job.’
‘And?’
‘I get the impression you also have a career.’
‘In the absence of a sugar daddy? Yes, I’m one of the self-employed. Any guesses?’
Difficult. He didn’t want to cause offence. She had a good income if she was used to eating out. ‘Something artistic?’
‘Only marginally.’
‘Theatrical?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘You write plays.’
She laughed. ‘I’m not creative at all. I have a business supplying illustrated material for the media, pictures of past fashion basically. If someone is writing a piece about Edwardian ball gowns, for example, they look on the internet and find I have hundreds of contemporary pictures they can choose from.’
‘You collected these?’
‘It’s been a lifelong passion. Plum the schoolgirl was filling scrapbooks when she was eleven years old. When I got older I bought from dealers. Now I have the biggest collection in the country, probably in the world. Magazines, newspapers, pattern books. Someone asks for examples and I scan them and send them back in a very short time. The internet has transformed the way it’s done.’
‘And this is mainly as a service to journalists?’
She shook her head. ‘There are all kinds of requests. Film and television costume departments are always wanting ideas. There are classics being filmed all the time. They know they can rely on me for something the rival company hasn’t already used.’
‘What’s your business called?’
‘Once in Vogue.’
‘Cool,’ he said, borrowing from Ingeborg. ‘Do you supply the costumes as well?’
She winced at the idea. ‘Couldn’t possibly. Just the pictures.’
‘You must have an efficient filing system.’
‘I’m well organised. If you really are interested, I could demonstrate. Do you have a computer at home?’
‘Rarely used. It belonged to Steph, my late wife.’
The mention of Steph didn’t throw her at all. ‘Well, if you want to look me up, if you ever want a picture of a Victorian policeman, or a Bow Street runner, click on onceinvogue.com .’
‘I will.’
‘But you must give me a challenge. Surprise me with a really unusual request.’
There was just the hint of playfulness.
‘I’ll try and think of something. Speaking of surprises, you certainly ambushed me with all this,’ he said.
‘Their desserts are good.’
‘Thanks, but I’ll pass on the dessert.’
‘Don’t run away with the idea that I come here every night,’ she said. ‘I do most of my eating out of packets, same as you, I expect.’
‘Tins, in my case.’
‘Baked beans?’
He grinned. ‘You’ve got me sussed.’ But he wished he hadn’t said it. He wasn’t the helpless man and he didn’t want to give that impression.
‘Was your late wife a cook?’
‘She was good at it. We both went out to work so I did my share with the saucepans.’
‘On the baked bean nights?’
‘Actually I can manage a few other dishes. Cooking is less appealing when you live alone.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘Were you married?’
‘Until he traded me in for the new model,’ she said. ‘Once my self-esteem recovered, it was a huge relief to be shot of him.’
‘Kids?’
‘A son, grown up now. Jeremy’s got one of those jobs that didn’t exist until someone thought of it – personal trainer, persuading rich people to use their treadmills. It’s paying well at the moment, but I don’t know if you could call it a career. And you? Do you have any family?’
He shook his head, not choosing to go into the detail of Steph’s gynaecological problems. ‘There’s just Raffles the cat, who allows me to share the same address.’
‘A cat. What sort?’
‘More than one sort, you could say. A tabby, a handsome tabby.’
‘Who considers you his slave?’
He grinned. ‘Have you got one? Sounds to me as if you know all about them.’
‘No longer. I had a black and white called Fritz, a wicked old character who lived to seventeen, and I miss him dreadfully, but it’s