Her laughter became something nearer a giggle at his philosophy on knickers, though it was his hand at her skirts that told her a little more about what sort of mood he was in. Ester supposed she might as well test that. So, instead of making for the chair that had been her original destination, she turned on her heel and - taking a dainty sip of her drink first, before she set it down - perched herself, just as comfortably, on Gordon’s lap instead. “Well, one really must capitalise on the muse, mustn’t they?” she agreed, smirking down at him before she reached across to pluck the latest page of his work half out of the typewriter to better skim it.

“Oh my, Mr. Gibson!” Ester declared as she read, pretending open-mouthed shock at his authorial work, as if quite anything he could write would shock her. “A fine mistress, indeed.”

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