Sworn Secret by Amanda Jennings

of tin foil stuck to his nipples. ‘Do you know where I can find Dan?’
    The man with tin-foil nipples gestured to the back of the room.
    Jon followed the direction of the man’s point.
    And that was when he saw her.
    She was dressed in black PVC boots that reached up to her thighs and what appeared to be a black one-piece swimming costume, with a white band around her neck and a floor-length black coat with a scarlet satin lining. Her hair was cut in a short bob with a blunt fringe. She was the most striking thing Jon had ever laid eyes on. He was transfixed, and the rest of the party blurred around her. She caught him staring, but rather than look away she held his gaze, and he was drawn towards her like a sailor to a siren, his heart pumping louder than the music with nerves and excitement.
    ‘Hello,’ he said. How brave he was!
    ‘Hello,’ she replied.
    And then she smiled.
    The smile was something the like of which he never imagined could exist. It illuminated her face, showed her perfect teeth, wrinkled her nose, crinkled her gleaming eyes and bunched her cheeks. Not a single part of her face was left out of that smile. He was stunned.
    ‘I like your outfit,’ she shouted above the music. ‘You look fabulous!’
    He stared at her, unable to talk, scared that as soon as he did she’d lose interest and vanish.
    ‘I love the tweed!’ she pushed on, reaching out to run her fingers down his lapel.
    He had to find his tongue. It was now or never. ‘You’re taking the Michael, I feel.’ His heart sank at his dismal offering and he readied himself for her leaving.
    But she didn’t leave.
    She laughed.
    ‘Taking the who?’ she said.
    ‘Um . . . the Michael. It’s the Mick really. But I say Michael instead. I don’t know why, really . . . it’s just . . . well, a joke. Anyway, it means you’re teasing me.’
    She laughed and touched his arm. He looked down and saw her hand on his sleeve, the skin covered in splodges of ingrained paint, neat nails, more paint beneath.
    ‘I’m not! I promise!’ she said. ‘This is a bloody sweatbox. You’re dressed in a stupidly hot suit that a toff would wear to do shooting, or whatever they do. You look wholly inappropriate. I tried to be too clever and I just look like a tart, which is what Dan wanted, of course, so is wholly appropriate and so, by definition, doesn’t obey the dress rules. See my problem?’
    He was smitten.
    ‘What do you mean, too clever?’ he asked.
    She looked at him, then put her hands on her hips, smiled and posed, jutting a leg forward. He stared at her, thunderstruck with desire. She feigned irritation then pushed her hands together in prayer. He stared. She shook her head and grinned.
    ‘You see? People should never try to be clever. Wholly inappropriate? A dog collar? I’m a vicar. A woman dressed as a vicar? At this godless party?’ She lifted her leg, bent at the knee. ‘High heels on a vicar? Inappropriate.’ She opened her coat and he stared at the exquisite curve of her waist. ‘Scarlet lining? Black boots? Not very holy!’
    Jon laughed. ‘Holy! Wholly. Yes, yes, I get it! You’re right, that is clever.’
    ‘Nope,’ she shook her head. ‘Just a tart, like all these other tarts.’
    ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘You’re beautiful.’ He paused. ‘And very chaste.’
    She smiled again then held out her hand. ‘I’m Kate.’
    ‘I’m Jon.’ He took her hand. ‘The toff.’
    She laughed. Then someone came up behind her and put his arms around her, hands rising up over her breasts. He kissed her neck, then looked up and grinned at Jon.
    ‘Kiki, you’ve met my brother, I see.’ He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, his eyes staying on Jon. And there it was, the first stab of jealousy Jon had felt, cutting into him with its serrated, acid edge. ‘Just be careful he doesn’t bore you to death,’ he said, then he winked at Jon as if that made it OK. ‘Good to see you, brother. Get yourself a beer, loosen