RetroXotique

He was not in the lobby. That was a pity, for it meant she could not impress him with her coat, but it could not be helped. She handed it in and headed for the bar.

There he was, sitting at it. Zoe paused for a moment, surveying the layout of the room. He had had the temerity to sit with his back to the door, staring out of the window. She briefly debated with herself whether to go the long way round so that she could make a proper entrance instead of coming up from his blind side; then he turned around, smiled at her, and the question became irrelevant. She did not let a smile cross her face, though one was fighting for permission to land; the time for that was later. Head up, back straight inside her corset, shoulders back, looking very slightly down her nose, she advanced across the room oozing haughty dignity, a woman of remote and inaccessible splendour whose wom­anliness was on show for all to see as the skirt and jacket picked out every detail of what she was pretending was her figure.

This was the moment for which she had prepared, and the preparation had been worth it. She could see his pleasure in his face, and she had confidence in her own excellence. She knew that she was the most beautiful woman in the room, the most beautiful woman anyone in that room had ever seen. She was flawless, she was immaculate. Beneath her perfectly fitting suit mighty forces lay struggling desperately against one another in precarious equilibrium, but the corset remained rigid, an ideal foundation for a suit whose line would have been disordered by anything so chaotic as breathing.

She came up to him, enjoying the luxury of pretending he was beneath her, hoping briefly that he would be worried, feel she was no longer in love with him. He knew her better than that. His smile of welcome took on a wry twist, and he held out one hand. Zoe put one into it, and he took her gloved fingers to his lips and kissed them with exaggerated submissiveness. “My very dear Mrs Conway,” he said, straight out of Dickens.

She smiled. “Zoe, please.”

“Then to you I shall be Noel.”

“Noel it is, then.” And, unable to maintain her pretence at remoteness any longer, she giggled. “Could I have a gin and tonic?”

“My pleasure. Excuse me…!”

The drink was rapidly procured, for there were few people at this time of the day, and nearly as rapidly drunk. It was not ladylike, but Zoe had a strong taste for alcohol, and despite her self-possession she was in need of a little reinforcement. She was scared stiff of being seen, and was eager to be upstairs and out of sight before some acquaintance should walk in. She had another one, and they talked a bit, but very guardedly; someone might overhear, someone might track them down. Then Zoe slid off her stool and onto her precar­ious shoes again. “Well,” she said, “shall we be going along?”

“If you like.” And they crossed the bar, crossed the hall, and called the lift.

Waiting for the lift was a tense moment, and Zoe was afraid that someone was going to appear from the street, even out of the lift when it arrived. She looked at Noel’s impassive face, and wondered how he could keep so calm; she did not realise that he was just as worried, and that she had hidden her emotions so well through endless practice that he was thinking just the same thing about her. The lift came in the end, took them up three floors, and disgorged them onto a vermilion carpet. Confident now that life had no nasty surprises to spring on her, Zoe allowed herself the luxury of taking Noel’s arm, and so they procee­ded down the corridor, basking in the pretence that they belonged together and would be able to stay that way for good, instead of having to part in a couple of hours.

“It’s quite a nice room,” she said chattily as they passed through the door.

“Yes, isn’t it? The décor is a bit brothel-ish, of course, but I couldn’t choose one of the really good hotels—you told me not to.”

“Of course not. One might meet one’s friends. This place is about right: not too bad, but cheap enough that nobody who is anybody comes here.” Zoe looked about at the red cur­tains, red bedspread, red carpet and pink walls. “I see what you mean about the colours, though. The furniture is nice, but something a bit less violent would have been nicer.”

“Yes, wouldn’t it?” Then, quite suddenly, they were in each others’ arms, and there was a long kiss.

When at last they surfaced for air Zoe panted “Why wait any longer? Why not now?”

“Why not indeed?” Still joined together, they began moving crabwise towards the bed.

“The curtains!” Zoe hissed, between mouthfuls. “Draw the curtains!”

