Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The air had the bite of frost to it as Josh and Hugh jogged in the local park. There were a few other die-hards, wrapped up against the cold but still pounding the pavement. Josh would have preferred to stay in bed but Hugh had insisted.

They stopped at a bench. Hugh bent over. Josh was quite pleased he wasn't fighting for breath.

"God, I'm out of condition," Hugh said, panting.

"You look pretty good from here."

Hugh grinned. God that smile did things to Josh that weren't decent in a public area.

"I could drag you in that bush right now," he said.

"Hah," Hugh said, straightening up. "In this cold, you wouldn't find very much. How about we do another lap then have a long soak in the bath."

"Together?"

"Of course. It's important to conserve water, after all."

That sounded like a decent Sunday afternoon. He had a gorgeous bottle of red that he'd bought from his neighbour, Simon Harrington.

"Do we have to do another lap?" Josh said. "I think we should skip to the naked part."

"I told you," Hugh replied. "I'm getting podgy. I won't do the suit justice."

Josh pulled him close. Once more the cheeky smile appeared. Josh kissed his forehead.

"That is the most ridiculous thing I've heard. You're fucking gorgeous. Besides, I made it to your measurements. If you lose weight now, it's highly disrespectful to the designer."

Hugh nuzzled into his neck.

"When you put it like that, I suppose we should get back. I have a few ideas of how to keep in the designer's good books."

Suddenly, a thought struck Josh. "Wait a second."

"What?" Hugh asked.

"Why don't we launch a drag clothing line?"

Hugh looked astonished. "We?"

The more he considered it, the more perfect it became. A new challenge could be exactly what he needed.

"Yes. You can be my advisor," Josh said, excitedly. "Between the two of us, we'd come up with some amazing ideas. Drag is big money these days. I could be the first designer to cross over."

The cogs appeared to be whirring in Hugh's mind.

"This isn't a bad idea, you know. Would you have the time?"

Josh shrugged. "I've been MIA for a year. Cut didn't fall down, did it? I'm not saying it wouldn't be a ton of work."

"A lot of fun too."

The wind whipped up some stray leaves at their feet. Josh's sweaty shirt was getting colder.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get to mine. I want that bath. Before Michael arrives, preferably."

Hugh groaned. "I wish it was just us today."

They had invited Michael over to see the costumes. Josh hoped to goodness they would fit. He could imagine the scene if he'd calculated anything wrong. He marvelled how two people who were total opposites worked together so effectively.

"Why don't we say we have dinner plans?" Josh replied. "Then he won't stay too long."

"Good idea."

Hugh slung his arm over Josh's shoulder as they wandered towards the gate. The heat from his body warming Josh. It felt so companionable and natural.

"Do me a favour," Hugh said.

"Name it."

"Don't mention that Mrs Wimpole and the Prof have seen them. Let Michael think he's special."

Josh had already decided on that course of action. He kissed Hugh.

"Walk faster. We may need a significant amount of time to dry off after the bath."

"Oh my God, I love it."

Michael's suit fitted him perfectly. Hugh had thrown his on too. They'd even put some light drag on to set things off.

"This is perfect," Josh said, clapping his hands together.

Since he'd had the idea of creating a drag label, he had been overflowing with ideas. With Hugh as his muse, he could really do something exciting.

"I can't wait for this tour now," Michael said.

He hadn't been able to tear himself away from the mirror. He pulled Hugh toward him and they struck a few poses. Hugh was getting close to the haughty yet approachable way Mrs Wimpole carried herself.

"You have a bit more creative leeway, Michael," Hugh said. "I need to get her just right."

Michael tried a few walks. Suddenly, he started to emulate the Professor's way of scurrying. Usually after Mrs Wimpole.

"That's it," Hugh cried out.

"We need to practice. Come on."

Then Hugh's face dropped.

"What's the matter?" Josh asked.

Hugh glanced at him. The joy of seconds ago replaced by anxiety.

"It's this backlash thing. Will it really be enough to come out with two new characters? What if I've fucked things up completely?"

Josh and Michael raced to his side.

"You haven't fucked anything up," Michael said, rubbing his back.

"You've changed your tune."

Michael had the decency to blush. "Oh, shut up. I'm here, aren't I?"

Josh ran his hands through Hugh's hair. It was so soft.

"This will not ruin your tour. I can promise you that."

Hugh frowned. "You sound very sure of yourself."

Josh didn't want Hugh to know he was in cahoots with the neighbours in solving this mystery. He would probably put a stop to it and Josh was invested now. Not to mention Mrs Wimpole and the Professor.

"The truth always comes out," he said, weakly.

"Josh Winterton, may I introduce you to the real world?"

Josh stuck his tongue out. "So cynical."

He crossed the room and grabbed his coat.

"Where are you going?"

"I've been summoned by the real Mrs Wimpole," he said. "You two can crack on with some rehearsals then we've got dinner plans, remember."

"What does Mrs Wimpole want?"

The way Hugh had to know everything was adorable if a little wearing. Especially when Josh remained determined to fly under his radar.

"Something about future costume ideas," he said. "I'm a slave to this act and you haven't even thought it up yet. Progress, please."

Hugh and Michael saluted.

Josh left them to it in the drawing room and bounded down the stairs. Then doubled back into the kitchen to grab a packet of Parkin's favourite treats. It paid to keep that dog on side.

Once out on the cobbled street, the cold almost winded him. Josh charged up to Mrs Wimpole's house in the centre of the crescent. Everything was quiet. Most sensible people were inside with nice food and a movie.

Ever since he'd received a mysterious WhatsApp from Mrs Wimpole requesting his presence, he'd been intrigued.

He bounced up her steps and rang the bell. Instantly, Parkin went berserk from inside the house.

