“That is an outrageous silhouette,” Sally heard a familiar voice behind her cut through the music and rabble of the party. “Hackney’s getting a bit avant garde in his old age, isn’t he?”
“Roger!” Sally stared, stunned. “My god, Roger, I haven’t seen you in ages!” She dropped her voice lower. “I thought you’d all gone on holiday.”
“Oh. We did,” Roger said, his voice lilting the way it did whenever the conversation turned to a ticklish subject. “But we’re back now! Just in time for the spring collection debut. Could I get you a drink?” he offered, clearly trying to change the subject.
“No, I already had one,” Sally lied. “Where did you go?” she asked, dropping her tone as low as she could make it and still be heard over the music. “Are you all right? Where’s James?”
“I really can’t talk about it,” Roger demurred. “But we’re fine! Truly. It wasn’t anything like… that.” “That” being any number of possibilities in this town. “And I expect James is off pouting somewhere.” Roger glanced around to see if James was anywhere in earshot. “I took too long catching up with Cilla.”
“Should you be talking to me then?” Sally teased.
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” Roger chuckled with a resigned shrug. “I heard you opened your own chemist shop while we were gone. Not doing housecalls anymore then? Has Sally Boyle gone legitimate?”
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