Mickey Sullivan. Fuck me. Not one of my finest clients, Kitty thought. Her gaze was aimed at the envelope she was addressing, but she wasn't really seeing it. Sometimes it was difficult working in Liam's office, seeing men day in and day out that she used to fuck on rotation. The way they'd look at her, like they expected her to start stripping her dress off at any moment. It made her skin crawl.

Things were better, though. Far better than they used to be. The job in Liam's office was a welcome change to her prior work. Even if it meant receiving unwanted leers and comments at times. Even if it meant ‘entertaining’ childish narcissists, like Jackson's new wife.

Kitty heard and smelled the approaching intruder before she saw her. The staccato click-click-click of expensive high heels on the floorboards accompanied by a rosewater perfume that had been applied a bit too heavily to be considered pleasant. That particular sensory combination could only belong to Tuppence Holcroft. Well, Mercer. Tuppence Mercer, now. Much to the delight of no one, except perhaps Liam and Edmond Holcroft.

Kitty wrinkled her nose in distaste as Tuppence sauntered back and forth across the room. The little booze heiress was attempting, unsuccessfully, to pretend she wasn't trying to listen in on the meeting taking place in Liam's office. Kitty wasn't fooled. A champion of ‘accidentally’ overhearing conversations that she shouldn't, she knew a fellow eavesdropper when she saw one.

“Ransom certainly has a loud voice,” Tuppence commented to no one in particular. “It really booms, doesn't it? Can't quite make out what he's saying, however.” Her words were uttered with nonchalance, but Kitty could see the frustration in her furrowed brow.

“Why don't you come have a seat, pet?” Kitty suggested. It wasn't really a question. She'd been in the company of Tuppence for less than two minutes and was already sick to death of the way the spoiled chit acted as though she owned the place. Married to a Mercer or not, she was still just an interloper.

“Oh, very well,” Tuppence relented with a disgruntled little pout. Her tawny hair was arranged in the sleek, chin-length bob that had become an overnight sensation in the States, and it bounced as she walked. Typically so chic, the style looked completely inappropriate coupled with her round, youthful face. Like a little girl imitating her sophisticated mother. “I suppose I should rest my feet. Parisian shoes are lovely, but designed to be fashionable rather than comfortable. They squeeze the very life out of one's toes. Don't you agree?” She heaved a dramatic sigh and collapsed in the chair beside Kitty's secretarial desk.

“I couldn't say,” Kitty replied. She took a stack of envelopes from the top drawer and began to organize them by recipient's surname while pointedly looking away from her unwanted guest. “I don't have much in the way of clothing from Paris.”

“Oh, of course not. How silly of me,” Tuppence said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “Your wages don't exactly allow for frivolous spending, do they?”

Kitty smirked at the weak attempt of an insult. It was just like the spoiled only daughter of a rich businessman to use her daddy's money as a means to feel superior to others. Tuppence Holcroft had never had to work a single day in her nineteen years. But three generations ago, she would have been in the same boat as Kitty. Although wealthy at present, the Holcrofts were new money, worlds away from the fortune and prestige of the aristocracy. Compared to members of the peerage, they were as good as paupers. However, among the working class of Manchester, they were to be envied, and therein lay the source of Tuppence's arrogance.

How Jackson put up with this girl was a mystery. Particularly as, by off-book means or not, the Mercers were now far wealthier than the Holcrofts.

“I make do,” Kitty said. She kept her voice even, refusing to rise to Tuppence's obvious bait. “Liam compensates his employees well.”

“Oh, I'm sure he does.” Tuppence let out a tingle of a laugh that managed to sound both sweet and condescending. “Kitty Ross, secretary extraordinaire at Mercer Industries. My, my. Whoever would have thought? You were so talented at servicing multiple men, it's quite amazing you feel satisfied servicing only one!”

Kitty pressed a stamp to the corner of an envelope with more force than necessary. She never failed to notice how Tuppence said her name like it was a curse word. Born of jealousy, of course. Jealousy that Kitty had fucked Liam on countless occasions, while Tuppence could only dream about it.

“Yes, well, the compensation is better sitting behind the desk than bent over it,” Kitty said in an amicable voice. “So, I thought I'd stay awhile. Liam likes bein' surrounded by people he can trust, and if he's gonna pay me either way, I'll take the version that keeps me fully clad.”

In truth, she'd been shocked when Liam had proposed the idea. “You know about my businesses, Kitty,” he'd said by way of explanation. “Both those above and below board. And you're discreet. That's what I need in me office. Discretion.”

Kitty hadn't hesitated to agree. At last the money she'd spent on typist and correspondence courses had paid off.

Though not everyone had been supportive of Liam's choice. His elder sister Audrey had made it clear in no uncertain terms — while Kitty was present in the room, no less — that she didn't think the former tart was up to the task. “Kitty Ross ain't suited to work in an office, Liam. Clever girl, she is, but ask her to do much more than spread her legs, and the result is bound to disappoint ya.”

