[i]17:00 Hours Hobbs & Pollard Threads – Greenwich, London[/i]

[url=https://youtu.be/r594pxUjcz4]When Pleasantries are About[/url]
[hr]

	Placing her delicate hand within his masculine sent goosebumps up her arm, thankfully she sported her coat to conceal that fact, Vera stepped down from the Peugeot, and nodded her thanks. She turned with him to view the store front with him, her eyes widening as well. While Vera kept a straight posture, she pulled her shoulders back square, and lifted her chin up a tad higher than she normally carried it. She would not be made a fool of in a place like this, and nor would she allow anyone to mock Shay of his accent. 

“Don’t you worry about what these people think, money always silences their wagging tongues. We’ll tell them that you need a measurement, and a fitting done; hopefully, your shoulders aren’t too broad, or else we’ll need a custom-made suit. Besides, all they know is that we can more than afford any suit in their blasted shop.” She boasted, tugging on Shay’s wrist briefly, and then proceeded with a brisk walk up the stairs to the front door of Hobbs & Pollard Threads, where she disappeared inside the red brick building. The store front itself denoted of higher quality items inside with its white stone Grecian columns that stood like a gateway into a realm of opulence and luxury, mirrored by broad panes of glass trimmed with painted green wood, this was a place afforded by only the wealthier members of society, certainly not the [i]richest[/i], but those that lived in Greenwich, lived a more lavish life when compared to the commonfolk in Southwark. How Mr. Harrison afforded suits of these quality left her feeling dumbfounded, she thought that the people living in Southwark were generally associated with the lower class, which was true, but why a man like Mr. Harrison kept his shop in Southwark, when he could afford suits from Greenwich baffled her. Perhaps he preferred to live a simpler life than his wealth would allude to. 

	When Shay eventually joined her inside, he would find Vera talking to a saleswoman in her mid-forties, sporting a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles, draped around the collar of her blouse like a set of pearls hung a measuring tape, a neat bun secured at the base of her skull held her peppered hair. As the bell above the door chimed merrily, Vera turned her attention upon him, her relaxed posture and easy-going smile indicating that she had encountered no conflict. Whatever she said while he remained outside no matter how brief or length of time, was long enough for her to waive any questions about his worries over his accent.

“There he is, my dear. Yes, Matilda, if you would be a doll and give him a proper measurement, we would both be indebted to you. Finding a suit that fits this man is like trying to cool a cuppa’ tea with hot milk. Shay my darling, this is Matilda, take off your coat so she can obtain a proper measure right quick. She said a man of your stature and build would find several suits here.” Her choice of words were odd indeed, calling him [i]dear[/i], and [i]darling[/i] were not words a woman like her would use so readily. That only went to show how well her skills in communication were, ready to assume any role necessary despite the situation. She would have no problem adjusting to tomorrow’s task, but it was Shay that her worries concerned. Deciding inwardly, Vera knew it would be best if they picked up a book on paintings at least to aid them in tomorrow’s assignment. Even then, she would be able to help him with what etiquette she did know to mask any suspicions about their status. This would certainly be a long night ahead of them both. As her eyes lingered on the two individuals, Vera reflected back to his words in the Peugeot. His own father, while he had one, was a hard man to love, which made her question how her own father would have loved Sam and her, if there were any love to be given. According to their mother, when she managed to speak of their father, it was always in a positive light, how he swept her off her feet, figuratively speaking, with a bouquet of flowers picked from a field, and how he had asked Eliza and Edward for her hand, as her mother's parents were deceased by that time. What she marveled at the most, was his words of the war; he had mentioned that he was a cautious man, one that remembered all too well the ways of the war, how every loud noise bothered him, the backfire of a car, a blown out tire, or even shouting. Her thoughts darted to how her brother reacted in the car drive over to the Tawdry, how he had yelled at her for her poor choices, she wondered then if he had felt tense or fear, if it had put him on edge. 

	Before long, her gaze simply fixed upon Shay, lost in her own thoughts. He felt nothing when he killed that Jepson brother, or injured the others, no, his sole task was to protect her, and he did an excellent job. It became clearer to her as to the reason why her brother elicited his help, regardless of his heritage, Sam understood before she did, that he could trust him to get the job done. Unknowingly, a smile crept onto her lips, recalling how he said that if Sam hadn't asked him, and if she were in danger, he still would have gone to look after her safety, as he put it, [i]she was a good lass[/i], even if she had her own demons to conquer, he had his own vices like her where smoking and heavy drinking provided comfort. His words echoed in her mind, and she could feel her body relax as she leaned against the counter, one elbow propping her up, with her hips jutted out to one side. She was in safe hands.