Noel found it difficult to let go of her, or indeed to use his mouth for speech. When he had had enough for a short while he whispered “Will you be all right over here by your­self?”

“I’ll try to be brave. Go on, then we can start.”

A few more kisses, then Noel managed to get up the strength to dash to the curtains and snatch them together. Something tore up at the top, but that was a matter for later; he hardly heard it. Before the tingle of Zoe was gone from his skin, he was back to renew it.

The next time she managed to get her mouth away from his, she said “You’ll have to help me with undressing.”

“I’m looking forward to it, darling.” His hands crept away from her neck and down towards her stomach.

“No, Noel—”

“Why not?” Kiss. “I thought this is what you wanted—”

“No. Please be careful—”,kiss,“—you might tear something.”

“Well—”,kiss,“—what do you want me to do?”

“Back off for a moment.” Kiss. “No, please. It won’t be long.”

“All right.” Noel took his leave of her passionately, then retreated a couple of feet. He watched her intently as she unfastened the button of her jacket, then untied the waist cord. “So that’s how it’s done!” he said.

“What?”

“I was wondering how you got that jacket of yours plastered so tightly to your most del­ectable curves without popping the button. Now I know.”

Zoe’s heart was still beating fast, with the excitement of what had passed and what was to come, but her vanity was still awake and with it the obsessive desire to take care of her clothes. Apart from anything else, any damage would be suspicious when she came to get dressed again. She opened the wardrobe and hung up her jacket, then stood out in the middle of the room again. She glanced in the mirror, and was pleased to see her choice of underwear vindicated. The top of her corset, showing over the skirt, looked like the bodice of an expensive strapless dress, not something designed to give her a good figure by force. If she had worn bra and waspie, her dignity and elegance would have been compromised by now.

She was about to kick off her shoes, when she realised that Noel might enjoy helping, so she sat down and put her legs out. He took them off for her, caressing her feet in the process, and she ached with the desire to get on with the matter. Still, she had to take care of her suit. She stood up, observing as she did that Noel, no longer able to wait, had remo­ved his jacket and was near the end of taking off his waistcoat. While he took off his tie and shirt, she unzipped and unbuttoned her pencil skirt and then wriggled sinuously out of it. Judging from Noel’s face, it was a spectacle he enjoyed. She looked across at his well-formed chest and flat stomach clearly visible under his vest, and suppressed an idiotic urge to giggle with pleasure. That was what a man ought to be like! If at that very moment Ham­ish’s current bit-on-the-side had come into the room and explained her position, Zoe would not have believed her. She was thinking of her husband, and wondering how anyone could possibly find him desirable.

She went over to the mirror, turned to face it, and said “Come here.”

Noel came. First of all she unclipped her stockings and encouraged him to slide them down, which was evidently good fun; then she stood up again while Noel removed his vest and for a moment embraced her. More skin was touching skin now, and the feeling was electric; still, there were things to be done. Apart from everything else, the thrill of events was making her breathe hard, and inside that corset there was hardly room to breathe at all. Unless she got it loosened soon, she might well faint as she had sometimes before—and that would throw them off a very long way.

Looking in the mirror at Noel’s face peering over her shoulder, she gave him directions. She felt him tugging at the lace where they were tied in a hard knot in the small of her back; as he pulled the loops of the bow out the laces scraped on each other and the vibration was carried by the corset, rigid with tension, all around her body as sound is carried by the stretched string in a child’s toy telephone. Then, at last, the knot was undone, and the pres­sure all around her body eased off. It was like being born again, and Zoe gave a deep and heartfelt sigh. As she moved her hands down to unfasten the hooks once more, Noel was softly kissing her neck.

Time for bed. She carefully opened the last hook, then let the discarded corset fall to the floor. Behind her, she heard the sounds of Noel removing his trousers. Wrapped together, like some fantastic beast with four legs and four arms, they made their tangled way towards the bed and tumbled onto it, laughing. They crawled in among the sheets, and the morn­ing’s real business began.

