The Secret Vow by Natalie Meg Evans

Author:Natalie Meg Evans
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bookouture

* * *

Harry was at his desk, shirtsleeves hitched up as before. When his assistant announced Katya as, ‘A delegation from Maison Claudine,’ he twitched, as if pepper had blown into his face. When he saw her, he sat back and put down his pen.

‘Thank goodness it’s you, not anyone by the name of ‘Saumon’. Take a seat, Princess. Coffee, tea… cognac? Will I need it?’

‘Tea, I think.’ She’d not had the chance to drink her coffee with Claudine, and her mouth was dry. ‘But I haven’t long.’ As she left, Bibi had hissed, ‘An hour, no more’ and she’d already used forty minutes. She pulled up a chair to Harry’s desk and they stared at each other, checking for alterations.

‘You’ve modernised,’ he said at last. ‘Looks good.’

A valuable perk of the wholesale atelier was that the staff were allowed to take home scraps and offcuts of cloth. This way, Katya had added to her own and Anoushka’s wardrobes. She glanced down at her dress of black-and-grey check with its high-belted waist and oversized collar, as if she’d forgotten she had it on. ‘Just something I made.’

‘Thrown together. Of course. I like the daisies around the buttons. You embroider too?’

‘Every night after Anoushka’s asleep, I stitch away. I’m saving up for a sewing machine.’

Harry leaned forward. Professional evaluation. He need not know that instead of coming straight here, she’d taken a bus home and thrown off her work clothes in favour of this dress. His opinion mattered, and she wished it didn’t. Wished she had more than fifteen minutes in which to extract a favour that would satisfy Claudine.

‘Your own design?’ He was studying her neckline. Or was it her neck? ‘You look…’ he waited for the word to come ‘…liberated. As if you could ride a bicycle into the country, have a picnic on the grass, then pedal home.’

The thought made her giddy. ‘Mama says I look as if I’ve wandered out in my night things. According to her, clothes shouldn’t show a woman’s curves, they should create them.’ Her underwear had adapted too. These days it was made from glove silk and barely there. Did men notice that sort of thing? She had a feeling Harry did.

‘I like your hair,’ he said. ‘You’ve not cut it off, have you?’

‘Certainly not!’ S-shape waves clustered below her white straw hat, but the rest was bundled up inside.

‘So.’ He gave a one-sided smile. ‘I’m presuming this isn’t a social call?’ He didn’t let her answer, continuing, ‘Oh, and thanks for the postcard.’

She’d sent one, letting him know she’d got a job at Claudine’s. Harry’s unblinking gaze called up their last time together, when she’d kissed him, then run. Time to strike the bell for business. ‘Remember that pretty fabric I saw in your drawing room?’

He inclined his head.

‘The Merton—’

‘English cotton lawn. What of it?’

‘Madame Claudine is a little upset that you won’t give her the chance to buy it.’

‘Nothing upsets Claudine, apart from the rationing of sugar and butter. She knows I’m reserving the cloth for select customers.

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