Doris’s eyes were wary. Will added, “Just dancing, no funny business, you needn’t think that. I’m from the Midlands and it’s a bit lonely in London, that’s all.”

“You poor lamb,” Cynthia said, going motherly.

“It is lonely,” Doris said. “I’m from Selly Oak myself.”

Will hadn’t needed telling that, from her vowels, but he expressed gratification at meeting a countrywoman anyway. “So what’s it like to work here?” he asked. “Bit more fun than a shop floor, or are you always wearing out your shoes?”

“Shoes!” Doris said with feeling. “Bane of my life, they are. It’s—well, it’s not so bad.” Her eyes flicked to the side as she said that. “You don’t half go home tired sometimes, but the pay’s good. The Mrs. is—”

“Fair,” Cynthia said over her, quickly. “Never takes the tips and lets us mind our own business as long as the customers are happy. There’s a lot to be grateful for, Dorrie, and worse places to work.”

“I expect so,” Will said. “What about that fellow Fuller? Can’t say I took to him.”

If he’d never met Fuller, he’d have learned all he needed from the girls’ reaction. They both stiffened, faces