 Sometimes sex works far better for the man than for the woman, but in this case Zoe was aching with many years of frustration with a husband for whom she felt no desire at all, and many weeks of frustration for wanting to go to bed with Noel and not being able to arrange it. The experience, with all that leading up to it, was all she could have wanted, and when they rolled apart she had, for the time being, quite forgotten she had ever been mar­ried.

“That was wonderful. Marvellous. Words fail me,” she said.

Noel was lying flat on his back with his eyes closed. He was smiling, but he looked very tired, and his chest was moving fast. “I think there’s more where that came from,” he said.

“Really?”

“Oh yes. But not now. I need a rest for a bit.” He sighed and said no more

Zoe propped herself on one elbow and looked down at him. She was sure this attitude showed her at her best—all the questionable parts, the bits of her body that needed to be shored up by a corset, being hidden under the bedclothes—and she rather wished Noel would look at her. For a while she was content just to look down at him, but in a minute or two she became impatient. “No-el?” she said questioningly.

Noel’s breathing had gradually slowed to a relaxed movement, but his chest did not catch at all at the sound of her voice. It seemed he hadn’t heard her. “Noel?”

No answer. It struck her that he was asleep. Zoe pouted for a moment, then decided it was silly to be put out and gave his shoulder a little kiss instead. He did not respond, which was a disappointment, but his flesh tasted lovely, with a salt tang of sweat that had not been there before. When Noel sweated it just made him seem stronger and more attractive, whereas the smell of sweat coming from Hamish was—“Damn it!” she muttered. He would have to come prowling into her thoughts, with his belly sticking out, spoiling her fun. Well, he wasn’t here now. She looked again at her lover, so much of an improvement on the husband who had left the house this morning, who now was perhaps involved in some ter­ribly boring conference with some terribly boring rich fellow—or perhaps even engaging in recreation with one of those young women who unaccountably thought him attractive, the girls he thought Zoe didn’t know about.

That did make her pout. She lay back on the pillow and folded her arms for a moment, before unfolding them and putting one, as best as she could manage it, around Noel. Since he was lying down on his back it was not easy, but she wanted to maximise the amount of skin contact. There was not the same buzz there had been before sex, but it was still a mar­vellous feeling.

She put her other arm behind her head, and sighed happily. Hamish was so terribly ageing; he made one feel as old as he was, older. His life was so regimented, he had such decided views on everything, and all his Old Etonian friends were still deep-frozen in the Thirties, or even earlier; they had not had a new idea between them for decades. To be honest, her own friends were not much better. Noel’s spontaneous behaviour, his cheer, his jokes and role-playing made her feel young again, gave her back the carefree youth her early marriage had taken from her; while his obvious desire for her, his visible pleasure at just looking at her and tracing the lines of her face and body, made her feel physically younger. She corseted herself because it was the fashion, especially for vain middle-aged women; but when she met Noel she felt it had been worth while, not just a social duty but a task with a purpose. Hamish no longer noticed her for herself; he was only concerned that she put up a good front for others. She was just an asset, to him, something to have on his arm and show off: look, I married a younger woman, she’s still in fine shape! She could see in his face, at balls and parties, how he noticed the admiring glances she still received when she was looking her best; but he received them as compliments to himself, admiration offered to his property as to a car or a house. He never looked at her that way himself any more, and the compliments he offered were all too obviously without meaning.

She was tired, but not sleepy, and she lay like that, thinking alternately about how awful her husband was and how wonderful her lover, with all the time a steady undercurrent emphasising her own unvarying worth. The truth was that she still felt a little guilty; not because she loved Hamish at all, but because she felt a duty to stick by him right or wrong. She could completely escape this only in sex, and after the success of this morning’s adven­ture she was determined to do it again: soon, and often.