Accosting the corner of another envelope with a stamp, Kitty suppressed a shudder at the memory of Audrey's biting words. She liked to believe that she'd changed Audrey's mind over the past several months, but in truth she wasn't sure. Audrey McQueeney was notoriously difficult to impress, and fiercely protective of her younger brothers.

An agitated sigh from her visitor brought Kitty back to the present moment.

“Kitty? Are you listening to me?” Tuppence demanded. “I said, how long do these meetings of theirs usually last?” She jerked her head in the direction of Liam's closed office door to emphasize her point.

“It varies,” Kitty answered with a shrug. “But I recommend you get comfortable, pet.”

Tuppence sighed again and adopted an impatient pout, as if coming here with Jackson had been a chore, rather than of her own choosing. From her stylish clutch, she pulled a sleek cigarette case and selected a single clove cigarette from among the row. “Do you have a light?” she asked Kitty.

“Don't you?” Kitty asked in return.

“Why would I?” Tuppence snipped. “Jackson always lights my cigarettes. I couldn't be seen carrying around a lighter. Or matches. How pedestrian! In my opinion, if a woman has to light her own cigarettes, she's doing something wrong.”

Kitty had an impressive collection of smiles. Seductive, meek, secretive, sinister, malicious, earnest… She had a smile for every occasion. At that moment, she gave Tuppence the most counterfeit her repertoire had to offer. “I must be doing many, many things wrong, then.”

“You must,” Tuppence agreed, an exaggerated frown twisting her lips. “But I don't suppose you can help it, can you? We're all a product of our environment, after all.”

Kitty leaned forward, igniting her lighter as close to Tuppence's face as she dared. Ten years Tuppence's senior, she should've been too old for this tit-for-tat petty bullshit. But enough was enough. If the little bitch wanted to play the Holier Than Thou Art game, then play they would.

She sniffed the air as Tuppence exhaled a wisp of smoke in her direction. “Still smoking those god-awful rubbish sticks, are you? Hm. No accounting for taste. But I don't s'pose ya can help it, can ya?”

Tuppence scoffed, affronted. “I'll have you know, clove cigarettes are very in vogue right now. They're all the rage in the States.”

“Is that right?" Kitty asked, her voice coated in sarcasm. “Well, I think a trip to the States is just what ya need. There are daily steamers across the Atlantic. You could depart within the hour!”

Tuppence shook her head and began to cough. “Don't be ridiculous!” She waved her hand to dissipate the smoke that hung in the air around her and coughed again. “Jackson has business here with daddy. And Liam. Important business! We couldn't possibly just up and leave on holiday!”

Finished with her envelopes, Kitty arranged them into a tidy stack and gave her unwanted guest a smirk. “Never said Jackson had to go with ya.”

Tuppence snubbed out her cigarette with an aggressive twist against Kitty's ashtray. “Who would go with me, if not my husband?”

“Thought ya preferred your brother-in-law,” Kitty baited, one eyebrow arched.

“Humph,” Tuppence huffed, crossing her arms over her flat, underwhelming chest. “Honestly. So vulgar. And just who wouldn't prefer Liam to Jackson, hmm? You certainly do.”

Well, I've fucked both of them, so I actually have a basis for comparison. Unlike you, Kitty thought. But I won't be sharin' that particular tidbit. For now.

For a time, after returning from war, all three of the Mercer brothers had been her clients. Her best clients, in fact. A good lay, each of them. But Liam was the only one she'd ever doted on. The only one who made her heart stir rather than just her nether-regions. It used to be common knowledge that Liam had an unquenchable appetite for barmaids and working girls, but Kitty was the only one he'd called on regularly. Before he'd gotten married, of course. Once Liam met Clementine, there was no turning his head.

At times, Kitty missed those days. Things were simpler then. The lines that made up their relationship weren't so blurred.

But to evolve was a part of life. And ‘secretary’ looked so much more reputable on a curriculum vitae than did ‘whore.’

The door to Liam's office burst open, yanking Kitty from her reverie. The Mercer brothers emerged, followed by Mickey Sullivan.

“...have your father-in-law sign those documents by day's end,” Liam was saying to Jackson. “Our notary is expecting ya.”

Tuppence leapt off her chair and smoothed her dress, her dejected scowl replaced by an elated smile. “Liam! Hello! Good morning!” she exclaimed. “You look especially dashing today. I adore your tie! Red is such a handsome color on you.”

For her energetic display, Liam gifted her with a terse nod. “Tuppence,” he said in greeting.

Kitty rolled her eyes. The way to acquire Liam's attention was to appear aloof, not shower him with transparent compliments. Stupid girl.

Jackson took his child-bride by the arm and steered her in the direction of the exit. “Alright, Tuppence. Liam has work to do, and I need to get these documents for the merger to your father. Let's be off.”

“No need to be in such a hurry,” Tuppence complained. “Allow me a moment to say hello!”

“Hello!” Mickey called in return, a large daft grin on his face. “Pleasure meetin' ya!”

Tuppence blinked at him. “I'm sure.”