Mrs Wimpole flung open the door. She was resplendent in a cherry-red cashmere sweater and tartan trousers. She always got it spot-on.

"Mrs W. You look gorgeous."

She offered her cheek, which he kissed.

"You're only saying it because it's true," she said with a gleam in her eye. "Come in."

Mrs Wimpole's house was perfection. Not that Josh expected anything less. Each time he visited, he noticed a new gorgeous piece of art or sculpture.

She had them on rotation. The rest of her collection was in storage or on loan to galleries across the world. Josh found that the height of luxury.

He allowed himself to be led upstairs to her drawing room where, unsurprisingly, the Professor waited for them. As did a tea tray complete with cakes.

"Coat off. Sit down," Mrs Wimpole ordered, gesturing to a chair.

Josh did as he was told with a sense of being summoned to the headmistress's office.

Surely, I'm not in any trouble.

"Now," she said, "let's get the business out of the way first. Then we'll have a bite to eat."

"You're making me nervous," Josh said, gripping the chair arm.

Mrs Wimpole and the Professor shared a knowing stare. The Professor sat forward.

"Thing is, we think we may have found something."

"Really?"

"Yes," Mrs Wimpole said, shifting farther forward in her seat. "We watched the video of that awful chat show incident. Then we viewed the one from the wedding."

"And there's the same person in both," the Professor interjected.

Mrs Wimpole shot him a glare that would freeze hell. He appeared to be blissfully unaware. Josh feared he would suffer for taking the dramatic reveal from her.

Not to be outdone, Mrs Wimpole reached under her coffee table and produced two printed photos.

She handed them to Josh with a flourish.

"Stills."

Josh examined them.

"There's no doubt," he said. "It's definitely the same guy."

A ridiculous number of garments lay in front of them on the table. Prototypes of all descriptions. This was the moment they would get exactly the right design. It was an unconventional way of working but Josh had always preferred to hold the piece in his hands. Something connected with him.

"Are you up to this?" Suzanne asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You've been away with the fairies since you came in."

He couldn't deny it. Ever since he'd left Mrs Wimpole's, his mind had been blown. Luckily, once Michael had left, the evening had been taken up with activities that came instinctively to him.

"Okay, if I tell you something, you cannot repeat it."

"Goes without saying."

And it did. For the millionth time he realised how much he'd missed her.

"Mrs Wimpole has evidence that this backlash against Hugh is on purpose."

She dropped a cream corset. "What?"

Of course, it sounded crazy to anyone not closely involved. Yet Josh remained convinced. Before he'd gone home, he had walked around the block. Mrs Wimpole had made him promise not to tell Hugh until they had more evidence which he'd reluctantly agreed to. Although he felt highly uncomfortable keeping something so important from him.

"There's the same guy at the chat show and the wedding."

"Fuck. Hang on, Mrs Wimpole? What the hell has she got to do with it?"

"Don't even go there," Josh replied. "I appear to have found myself in a crime-fighting trio."

Suzanne cackled. "I'm not laughing at Hugh. What has he said? He must be terrified."

"I haven't told him yet."

"Josh."

"I know. It might still be a coincidence. Mrs Wimpole is working on it."

Suzanne shook her head. "You're playing a dangerous game, my friend."

They sifted through items. Each putting them in piles of possibilities and rejects. He watched her going diligently about the task. She flitted her beautiful eyes from one garment to the other.

"Suzanne."

She stopped. "Oh God, what? Spit it out."

"How do you fancy this being the Winterton/Peters Collection?"

Stunned, Suzanne sat back in her chair.

"Why?"

He stared into her eyes. "Because I want to hand the baton over to you properly."

Even through the radio blaring out, it was as though the world had stopped. Suzanne seemed to be genuinely lost for words.

"What the fuck?"

Okay, maybe she had a slight grasp of the English language.

"Cut needs new ideas. This stuff is nowhere near as good as the collection you headed up last year. My heart isn't in it and it shows."

She shook her head. "Are you mad? I'm going to be a mum in mere weeks. I can't."

Josh shrugged. "I think you can. We'll make the best of this and you can take as long as you need. Then return to work and kill it."

"What are you going to do?"

He puffed up his chest. "I'm launching a label for drag queens. Serious couture."

Now it looked as if her jaw would hit the floor.

"I will still own Cut," he explained. "You'll have full control and a stake. We'll get the lawyers to work all that shit out. Say yes. Please."

Her eyes were dancing. "I can't make that decision on my own. You know that. I'm so flattered. Drag queen couture? It could work, you know."

"I know. Well, go on then."

"Go where?"

"Home to talk out this offer."

"Now?"

"Fuck it, we're the bosses. Take the day off."

She dashed around the table and kissed his cheek. "The shock is wearing off and this is growing on me. I'll have a decision for you tomorrow. I promise."

He kissed her hand.

He watched her practically sprint out of the studio and down the stairs. If she said no, he would be tempted to close the label. He wouldn't trust anyone else to design for Cut other than Suzanne. Deep down, he suspected she knew that.

The clothes on the table would keep for another day. Josh grabbed a pad and pencil. He flopped down on the couch. He wanted to sketch out an idea he'd had for a racy gown in the tartan Mrs Wimpole had been sporting the day before. It would be a great contrast.

When Josh sketched, he completely lost himself. He was playing with ideas for names for this brand. Each word surrounding the new and first proper design he'd done.

Tuck.

It was perfect. It followed in the vibe of Cut. It showed that there would still be the Winterton touch.

Desperate to ring Hugh to tell him, he leapt up to grab his phone.

Then he heard footsteps on the stairs. It must be the man himself, coming to surprise him.

Then Josh's blood ran cold as a figure appeared.

"Hello, Josh."

"Winston."