The musing went on and on, while Noel occasionally moved or turned over. Sometimes he turned towards her and touched her in his sleep, which was exciting; sometimes he turned away from her and presented only a back, which was disappointing. She amused herself in these latter intervals by tracing the lines of his spine and muscles with her fingers, while thinking. Eventually he reacted: he brought round an arm and scratched at his back, then rolled back onto it and gave a sigh. His eyes were still closed, but Zoe could tell that there was a mind once more behind his face. His brows drew together, and he took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

Zoe hoisted herself onto one elbow again, in the position she imagined was very fetch­ing if there was anyone to look at it. She looked down at him and smiled. He looked so sweet when he was sleepy! So soft and childish! She leant forward and deposited a tiny kiss on the tip of his right ear, then pulled herself up again so that she would still be at her best when he looked round.

He did. He opened his eyes, turned his head, and when their eyes met he said “You still here?”

“Where would I go?”

They looked into one another’s eyes for a little; then Noel sat up in bed. “I’m hungry. There’s good room service here. Care for a bite to eat?”

“Love to.” Zoe was on a diet, as she had been for approximately twenty years, but she made exceptions and this was one of them. Some food would go down very well just now, and if it were good enough it would add one more pleasure to those she had already expe­rienced. She rolled over to get a menu which stood on the table by the bed, then began consulting it. Her only regret, the only thing that spoiled her pleasure, was that she must needs lie on her back with the sheet drawn up to her armpits. She was not too prudish to let Noel see her naked—he had done just that earlier on—but once the heat of the moment had worn off she was ashamed that without her corset she sagged. If only she had been able to bring a night-dress or a robe, it would have been easier, but she was not about to put Noel off by letting him see the shape her body slid into when there was nothing about it to prop it up or pull it in, unless he was too hot with desire to care any more.

Time passed, and they lay in bed and drooled over one another. When there came a knock at the door there was a brief whispered argument, at the end of which Noel got up and went to the door to shout “Leave it outside!” Once he was sure the attendant was gone he opened the door, looked quickly left and right, then drew the trolley inside and turned round to see Zoe exquisitely draped in a pink bedsheet. Necessity, after all, was the mother of invention, and this could with ingenuity be made quite attractive: tied low under her arms to show more flesh, pulled tight around her waist and hips to bring out her curves, and allowed to trail behind her like a train that would make her walk sexy. The only prob­lem was, Noel had had to get out of bed before she could use it.

He did appreciate it. “That’s a pretty dress, Zoe. Where did you get it?”

She enjoyed the game; it was the kind of thing she liked with Noel, the kind of thing she could not imagine with Hamish. “Oh, I ran it up myself.”

Noel drew the trolley over, smiling his crooked smile, and lifted the lids. For a while thereafter there was no conversation. It was good food, much better than such a mediocre hotel would have suggested, and they ate with pleasure. It had been a very long time since Zoe allowed herself to get full, and she made up for it now. Had she but thought, she would have realised she was storing up trouble for herself later, but the whole point of today’s rendezvous was to entirely forget about responsibilities.

When the meal was over they talked some more, gazing damply at each other, but time was passing and they had to think about cover. It was just after noon now; it would take a while to get out again safely, and they really had to get a move on. Zoe went off to the toi­let, and took advantage of her time in the bathroom to perform a few ablutions of a per­sonal nature. Then she came out to get her handbag, giving a hitch to her sheet before she left the bathroom. In the interests partly of exposing as much flesh as possible and partly of being able to move her arms, she had draped it into a strapless dress, but as it lacked bones and structure of the kind her proper strapless dresses had in abundance it was inclined to fall down.

With the handbag, she was equipped to wash the old make-up off her face with cold cream, wash it carefully with the soap (not the usual extra-mild brand, but it would have to do) and then put a complete new make-up on before coming out. This naturally took some little time, during which Noel seemed impatient and knocked on the door more than once, but she could not be hurried. She did not leave the room until she was as perfect as she had been when she left her house; but Noel did not stop to appreciate her. Much to her irrita­tion, he shot into the bathroom and locked the door behind himself.

