you,’ Dex said with a thin smile. ‘Now, indulge me. Finish your drink and watch the floor show.’
Justin drank. On the stage there was a cake. A huge white and gold cake, decorated uncannily like the Chatsfield’s dining room, and possibly the biggest cake Justin had ever seen. It had been pushed on there by a posse of very scantily clad girls. Every one of them was platinum blonde, every one of them dressed in a tiny white dress trimmed with long fringes that were no doubt meant to pay lip service to decency, and in fact did the exact opposite. The girls were strewing gold confetti and doing some sort of dance that showed off their only-just-covered little behinds. The men in the audience were roaring their appreciation. It was utterly over the top, and yet at the same time it was amusing and curiously sweet rather than vulgar.
‘What, are you expecting me to pick one? Let me remind you, this is 1921 Dex, things have changed. Women not much older than these ones will be able to vote in the next election, I doubt very much…’
‘Can you not drop the politics for one night?’ Dex rolled his eyes. ‘I told you, it’s not just any girl, it’s my girl. Not that she ever has been my girl in that sense, as you must be perfectly well aware. Vera Milton-Kerr. She’s beautiful, she’s clever, she’s witty and I’m sure she’s also very sexy, if you like that sort of thing, though as you know it’s not my cup of tea. I am pretty certain she will be yours though.’
‘Dex, I…’
‘And here she is.’
And there she was. Coming out of the cake. Glossy black hair cut into a sharp, short cap. Smokey eyes rimmed with black. Full lips painted crimson. Gold dress. At least Justin thought it was a dress, though it clung to her curves like a gold mist, and the long fringes that passed for a skirt did nothing to hide the most curvaceous behind, and the most glorious pair of pins he’d ever seen.
Vera Milton-Kerr stepped out of the cake like Venus rising from the waves, and the waves weren’t the only thing rising at the sight of her, all but naked, the expression on her face sultry, her smile mocking. She knew exactly how she looked, she knew exactly what effect she was having, and she didn’t give a damn. It was that which piqued his interest. That which kept him watching, when he should have been walking.
She stood centre-stage, directly in front of him. David Chatsfield had appeared by her side. She was singing. It took Justin’s scrambled brain a moment to work out what she was singing. Happy Birthday. Her voice was smoky, like her eyes. Slightly off-key. Gold petals were raining down on the stage and on the audience now. David Chatsfield was declaring the hotel open. The band struck up, and the dancers began to shake their fringes. The audience were on their feet clapping. There were cheers and the popping of many more champagne bottles to fill another tiered fountain of glasses which had materialised at the back of the room.
And there she was. This time, standing in front of him.
‘Vera, I’d like you to meet one of my oldest friends, Justin Yorke. Justin, Miss Vera Milton-Kerr,’ Dex was saying. ‘She lives like a vampire, up all night and sleeping all day, and underneath that delightful exterior she’s every bit as miserable as you. I think you will be absolutely perfect for each other.’
Dex took the woman’s hands in his. ‘Darling, the time has come for us to end our little charade. I’m afraid I told you a tiny little lie about my leaving date. I’m off tomorrow, not next month, but I promise I’ll write just as soon as I get there. Consider Justin my parting gift to you. Enjoy, you sweet thing, for my sake if not for yours.’
‘And this is my parting gift to you,’ Dex murmured, for Justin’s ears only, slipping something into the pocket of his dinner suit jacket. ‘Make sure you use it, because I had to use every little bit of my influence with David Chatsfield to get hold of it.’ With a flutter of his fingers, and without a backward glance, he disappeared into the crowd.
Vera stared at Dexter’s back in consternation. ‘What the hell is he playing at?’
‘You really don’t know?’
She whirled round. Justin Yorke was eyeing her sceptically.
‘I really don’t. Do you think I was in on this?’
He shrugged. Vera studied him, making no attempt to disguise the fact that was what she was doing. Tall, well-built, he filled his dinner suit nicely. Not handsome, his face was too craggy for that. Dark-brown hair with a rebellious wave that he didn’t bother trying to tame. Dark-brown eyes, deep-set under heavy brows. If it were not for that mouth, he would be quite intimidating. It was curling up into the faintest of smiles now, and it was a nice smile. Or it looked like it could be, if he ever let it finish.
‘I knew he was leaving,’ she conceded, ‘but I had no idea it was so soon. I’m sort of glad he didn’t tell me, mind you. I hate goodbyes as much as he does.’
‘What will you do without him, find another stool pigeon?’
Vera made a show of adjusting the gold sash of the gold dress she had pulled on over her skimpy stage outfit. It was one of Fortuny’s famous Delphos gowns, a sleeveless shift of silk made of hundreds of tiny pleats which clung to the body thanks to the beads which weighted it. It shimmered when she moved, a sensual, smoothly-rippling feeling that made her think of water flowing over a cold stone. She could sense him watching her. She was used to men watching her. She had the kind of body that men liked. A fluke of nature that she exploited, but which, like pretty much everything else, left her cold. Usually.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked warily.
‘Precisely what you think I mean,’ Justin replied. ‘I’ve known Dexter Maxwell for a long time, Miss Milton-Kerr, he’s one of my best friends.’
Which meant – which could not possibly mean – unless she’d got it horribly wrong, which shouldn’t matter, absolutely should not. ‘It’s Vera,’ she said, because she had to say something while she tried to decide what it was she really wanted to say. ‘Verity, actually, though no-one calls me that.’
‘Because it isn’t true? Or have you heard that before?’
‘How close are you and Dexter?’
‘About as close as you and he are, and not as close as you’re imagining.’
‘I wasn’t imagining anything.’
‘Yes, I see why you dropped Verity.’
Despite herself, she smiled. ‘You tell me then, Mr Yorke, what was it I was imagining?’
‘It’s Justin.’ The room was all but empty now, for the dancing had started. He brushed a gold petal from the top of her arm. His touch made her shiver. He bent down towards her, tucking her hair back behind her ear. ‘You were wondering if Dexter and I were similarly inclined,’ he said. His voice was low, his breath a whisper on her ear.
Her heart was thumping unevenly. ‘And are you?’ she asked, though she didn’t need to.
She felt the rumble of his laughter. ‘No. Are you?’
‘I?’
‘Do you like girls, Vera?’
‘No more than Dexter does. Would you like it if I did, Mr Yorke?’
‘Justin. And no, I would not like it if you did.