“Drinks tonight?” Ransom asked the room at large. “At the Broken Crown? After day's end?”

“Yes!” Tuppence exclaimed. “I've been just dying to join you!”

Kitty glanced up at Liam, and the two of them shared a covert look of derision at Tuppence's misplaced enthusiasm.

“Erm, well, actually meant the men-folk, poppet,” Ransom amended, scratching the back of his neck. “The Broken Crown ain't a cozy place for ladies.”

“But Kitty goes!” Tuppence argued.

“And I'm no ‘lady’,” Kitty muttered.

“I'll see ya there,” Jackson interjected before his wife could speak again. “After I get the documents to the notary.”

Liam slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers and jerked his chin at Ransom. “I'll do me best,” he said. “Got a lot to catch up on.”

“Yeah, ya do,” Kitty grumbled. Liam and his brothers met up at the Broken Crown for drinks several nights a week. A trip to the pub could play second fiddle to business obligations once in a bloody while.

“I'll be there with bells on!” Mickey declared. “Ain't no pub like the Crown in the States! Missed it somethin' fierce!”

“Alright, good!” Ransom bellowed. “We'll meet there, gone seven! Unless it all goes to shite beforehand, in which case, I'll be seein' you lads in Flanders Fields.”

“In Flanders Fields,” Liam repeated. “We'll meet again.”

“In Flanders Fields,” Jackson echoed.

Mickey bowed his head and held his newsboy cap against his chest.

Tuppence curled her lip in disdain, her head swiveling back and forth between the brothers. “Why do you always say that?” she demanded. She smacked Jackson in the shoulder with her clutch. “Are you ever going to tell me what it means?”

Jackson slipped his arm around her waist and ushered her toward the office's front entrance. “O'course, love. It's no secret.”

“I'll tell ya!” Ransom offered. He bounded after them and held the door open for his brother and youthful sister-in-law. “So, poppet, in the Great War there was a doctor-lieutenant named John McCrae, right? And he wrote this poem…”

The door swung shut behind them, cutting off the rest of Ransom's tale.

Kitty sighed, relieved Tuppence was gone. That girl was too much. Too shallow, too self-indulgent, too oblivious...just too much. How she could live in these modern times and not know how significantly the war had changed the countless men who had fought was beyond Kitty's comprehension. And the Mercer brothers, well... They'd changed more than most. Liam especially. Deployed as carefree boys, they'd returned as laden men. All too aware that life was fleeting and temporary. It could be extinguished in an instant. Hence their reason for quoting In Flanders Fields to each other whenever they parted.

Kitty understood. But Kitty had known them long before they'd gone to war. Tuppence had not. Nor had Luisa Ginovesi, Ransom's wife. Those women only knew their husbands as the spoils of a business transaction.

Appraisal in her eyes, Kitty observed Liam as he gave final instructions to Mickey. Before going to war, Liam had been the only Mercer boy to show no interest in finding a wife and starting a family. Odd that this stoic, formidable man had been the sole Mercer to marry for love.

Much good it did him, Kitty thought, the corners of her mouth dipping in a frown.

“...and get me a status report on the condition of your boats,” Liam concluded, clapping Mickey on the shoulder. “How much they can carry, 'specially. Weight and dimensions.”

“You got it, Will,” Mickey said. “Have it for ya on the morrow. But maybe afternoon, yeah? Got some things t'see to tonight, if ya follow me.” His bushy eyebrows bounced up and down at his attempted innuendo.

“I follow,” Liam said. “Get on with ya, then. Got some things to see to me'self.”

“Sure 'nuff! Chat tomorrow,” Mickey agreed.

Liam gave him a brusque nod then retreated into his office. The door closed with a muted thud.

Morning task completed, Kitty placed the pile of stamped envelopes inside the snug carpet bag she used for trips to the post. She then took out a cigarette, flicked her lighter, and lit up. Taking an indulgent drag, she scrutinized the lingering Mickey with shrew eyes. “Aren't you and Liam finished for the day? Gave ya an assignment, didn't he?”

“He did. Aye. Aye, he did,” Mickey said, repeating himself with his typical unnecessary pep. He advanced a few steps closer and perched on the edge of her desk. “Oi, listen, Kitty…”

Exhaling a ripple of smoke, Kitty inclined her head toward him. She knew that tone of voice. This ought to be good.

“I know you're workin' as Liam's secretary now,” Mickey continued, fidgeting with his tie. “Know that. And good on you. But if you're ever keen on makin' a few extra quid…”

Kitty snorted smoke in his direction. “No, Mickey.”

“Right!” Mickey said, leaping up and waving his hands in a gesture of surrender. He let out a nervous chuckle. “Right, right! Just foolin'! Enjoy your day, Miss Ross!”

“You, too, Mr. Sullivan,” Kitty replied.

With her cigarette poised between two long fingers, Kitty watched Mickey scurry out the door. She loosed a sigh. Bloody Manchester. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

【♜】【♞】【♟】

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