She spent the time he spent on the toilet getting her clothes out and preparing to leave. Noel was already dressed, having put his clothes on while she was making up for want of anything better to do; when he came out he quite saw what was expected of him. Her stockings and shoes were already on, and what he had to do was lace her corset.

They stood in front of the mirror. Zoe wanted to be able to see what was happening, and she felt that communication would be better if each could look at the other’s face, for she would not be able to speak as easily as she would like during this process. Zoe put one hand on the rim of the mirror for balance, while Noel stood on one leg and put the knee of the other against her backside. Then he took hold of the laces, and it began.

It was a slow process, partly because Noel did not know what he was about; but as he gradually got into sterner territory, things began to run on a different track. Zoe found that she didn’t feel very well. Normally she suffered dizziness, it got hard to breathe, sometimes she felt weak, and so on; but this time she felt distinctly ill. There was a pressure in her stomach, something pushing back against the corset, which slowed everything down and made her feel faint far too early. Looking at herself in the mirror, she put one hand to her suffering stomach, and suddenly let fly with a man-sized belch. From a miner who has just downed a pint in one go it might have been expected, but not from a well-brought-up, ele­gant, fashionable middle-aged lady. She blinked at herself, and looked at Noel over her shoulder. He gazed back in some concern. She swallowed awkwardly—there was a foul burning in the back of her throat—and said “Wait a moment, let me have a little rest. I shouldn’t have had all that to eat.”

“Shall I slacken off a bit?”

There was nothing she would have liked more, but she was used to disciplining herself. “No, we’d only have to do it again. Tie the laces off for a moment. Use a bow.”

Noel did as he was told, and then stood back looking worried while she leant on the mirror panting. For a while wind came out in both directions; though she did her best to keep it quiet, there was something of an aroma when she was done. Eventually the erup­tions were over, and she beckoned Noel back. She did not feel better: she was still unusu­ally breathless, her head was spinning, and she felt as if she was in a cold sweat. It remin­ded her of attacks of gastric flu when she was a child, or of morning sickness a little later, and it was not at all nice; but she knew perfectly well what was the matter. Eating a heavy lunch and then trying to lace tight on a full stomach was absolutely the worst thing she could have done, even excluding the damage done to her diet; she would just have to hope she could manage it. She put one hand on the mirror again, and said “Begin. And Noel?”

Noel, who had just started to pull out the bow, stopped what he was doing and looked at her reflection. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“I’ve got to get through this. Don’t stop no matter what noises I make. Not unless I pass out.”

Noel looked at her again, with the sternness people resolve for loved ones they think are insisting on making life difficult for themselves. “If you say so, my love.” He put his knee in place, got a good grip, and pulled on the strings. The bow came undone, and before the laces could slide out too far he took up the tension again and started to pull.

They went on again for some time. Progress was slow, and seemed to have stalled. The world for Zoe seemed to have contracted into a queasily rocking space containing only her­self, Noel behind her, and the mirror which showed her that her waist was still far too thick to be able to get into her best suit. Despite her efforts to retain her dignity, little sounds of protest sometimes emerged unbidden from her lips; but though Noel’s face showed he was not happy, he said nothing.

Suddenly, Zoe’s alimentary canal gave up the unequal struggle. Her eyes bulged, her mouth pinched shut, and her cheeks swelled. She let go of the mirror and began hammer­ing inaccurately in the direction of Noel. He was reluctant to let go, but she began to strug­gle violently and he realised something had gone wrong. He let the laces slide through his hands; and hanging onto the walls for balance as she tottered on her heels, Zoe threw her­self towards the bathroom. She did not stop to shut the door behind herself; there was a sound of two knees hitting linoleum, and then retching.

Noel, acutely uncomfortable, hovered outside the door saying and doing nothing, keeping just out of sight. At length he heard the sound of his lover getting to her feet, and the toilet flushing; then a minute later she came to the door wiping her mouth on a piece of toilet paper. “Here’s a piece of advice for you,” she said in a low voice. “Don’t ever again feed me when I’m undressed if I’ve got to get dressed again, because if I try to lace on a full stomach this is what will happen to me.”

