Chapter 13
BOGDAN
Fern pauses the video with my fist against a man's face.
She holds her tablet above Hem & Havoc's cutting table, where Tessa is taking pins out of a silver veil. Through the new front window, I saw the last fitting customer leave before Kirill and I got out of the car. Now Fern has the women's attention to herself, and she's making use of it.
“This is what the client sees,” she says. “A fight at an event you were paid to dress.”
Peggy reaches across the table and taps the screen. The video runs on. Patrick stumbles away through the corn, and Tessa catches my coat to kiss me.
“That's what she sees next.”
I stop inside the door with Kirill beside me. Tessa and Peggy haven't noticed us yet. Tessa lifts the veil from its stand and shakes the netting clear of her sleeve, giving Fern a view of her back. The last pin goes into the cushion on her wrist.
Fern draws the tablet out of Peggy's reach.
“She wants reassurance before Wednesday. I've offered another supplier.”
Tessa turns then. Her face changes when she sees me, the irritation giving way to a smile that makes me want to take her straight out of here. She's wearing a dark green dress with small pearl buttons, her sleeves pushed up for work. A scrap of silver thread clings to her shoulder.
I cross to her and kiss her. The pin cushion scratches my wrist when she touches my coat, and she laughs against my mouth before shifting her hand. I take the thread off her dress and let her go slowly.
Fern lowers the tablet.
Behind her, the shop's pale fitting curtains are closed.
A feathered black hat occupies the front mirror's corner, and a tray of unfinished spider brooches waits beside the sewing machine.
The window no longer throws a sheet of plywood's shadow across the floor.
Klim sent me the completed glazing receipt and his approval of both entrances this morning, before the women brought appointments back here.
I paid for the glass. Tessa and Peggy have spent the day making the place theirs again. Fern is trying to spoil the first evening of it.
“Start it at the beginning,” I tell her.
She looks toward Kirill. He hasn't moved from the door, though Matvei has stepped aside to give him room. My captain's coat is open over his suit. His attention stays on Fern's hand until she drags the video back.
Patrick's voice comes out of the small speaker. The cheap joke sounds worse in the workshop, surrounded by the things Tessa made for people like him to enjoy. I watch his fingers close on her sleeve. The bruise across my left knuckles aches as I remember removing them.
Tessa asks him to let go. I give him the same order. He swings, and Fern stops the recording before my fist lands again.
“I saw it,” she says. “I'm talking about the publicity.”
“Then send the client all of it.”
“I've already done that,” Peggy says. She takes her phone from beside the orange glass pumpkin and turns it toward Tessa. “Wednesday's meeting is still on. She's deciding then.”
I can see the appointment at Bellquay Rooms above Peggy's short reply. The client hasn't cancelled. She hasn't confirmed the order either. Fern has found a way to put the women back in a room where they must defend work they've already earned.
Tessa reads the exchange, then returns to the veil. She lays it flat instead of stuffing it into the box Fern has brought to collect the client's preview sample. Even now, angry enough that the color has risen along her cheeks, she won't crease the thing.
“We'll bring the samples,” she says. “You can bring whatever you like.”
Fern looks at me again. I recognize the calculation without knowing which answer she hopes to get. Men often look at the nearest money when they discover the person they're trying to frighten won't cooperate.
“He's not one of your employees,” she tells Tessa. “You can't control what he does at the next event.”
Tessa folds the tissue over the veil. “I didn't want to control him at this one.”
Kirill makes a small sound behind me. I don't turn to find out whether it's amusement. The pleasure of hearing her say it is too immediate, too private, even with everyone watching.
I rest my right hand on the table beside Fern's tablet.
“Any man who puts his hands on her gets the same answer from me. You can quote that.”
Fern switches off the screen and slips the tablet into her shoulder bag. For a moment I think she'll try to make Tessa apologize on my behalf. Instead she takes the sample box, lifting it with both hands, and asks Peggy to send the amended appointment list.
Peggy stays by the table until Fern reaches the door. Matvei lets her out and closes it behind her. Through the glass, I watch her carry the box down the pavement without looking back.
