The Sugared Game - K.J. Charles Page 0,5

balcony was visited by three separate Bright Young People in ten minutes, each of them looking as though they wanted something rather urgently. It was fascinating people-watching, and he was startled when a voice by his elbow said, “Good evening, sir. May I join you?”

Will turned to see a tall, broad, powerfully built man of about forty, with a raddled look that spoke of late nights in smoky rooms, and the sort of very even, very white teeth that came out of a cardboard box. Will gestured to a free chair without enthusiasm, wondering if he was about to be touched for a drink.

“Thank you. My name’s Fuller, Desmond Fuller.”

“Evening,” Will said, not troubling to sound welcoming. He’d taken against the teeth.

Fuller pulled out the chair and sat, apparently unsnubbed. “This is your first visit, I think?”

That suggested either Fuller was a habitué of the High-Low, or he worked here. “That’s right. I heard good things of the band. All true.”

“Mrs. Skyrme prides herself on quality in all she does. No expense spared. She looks after her customers, and I look after her.”

That sounded slightly like a threat, somehow. Will gave him a neutral sort of nod. “Is that the proprietor?”

“That’s right. She takes a close personal interest in every part of the club.” Fuller smiled, revealing his white teeth again. “I’m sure you’ll meet her later. It’s a busy night.”

“I’d be glad to make her acquaintance. Are you management?”

“The floor manager. Second in command, though not a close second.” Fuller gave a practised chuckle at what was clearly a standard line.

“Floor and balconies, I suppose,” Will said, since they were doing weak jokes. “Interesting layout this place has. Did Mrs. Skyrme have it done?”

“The building was being gutted anyway. She’s a remarkable thinker. A born night-club proprietor, nothing but the best. And you, sir. Are you here for the dancing?” Will nodded. “With the young lady in the remarkable dress.” Fuller glanced down at the floor, where Maisie was happily shimmying with a different young man. “Is she a regular partner of yours?”

Will prickled instantly. It was something in the man’s tone, the hint of quotation marks around ‘partner’. “What’s it to you?”

Fuller gave him a men-of-the-world smile. “We like to get to know our guests. It helps us provide what you want.”

That sounded like an offer. Of girls, or perhaps dope: Will wouldn’t put much past this chap, based on very little more than the instant personal dislike. “All I want is a place to take my girl dancing and have a drink without watching the clock.”

Fuller’s smile suggested complicity. “We remain hospitable at all times.”

“How do you manage that? Because I’ve no desire to find myself in the dock in the morning.”

“We take great care to keep on the right side of the law. No need to worry, Mr...?” He paused invitingly.

“Darling. Will Darling.”

Fuller’s eyes snapped to his. “Mr. Darling. I see. How good to meet you, Mr. Darling. And are you here on business?”

Will looked around. It was still a night-club. “I’m here for an evening out. Is that a problem?”

“We encourage a little separation between the levels. Private conversations on this balcony. So if you’re just here for the dancing, you can rejoin your young lady now.”

Well, that was him told. Will had absolutely no desire to move now he’d been ordered to, but he could see Maisie heading back to their table down below, so he made himself nod and stand.

Fuller gave him a toothy smile, and followed him back down to the ground floor where Maisie waited. He greeted her with ostentatious politeness. “Good evening, miss, and may I say how delightful it is to have such a fashionable young lady here. I hope you’re enjoying the High-Low.”

“It’s lovely, thank you. I’m having the most delightful time.”

Fuller stayed for a few moments more, larding her with fulsome compliments interspersed with enquiries about what clubs she usually frequented. At last he left, shaking Will’s hand and bowing to Maisie.

She scootched her chair closer so she could speak in Will’s ear. “Who was that ghastly man?”

“The manager.”

“What was he up to?”

“Not a clue. He chucked me off the upper balcony. Well, not off. Out of.”

“You wouldn’t want off,” Maisie agreed, glancing up. “Why?”

“That’s where the trouble is. There’s a dope dealer at work, plain as day, and a set of racecourse terrorists if I’m any judge.”

“No!”

“And the manager fellow knows all about it. He came to snout out what I was doing up there and