She just stood there, her hand grasping the door-frame tightly for she still felt a little unsteady, and stared at him. Her eyes seemed to have been cast out of steel. He waited and waited for her to say something, and she didn’t, and she didn’t, and eventually he reluc­tantly stumbled out “I…I’m sorry, I didn’t know this was going to happen…I…” He felt that it was not his fault, but faced with those eyes he could not even think of a good excuse.

Zoe gave him the eye treatment for a little longer, before turning her back on him and folding her arms. Thirty seconds, she reckoned. When he had stewed long enough she turned back, still looking stern, but now with the air of a strict-but-fair teacher who is pre­pared to give a foolish pupil a second chance. “Well?”

“Well what? I’ve said I’m sorry, I mean, I don’t know what else I can do…”

“Promise me you won’t ever let this happen again.”

“I, I’ll do my best, I mean, it isn’t the sort of thing I can be sure to remember…”

“You’re going to remember this. Never let me eat again when I’m undone. Understand?”

“I understand. I won’t do it again. Please, please forgive me.”

Zoe stared stonily at him for a little longer, calculating the effect to the second; then she let the corners of her mouth turn up just a little, under precise control. The frost was melt­ing, the thaw was on the way, January had turned into February, and the relief on Noel’s face was palpable. She said “Give me a little while to get myself together, and then we’ll start again.”

“I am sorry, but you should have told me…I mean, you enjoyed the dinner, didn’t you?”

She was willing to allow him to come out of the doghouse, but that was taking a liberty. “I enjoyed it the first time. The second time round it wasn’t so nice.” She went to sit down.

When she had had her rest, they started again; and this time, without all that food inside her, it worked out. It was not pleasant, and when her waist was finally small enough she was not far off fainting; but that was how it was meant to be. Her rule of thumb for best was roughly, lace tighter and tighter until you faint, then slacken half an inch. This was theoreti­cal, not taken literally, but if there was an extra half-inch that she could lose without losing consciousness, then for a special occasion there was no sense in leaving it as slack. Years of being married to Hamish had taught her to hide her feelings, and nobody could have guessed what she was suffering inside her best clothes; a tendency to gasp loudly in the middle of sentences when she was excited, a hand pressed elegantly to the chest or the waist in moments of emotion, but never a complaint. That would be an admission of weak­ness, of age, of failure, of having a bad figure. Some of her friends did grumble about their corsets; but Zoe, who probably had more to complain about than any of them, felt superior as she said nothing.

The corset done, the rest of the clothes could be attempted. As things got back into their correct track she felt confidence flowing into her, the sort of confidence that only came from being immaculately dressed and looking her best. Noel helped her with her skirt, let­ting his hands linger on the roundness of her hips; she looked at herself in the mirror as she forced the zip closed, admiring the tautness of her skirt, and thought about how wonderful she was, how wonderful Noel thought she was, how wonderful it was to be thought won­derful by such a wonderful man. Gazing hypnotised at her reflection, which was the one thing she liked to look at more than she did at Noel, she ordered him off to the wardrobe to get her jacket. He came back and held it out as she ordered, and she very carefully eased herself into it. Next she sent him for the scarf, which she had forgotten, tucked it under the jacket and looped it around her neck. Noel suggested she leave it off, as he said it would look nicer; but she shushed him with a grin and a deprecating gesture. She yanked on the waist cord so hard that she broke a few of the stitches, in her effort to get the best fit possi­ble; then she tied it off and buttoned the jacket.