Tessa unstraps the pin cushion. Its narrow band has left a pink mark on her wrist, well above the place Patrick grabbed her sleeve. I take the cushion before she can balance it on the edge of the table and put it beside the sewing machine.
“She's going to tell everyone you threatened the entire male population,” Peggy says.
“Only the ones who can't keep their hands to themselves.”
Tessa's laugh releases something in me that's been held tight since Fern played the clip. She knows what happened yesterday. I was there. Still, I wanted her to say it in this room, with my captain hearing and the woman who tried to shame her forced to listen.
She leans into my side while Peggy finishes the booking reply. I could buy enough work to fill every line of their calendar. It wouldn't give Tessa the satisfaction waiting for her on Wednesday if that client chooses the veil she's just packed. I keep my arm around Tessa.
Kirill catches my eye. There's still the matter he came to report before I collect her for dinner. I follow him toward the front window while Tessa gets her coat from the office.
“Devon's load came through today,” he says. “He kept the withdrawal. The others want to know whether you'll hear terms.”
The men paying Luka have had the weekend to imagine losing our yards and the favors my bratva supplies when ordinary invoices fail. Devon has made his first choice. The rest would like to discover how little theirs will cost.
“The stolen load and Aleksei come first,” I say. “They know what needs paying for.”
Kirill nods. Nobody has returned the truck. A broker keeping Monday's delivery with us doesn't put the cargo back in our customer's kitchen or take the dressing off Aleksei's head.
He looks past me toward the office, where Tessa is reaching for a handbag on the high shelf.
“They've seen the video too.”
“Good.”
“Some will think they've found a way to hurt you.”
I look at him until he brings his attention back to me. He knows men who would try. So do I. Yesterday I could've let Matvei handle Patrick while I stayed out of the recording. That thought never reached me until the punch was over and Tessa was smiling up at me.
I have no wish to change it now.
“They've found someone I'll fight for,” I tell him. “Make sure they understand the rest.”
Kirill holds my gaze, then dips his head. When Tessa returns, he moves away from the door and wishes her a good evening. She thanks him as if he's never stood beside me asking what she costs.
I help her into her coat. A trace of the workshop's damp wool smell clings to the collar when I straighten it. Peggy is staying a little longer to finish the client replies, with her own escort waiting. Matvei takes the front passenger seat of my car, and Tessa slides into the rear beside me.
For the first few streets, she watches the windows as though she's still counting what needs finishing inside. Then she settles against the seat and puts her bag on the floor. The small movement gives me an unreasonable sense of success. Her workday is over. I have her company for the evening.
She takes my left hand.
The bruises have darkened since last night. Her thumb follows the unmarked edge of my hand before she lifts it and kisses the knuckles so lightly that I feel more of her breath than her mouth.
“Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
“Poor thing.”
She sounds so solemn that I look at her. Her smile gives her away.
I bend to kiss it, tasting peppermint on her lips. She leaves my hand in her lap afterward, holding it between both of hers. The engine is quiet enough for me to hear her small sigh as she settles closer.
“I felt safe with you,” she says. “Before he grabbed me, too. I liked knowing you were just behind me. I liked walking around afterward. Nobody got to ruin it.”
I remember the lanterns moving across her pointed hat, her laughter when I spotted the actor behind his panel before he could jump out. I'd watched the entrances while she watched the decorations. Somehow we still had the same evening.
I want another one. The wanting stretches beyond the dinner waiting at home, into things I haven't arranged yet. There must be places she would enjoy where nobody needs to set out a sample rail first.
“You can have me at the next one,” I say.
“Even if I make you wear a costume?”
“Show me the costume first.”
She laughs and rests her cheek on my shoulder. I keep my hand where she's put it.
The drive to Beacon Hill takes a little over twenty minutes. Orange lights appear around a doorway as we slow on my street. When the car stops at our usual collection point, Matvei gets out to check the approach to the house.
Tessa stays against me instead of reaching for her bag.
“I'm not ready to go in yet.”
I tell Matvei through the open door that we'll be a few minutes.
He closes it and takes his place outside with the house guard.
I raise the partition behind the chauffeur and draw the rear curtains.
The street disappears behind dark wool, leaving the little reading lamp beside Tessa and the polished walnut shelf beneath it.