She excused herself and hurried upstairs. For a moment conversation waned, as the diners adjusted to one less opinion, but someone quickly plugged the gap and they had resumed full steam before she reached the landing. Quietly, she slipped into the bedroom and locked the door. In the corner was a tall mirror and she positioned herself in front of it, or as best she could while keeping her bump in view. It was prominent now, shaped like the bottom of an egg. But something wasn’t right, something digging in her side. She reached an arm behind her, to find the offending clasp or buckle, but couldn’t quite reach, her fingers extended and scratching blindly, until the effort made her turn right round and fall on the bed. ‘Shit.’ A more thorough approach required. She pulled her blouse out of her skirt, lifted it up and with her free hand undid the laces on her corset. The cushions it held strapped to her waist bulged. The egg shape, so carefully sculpted, melted and deformed. But there was the offender a zip from one of the cushions. She tucked it in and rearranged the whole ensemble, tying the corset firmly in place. Downstairs, the diners had polished off their pastries and reclined in their chairs, chatting amiably about nothing in particular. When she appeared, Matt stood up and put out his arm, guiding her gently to her place. Their eyes followed her all the way, and she shivered pleasantly in the warmth of their affection and gentle concern.