There! She was perfect! She sent Noel off again for her hat and gloves, and carefully put them on: pinching and tweaking the tight gloves into just the right place, dabbing at her hat until it perched on the front of her head at just the right fashionable (if precarious) angle. The umbrella was downstairs, but otherwise she was the fashion-plate of that morning, flawless and exquisite. She posed this way and that, as she had done in her own dressing-room; but this time she had the added pleasure of Noel behind her in the mirror, admiring her looks almost as much as she did herself. He leant forward so that his chin was on her shoulder, and began whispering compliments into her ear. She was the most beautiful woman he knew…always so well turned out…her face a work of art…her figure so sexy…her curves so exciting, her waist so tiny…She stood with her hands on her waist, her fingers to the front and her thumbs behind, making herself look even more of an hourglass than she was already, her head spinning with compliments and tight-lacing. Then the compliments began to relate to their time in the bed together, and the mouth began taking time off from speaking to do unspeakably stimulating things to the ear beside it. Her breathing quickened, but it was merely excitement. She knew what was happening, and she had every intention of co-operating—of doing what she could to encourage it. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at their reflection in the mirror, the faultlessly beautiful woman in her superb clothes, her besotted handsome young lover beside her, nearly mad with desire. When Noel moved one of his hands to her shoulder and the other began probing inside her neckline, she did not resist; she removed one of her own tightly gloved hands from its job of emphasising her waist and moved it to unfasten his trousers. She was panting now inside her too-tightly laced corset, dizzy, eager to get over to the bed yet reluctant to break off this exhilarating duet they were playing before the mirror. She was tingling all over, and she was sure Noel was. If only they could keep this up…

Crack! Pop! Tinkle!

Suddenly everything was changed. Her breathing was freer, but that was no relief. She opened her eyes fully, and saw the mirror broken.

Seven years bad luck!

And there behind was Noel, looking scared. His left hand had come out from between her breasts, and with its pair now grasped her shoulders painfully. “Zoe! Are you all right?”

“Yes and no.”

“What do you mean? Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m not hurt, but it’s a disaster. My corset burst, that’s all.”

“Your what?”

“My corset exploded. As a consequence of that I have also popped the button on my suit—that broke the mirror. I am pretty sure I’ll find the zip and button on my skirt have also burst. It’s a calamity. I’m in ruins.” She motioned him away, and somewhat unsteadily made her way back towards the bed.

Noel was once more wretched. “It’s all my fault, isn’t it? Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have done this! I’m not right for someone like you, I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong… I’m sure this is the end. Maybe I’d better just go now, before anything else happens…”

“Be quiet and listen. The one thing you cannot do is ‘just go’. If you do that, I’m stuck here in a ruined best suit, and the only way I can get clothes fit to go into the street is to ring home and send for them. That’s obviously impossible.”

“Well, perhaps I can help. I could lend you a coat…”

“I can’t go out in the street wearing a man’s coat, not even in an emergency. No. It would attract attention anyway. Anyone who knew me would know there was something wrong. And I have to get back home and face the maid, who—”

“All right, all right. Do you have an overcoat? You must have brought one with you—”

“Yes, but that’s no good.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too tight. It’s my best coat, and it’s got a very tiny waist; bigger than this suit, be­cause it has to go over it, but without a corset I couldn’t hope to button it. I suppose I might be able to do it by holding myself in and forcing it together, but it would look awful, and if I let go I’d pop the button and be even worse off than before. Even then, I’d have to face the maid. I have to repair this outfit. There’s a sewing kit in my handbag; I always carry it in case of accidents.” She had struggled out of the jacket as she spoke, and now was inspect­ing the waist cord critically: luckily, the knot had come undone rather than tearing the cord out of the lining. The zip of her skirt had indeed burst, and with her uncorseted hips larger than it was inten­ded to fit its two sides gaped open almost at right-angles. She began work­ing out of it.

“So, you’ll just sew everything up…”

“Everything but the corset. I couldn’t possibly do that properly. That’s where you come in. You are going to atone for this mess: you are going to go out, to a good shop, and you are going to buy me a new corset. Not just any old corset: a good, fashionably cut, quality, back-laced, strong corset. Can you do that?”

Noel still looked anguished, but hope was beginning to dawn in his eyes: hope that he might be able to help, to make good the damage he had done.

