At seven thirty Elias put on yesterday's shirt and went downstairs to find his shoes. Mara lay in bed listening to the small unfamiliar sounds of someone trying not to wake her.
One shoe fell off the step. He swore quietly.
“I'm awake,” she called.
“I gathered.”
He came back carrying both shoes and wearing an expression she hadn't seen before: sleepy, pleased and slightly embarrassed by the evidence. She pushed herself up on an elbow. He sat on the edge of the bed to kiss her, then stayed there when the kiss had ended.
“I've only got instant coffee,” she said.
“So do I. In the office. The machine's for guests.”
“You're doing very well at being brave.”
He leaned down and kissed the bare part of her shoulder. She stopped teasing him. For a minute they forgot about coffee entirely.
Breakfast was toast from the heel of the loaf, eaten standing while she looked for a second mug that hadn't been used for pens. He asked whether she wanted eggs. She said she had no eggs. He opened the fridge anyway, then shut it with enough humility to make her laugh.
“You do realise this isn't one of your rooms?”
“I was looking for something to make you. I should have asked.”
At eight forty-five the downstairs bell rang. Mara looked at the clock, then at her bare legs. Her first customer was early.
“Don't move,” she said, and hurried to pull on clothes.
He moved, trying to be useful by carrying cups to the sink, and collided with her coming through the door. Coffee went on his shirt. They looked at each other and began laughing at exactly the wrong moment. The bell rang again.
“You have to go,” she said.
He still had a hand on her hip. “I can wait up here.”
“No. I have work. And you have work. Put your shoes on.”
He did, without sulking, though he clearly would have liked another ten minutes. She kissed him beside the door and sent him out through the side passage.
The customer wanted two inches off a skirt and a conversation about the town's new parking rules. Mara provided both. At ten she found a message from Elias: I left my watch. No need to bring it anywhere. She found it under the bed and put it in the drawer beside her own jewellery.
That afternoon she went to look at the empty unit in the hotel.
It had once sold expensive scarves. Hooks remained above the window, and someone had left a single padded hanger behind the counter. Mara put her drawing down where the light fell and measured the wall with her stride.
“My table would go here.”
Elias moved out of the space she was looking at. “And the machine?”
“Near the socket. Not in the window. I'd put clothes there.”
She could see them: three pieces, enough room between them for their shapes to be visible. Her name on a small card. A woman stopping outside because she liked something, not because a zip had broken.
“Could we use it on Sunday?” she asked.
“For what?”
“A fitting salon. Not a launch. Eight people, perhaps ten. I could show the dress, then show them what actually happens when somebody moves in clothes. Make one calico piece for it. The rest can be drawings.”
He looked at her drawing. “You could sell the three pieces afterwards.”
“If they work. I haven't made them yet.”
“Right.” He leaned against the old counter. “I'd like people working in here again.”
She took her tape measure out. “Hold this.”
He held it while she measured the window. They argued about a long table; he wanted the one from the conference room, she wanted two smaller ones people could walk around. He finally fetched the smaller tables himself. One caught against the door and he had to back into the passage, protesting that she hadn't specified narrow tables.
“I thought you could see them.”
“I thought you'd measured.”
She laughed, got hold of the other end and helped him turn it. They were both flushed when it was in place. He kissed her beside it, one hand still on the edge.
“This is a good height,” she said against his mouth.
“For working?”
“Eventually.”
He laughed and kissed her again. She held him for another few seconds before making herself step back. His watch was in her bag; she took it out and fastened it on him, keeping her thumb against the inside of his wrist for a moment after the clasp closed.
Elias offered to pay for the salon and sample work as a memorial commission, with the unit available for making. Mara looked at the tables they had carried in. She wanted to work here. She signed the short agreement; if she stopped, she returned only the unearned advance.
The exhibition office sent a draft invitation that evening. It said that, after authorising the original accusation, Clara had intended to champion Mara's independent design; the capsule would fulfil that interrupted plan. Noel had objected to the version which left him the hard-hearted brother and Clara the late rescuer. Mara read the line beside her own sketch. Clara had been cruel in that hired fitting room. Noel had claimed the campaign in writing. Perhaps she had finally found the courage to get out from under what they'd done together.
Mara approved the line and began inviting people herself.
She rang Ruth last. “Would you model a new calico jacket? Over your own clothes. Just for a short demonstration on Sunday. We could rehearse Thursday.”
“Will that help you decide about my dress?”
Mara looked at the window. “I'd need to postpone starting it. A week or two. I know that's inconvenient.”
“It is a bit. I've been looking at other things.”
“You could still do that. I'll pay for the modelling time, whether you order anything or not.”
Ruth considered it. She agreed to the demonstration, then asked Mara not to leave the dress decision until there was no time to buy something. Mara promised to talk again the following Monday. She wrote it down, because it was a promise that competed with something she badly wanted.
Before leaving she asked Inez for box seven, the blue portrait dress and its pattern, to show how Clara's later clothes moved. Inez arranged the loan for Wednesday. Ruth would wear the new calico; the old dress would stay supported on its form.
“Only eight chairs,” Inez said. “And I need them back Monday. Nobody from housekeeping to set them up.”
“Eight's fine. I can set up.”
On Wednesday the box arrived as promised. The advance arrived too. Mara paid a bill, ordered sample cloth and spent the evening cutting the new jacket. She pinned the invitation beside the window, then changed her mind and put it on the door, where anyone walking past could read her name.