‘Try it on,’ said Kate. ‘Take off your cloak.’
Mrs Latimer was still in her funeral clothes. Spade stepped behind her. ‘Let me help you.’ He noticed that her hair smelled good. She was using a perfumed pomade on her auburn curls.
She shrugged out of her cloak and Spade hung it on a hook. Underneath the coat she was wearing a stunningly glamorous silk dress in the black-brown colour of scorched wood. Mrs Latimer knew what suited her.
Kate picked up the new coat and held it for her to put on.
Spade looked hard, concentrating on her rather than the coat. Her hair was a poem in different hues: strong tea, autumn leaf, ginger and hay-blonde. The coat set it off perfectly.
She buttoned the coat. ‘It’s a bit tight,’ she said.
Kate opened the door to the work room. ‘Becca, my dear, please come and look.’
Her partner, Rebecca, came in from the back room carrying a pin cushion and a thimble. She was a contrast to Kate, plain-looking and plainly dressed, her hair tightly pinned, her sleeves rolled. She curtsied to Mrs Latimer then walked around her in a circle, looking critically at the coat. ‘Hmm,’ she said. Then, as if remembering a duty, she said: ‘It looks wonderful.’
Kate said: ‘It really does.’
Becca said: ‘It’s too tight across the bodice.’ She took a piece of chalk from her sleeve and made a mark on the coat. ‘By an inch,’ she added. Moving behind Mrs Latimer, she ran her hands down the sides of the coat. ‘Also the waist.’ She made another chalk mark. ‘Shoulders are perfect.’ She stepped back. ‘The skirt of the coat hangs nicely. Everything else is excellent.’
Mrs Latimer looked at herself in the big cheval glass. ‘Goodness, my nose is red.’
Spade said: ‘It’s the gin.’
Kate said: ‘David!’ She used his real name only when reproving him – exactly as their mother had.
‘It’s this icy wind,’ said Mrs Latimer, but she giggled, showing that she did not mind the joke. She studied the coat in the mirror. ‘I can’t wait to wear it.’
Becca said: ‘I can have it ready for you tomorrow.’
‘Wonderful.’ Mrs Latimer unbuttoned the coat and Kate helped her out of it, then Spade held her cloak. As she tied the ribbon that fastened it at the neck, she said to Becca: ‘I’ll drop in tomorrow.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Latimer,’ said Becca.
Mrs Latimer went out.
Kate said: ‘What an attractive woman. Beautiful and charming, and a lovely figure too.’
Becca said sharply: ‘If you like her so much, make a pass at her, go ahead.’
‘I would if I didn’t have someone better, my darling.’
Becca looked mollified.
Kate added: ‘Besides, she’s not inclined our way.’
‘What makes you so sure?’ Becca said.
‘She likes my brother too much.’
‘Rubbish,’ said Spade with a laugh.
He left the house by the back door. When he and Kate had inherited the place, Spade had built his warehouse at the back, where there had formerly been an orchard, and his sister had taken the house.
Kate and Becca were like husband and wife in every way that mattered. They loved each other and shared a bed. They were very discreet, but Spade was close to his sister and he had known her secret for many years. He was pretty sure no one else did.
He crossed the courtyard. As he reached his warehouse he saw the tall figure of Amos Barrowfield enter by the gate from the back lane.
It was Friday, and Spade was expecting him. Amos was a picture of nervous tension, pale, wide-eyed, agitated. Spade held open the door to the warehouse. ‘Come in,’ he said. He led the way to his private quarters. They sat down, and he said: ‘I have news for you.’