Ten minutes later, he was off, walking uneasily down the autumn London streets with his head full of instructions and a bag in one hand full of a ruptured corset. He had left Zoe sitting on his bed wearing one of his jackets and a mackintosh over it, and he was under strict instructions to hurry. They were late already; if he wasn’t quick he would be missed, and soon Zoe would too. She had told him which shop to go to, and as luck would have it it was not one very nearby. He had tried to change her mind, but she was adamant. The corset had to be up to the job, it had to be strong enough, the right shape, and she could not trust any old place to reach the standard she required. In any case, she had pointed out, the time he reckoned he could save he was wasting by arguing. He felt there was a mistake somewhere in this bit of logic, but he gave in.

Once inside the shop he faltered. It was a ladieswear shop of the most exclusive kind, and apart from a few husbands ready to brandish cheque-books when required he was virtually the only man there. He felt horribly conspicuous; the only good thing was that though he might well meet friends of Zoe’s in here, he would not meet any friends of his. Already an assistant had him spotted, was making her way towards him. He itched to escape, but he knew his duty. If only…

The assistant was upon him. She was a shortish, stocky woman in middle age, with black curly hair pinned up on top of her head. Like all the staff, she wore a close-fitting black dress buttoned down the left front from neck to hem; from the massive wall of bust, narrow cylindrical torso and bulging hips he could see beneath it, he immediately inferred that she used the same kind of underwear as Zoe did. He hitched up the bag containing the corset and rehearsed his excuses.

“Yes, sir, may I help you?”

“Er…yes. I’m looking for a corset…”

The woman smiled frostily. “I am afraid sir may have come to the wrong place. We do not sell gentlemen’s underwear. If sir were to go across the street to…”

“No, no! It’s not for me. It’s for a lady. She had, ah… an accident.”

The woman pursed her lips slightly and looked at him; it was all too obvious she was trying to guess more of the story. He hoped that etiquette would prevent her from asking too many difficult questions. She said “If sir would tell me what he is looking for, I will do my best to assist.”

“She wants something like this—I’ve got it in this bag. Could we go somewhere a little less public?”

“But of course.” She led the way off, hobbling along with tiny steps as Zoe had done, her rear view a succession of bulges and concavities beneath the black fabric. It was more obvious than ever that she was wearing a corset, and that unlike Zoe she was fat under­neath it. Noel was merely grateful he did not have to help her with dressing.

The woman took him to the side of the shop, beside a long series of narrow drawers. She said “Now, if sir would show me what it is he has got, perhaps I would be able to…”

Noel mutely got the ruptured corset out of the bag. “Aaah!” the assistant said with relish, picking it up and handling it as carefully as if it were a valuable antique. She turned it over in her hands, admiring the elaborate construction and expensive materials, and noting the burst seam; then she said “I am afraid we don’t have anything of quite this high quality in stock. This was obviously made to measure. We could provide something as strong and nearly as shapely, but not—ah—as pretty. Would that be acceptable?”

Noel thought. He had indeed liked looking at Zoe in her best evening corset; it was an aesthetically pleasing garment in itself, quite without its various associations, which is of course why she had chosen it. Still, better get something that would do the job than give up altogether. “Whatever you have, as long as it’s suitable.”

The woman smiled grimly, and wobbled off to a drawer some distance away. The corset with which she returned a few minutes later was indeed not as handsome as the one that had let Zoe down: it was pink, supposedly flesh-coloured, stitched out of many pieces of material with only cursory attempts at decoration, and rather than being pretty looked merely strong and not very comfortable. Noel realised that had he been confronted with this when Zoe had been undressing, his ardour might well have been dampened; he was lucky to have escaped it, and in his mind he thanked her for her consideration in choosing pretty underwear. That stage was over, though, and all that mattered was that she should be able to get dressed and face the world again. He went to pay, wondering as he did so whether the ruined suit he had left was even now being magically restored to its immaculate condi­tion. He hoped Zoe would be able to sort it out, for everyone’s sake.