It had two unobtrusive buckles and added little to a waistline that hadn’t been exactly famous to begin with. Since she inclined to be heavy farther down – euphemism for a broad behind – it stayed reasonably in proportion. The holster was a much more tiresome business. Stiffer, heavier, a piece of saddlery, with a spring-clip mechanism, you could try it in front or behind of the hipbone, it remained hostile to the female pelvis. In the privacy of the bathroom, worn roughly where she kept her appendix, it was hysterically funny; combined with boots and a hat, simply the Playmate of the Month. Once outside the bathroom, a great deal less funny. At the back, quite impossible. It quarrelled with one’s behind and stuck out like a shelf. Oh well. ‘The Americans, I believe,’ said Arthur straightfaced, ‘call this a belly gun. Well named.’ She was prudish about toting it around like one’s diaphragm in the old days. The gun itself made a difference to weight but little to bulk: it had a short barrel.
