Page 2 of Murder at the Dinner Party
She sniffed the air. “It’s all but gone. Do you think any of the guests noticed?” She looked around at the small private gathering, most of whom were family members and friends of Mr. Liddicoat. The Hessings had no family in England and few friends. “This wouldn’t have happened if Mr. Hobart oversaw the event,” she said as she turned back to us. “Where is he, anyway? I haven’t seen him all night.”
Floyd shrugged. “He ought to be here. Cleo, you must know where he is.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you seem to know more about his private life than either of us.”
“I doubt that.”
“No?” he asked, innocently. “Doesn’t Armitage discuss his family with you?”
“Rarely.”
Talking about Harry brought up the memory of how we’d last parted, after a kiss in his office. He’d instigated the kiss, but I’d liked it very much. Too much. Even so, I’d ended it before it developed into something I couldn’t walk away from, something I’d later regret when the implications had sunk in.
I’d hurried out of his office, my mind whirling. I couldn’t recall if I even said goodbye. I walked for hours before returning to the hotel, hot and bothered by both the summer heat and the kiss. I tried to push all thoughts of it from my mind afterward. At night, when I couldn’t sleep, I picked up a book and read until exhaustion overtook me. I avoided all mention of him, and even avoided speaking to his uncle, the hotel manager. And I’d avoided going anywhere near Harry’s Soho office.
In the weeks since, he had avoided me, too. There’d been no correspondence from him, not even a brief note. I was grateful for that. It made it easier to forget the kiss, and him.
Thankfully, I was saved from dwelling on it now by Mr. Chapman announcing the first course. A train of waiters emerged from the kitchen with bowls of turtle soup, one of Mrs. Poole’s signature dishes. Next came poached trout and deep-fried whitebait, another of her regular offerings. It would seem she would not attempt anything unfamiliar, after all, despite what Mr. Chapman wanted. Or perhaps her suppliers hadn’t been able to accommodate the last-minute changes. From the look on Mrs. Hessing’s face, she was pleased. It wouldn’t surprise me if Mrs. Poole cooked the dishes she knew one of the hotel’s fussiest guests would enjoy, despite instruction from Mr. Chapman to the contrary. Her professionalism and willingness to accommodate her diners’ tastes were part of the reason she was an excellent chef.
The rest of the evening was just as much a success. The food was heavenly, the speeches eloquent, and the bride-to-be’s mother not too overbearing. Before she left the restaurant, Miss Hessing clasped my hands and squeezed. She thanked me profusely, although I wasn’t really sure why. I’d merely suggested the hotel restaurant as a venue for the engagement dinner; the staff had done the rest.
Once she departed with her mother, only my family remained to see that the staff had it all in hand before we also retired. Before passing through the doorway that led directly to the hotel, I overheard my uncle tell Mr. Chapman that he wanted to see him in his office first thing in the morning.
Floyd had also overheard. He leaned closer to me. “I wouldn’t want to be in Chapman’s shoes tomorrow.”
“Cleopatra!” Uncle Ronald barked. “Wait there.”
“I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes now,” Floyd muttered before hurrying ahead.
I smiled as my uncle strode up to me. It was clear from his scowl that he would not be thanking me for suggesting the engagement party be held in the restaurant. To be fair, he often scowled for no particular reason. It didn’t always mean he was annoyed.
This time, however, it did. “Where’s Hobart?”
“Why would I know where he is?”
“Because you two get along.”
“Perhaps he had a personal matter that required his attention at home.”
“Home?”
“Yes. He has one outside of the hotel, and a wife.” It was a little acerbic of me, but I couldn’t help it. Sometimes my uncle took Mr. Hobart for granted and it needed to be pointed out to him.
He grunted. “Tonight was important. Mrs. Hessing is a great supporter of the hotel, but now that her daughter is to marry, there’s a danger she won’t return. We needed to be out in full force to show her why she ought to come back here, even if her son-in-law can comfortably accommodate her during her future visits to London.”
While I couldn’t defend Mr. Hobart, I could allay my uncle’s fear. I looped my arm through his and strolled with him along the corridor to the hotel foyer. “I have it on good authority that the guest bedrooms in the Liddicoats’ marital home will be in a state of renovation whenever Mrs. Hessing visits.”
“I thought they hadn’t chosen a new home yet. How can Miss Hessing know the guest bedrooms will require renovation?”
I winked at him.
He finally understood. Indeed, he even chuckled, proving he had a sense of humor, after all. He patted my arm. “Well done with Miss Hessing, Cleo. You have been a good friend to her.”
“They would have found a way to be together if Mrs. Hessing didn’t approve of Mr. Liddicoat, but I do credit myself with playing a part in convincing her he was worthy.”
“I meant by suggesting the engagement party be held in our restaurant. There’s not a finer venue in the city!” He patted my arm again. Then, spotting Mrs. Short waiting at one side of the corridor, gave her his full attention.
