"Mrs. Harroway, would you care to step this way, please?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Walter saw Mr. Green leading a woman toward his workstation. The tailor snapped his fingers, and Walter jumped to his feet.
"Walter, kindly take some measurements. I apologize, Mrs. Harroway: my girl is out sick today."
"Not at all, Mr. Green," the woman answered in a low, pleasant voice. "Your young man seems quite capable."
Walter stood without looking up at the customer and pulled the loop of his measuring tape off his neck. "What is the piece, Mr. Green?"
"If you would remove your jacket, Mrs. Harroway. It's, uh, a corset, Walter," Mr. Green said, trying to sound professional. "Are you wearing a girdle, madam?"
Small, slender hands unbuttoned the well-cut suit jacket to reveal an expensive ecru blouse. "I am not," she responded. Walter thought that he could detect a hint of amusement in her voice.
"Then, hip, please, Walter."
The assistant stepped forward, swallowing, and set one end of the tape with his right hand. The woman's left hip was warm under the fabric of her skirt. He could feel the edge of her pelvic bone. With as much care as possible, Walter reached around her waist and drew the tape along the level. She smelled like silk and peaches. His hands met. He took a pencil from over his ear and noted the measurement on a scrap of paper.
"Waist."
Walter repeated his actions around the woman's slender waist. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her chest rise and fall with her breath.
"Ribs."
The customer raised her arms accommodatingly, and Walter wrapped the tape under her bust.
"Please lower your arms," he murmured.
She obeyed. His fingers were now trapped between her upper arm and her breast. He could feel the edge of her brassiere through the silk. He swallowed grimly.
Mr. Green cleared his throat. "Bust."
Walter's nose wrinkled. He stepped around behind the customer. Once again she raised her arms. He had to reach both arms around. It was a difficult proposition: lining up the measuring tape with the fullest part of her small breasts
nipples
without touching the fleshy mounds. He leaned forward slightly to peek over her shoulder and check his accuracy. He could see her hair, long and dark, bound up into a neat chignon under a stylish but simple hat.
There were still more measurements. Rib to waistline. Waistline in the back, over the shoulder, to front waistline.
Waistline to sternum. Walter held his hands awkwardly between her breasts. Waistline to décolletage. There was no way for his knuckles not to brush the swell of her breast by the nipple. Waistline to pelvis. Walter's skilled fingers detected a strangely hard and flat stomach.
The bell at the front of the store rang. "Excuse me for just a moment, Mrs. Harroway. Heel to waist, Walter."
He knelt by her dark pumps. "I need you to remove your shoes, ma'am."
The customer looked down at him. He glanced up at her face for the first time. She was not beautiful, but her face was fascinating nevertheless. She was not much older than he. Something in her dark, almond-shaped eyes made him touch her ankle gingerly. "May I?" he asked.
She shifted her weight, permitting him to guide the shoe off of her small foot. Walter watched the seam on her stockings as she stepped onto the cool floor of the shop. He slipped the other pump off. When her stance was even, he rested his right hand by her heel and worked the tape up the side of her leg to her waistline. He found himself staring at the curve of her buttock.
"You have a very light touch," she remarked, "Walter."
He was silent, noting the measurement on his scrap of paper. He touched her ankle gently and helped her back into her shoes, then wrapped his measuring tape around his neck again. Her gloved fingers brushed his hair, so feather-light that he thought he might have imagined it. Walter stood, but did not dare to meet those intense eyes again.
"Thank you, my dear," Mrs. Harroway announced, donning her jacket, and then she was gone.
Mr. Green saw her out and returned to the back of the shop with a fabric swatch in his hand. "It's what she picked out: glove-quality leather. Put that order together and get it to Cassovitz. He knows this kind of thing."
He handed the small square to Walter.
"Says it's for her husband. A surprise," Mr. Green offered, straightening his suit jacket.
"White for a bride," Walter muttered. He rubbed the scrap of soft leather between thumb and forefinger.
The tailor grimaced. "Too bad the guy's dead."
Confused, Walter looked up from his contemplation of the leather.
Green gave him a knowing glance. "It seems she is a merry widow," he sighed.