Page 26 of Murder on the Brighton Express
I liked to pride myself on being good at thinking on my feet, but Harry had a way of making me trip over them instead. Going by his satisfied smirk, he knew he’d caught me out.
The appearance of Mrs. Hessing stepping out of the lift was a welcome distraction. The arrival of Uncle Ronald via the front entrance was even more welcome. Both he and Mrs. Hessing looked directly at us.
Harry rose and did up his jacket button. “I need to speak to my client about these latest developments.”
Uncle Ronald stopped in the middle of the foyer. His gaze tracked Harry as he intercepted Mrs. Hessing. He frowned, something he did a lot, but this time I worried it was the precursor to a lecture about being seen with Harry. I would set him straight before he had the opportunity to open his mouth.
“Good morning, Uncle,” I said.
He checked his watch. “It’s the afternoon.” As he tucked it back into his waistcoat pocket, his narrowed gaze sought out Harry again.
“We were just chatting,” I said quickly. “It would be rude of me not to greet him.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me, Cleopatra.”
“Pretend?” I asked weakly.
“I’m pleased that you and Armitage are working together for Mrs. Hessing. I like that you’re taking an interest in hotel affairs.” His gaze softened. “You’re an asset when you put your mind to it.” He stroked his moustache, seemingly embarrassed at speaking so affectionately. “Make sure his paramour doesn’t find out. You don’t want to upset her.”
He hailed Mr. Hobart before I had the opportunity to reply. Not that I would have spoken up. I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him Harry and Miss Morris were no longer together. It would only make him worry that I was in Harry’s sights, then he’d forbid me from seeing him, and perhaps even forbid me from investigating. Uncle Ronald still didn’t believe I had no interest in marriage, and therefore no interest in Harry. If he wasn’t going to listen to my continual denials, I wasn’t going to set him straight now.
Harry rejoined me as Mrs. Hessing headed to the post desk, her walking stick clicking on the floor tiles with firm precision. “You waited for me. Is everything all right with Sir Ronald?”
“He thinks we’re working together for Mrs. Hessing. He likes that I’m taking an interest in hotel affairs.”
His smile was rueful. “So that’s why he doesn’t mind us talking.”
“That, and he believes you are still with Miss Morris.”
He arched his brows at me. “Cleo, you should tell him I’m not.”
I cleared my throat. “You get your wish. You may help me with my case so that it appears we’re working together to appease my uncle. Shall we discuss it over lunch at Luigi’s?”
He indicated I should leave the hotel ahead of him. “I knew you’d give in.”
“You did not. Anyway, I’m not giving in because I want to be near you. I’m giving in because if I don’t, Uncle Ronald will grow suspicious. If he finds out I’m not helping you with Mrs. Hessing’s situation, but am trying to solve a murder, he might forbid me from sleuthing. I am merely protecting my freedom.”
We both greeted Frank as we passed him, then headed up Piccadilly.
“Of course,” Harry finally said. “Have it your way.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you can tell yourself whatever you like, but you gave in without much of a protest, from what I could see.”
“Then you weren’t looking properly. I’m hungry. Are you hungry? It’s been an age since I’ve had a bowl of Luigi’s pasta. I think I’ll have the spaghetti today. What about you?”
I walked off before he could tease me about my tendency to chatter when I was nervous.
Fifteen minutes later,I placed the sketch I’d made of the first-class carriage on the table between us. Harry and I sat in our usual spot in the window of Roma Café below his office on Broadwick Street, Soho. One of the other tables was occupied by two women speaking in rapid Italian to each other. They looked a little familiar, but it wasn’t until one of the dark-eyed beauties gave Luigi a simpering smile as he approached us that I recalled seeing her in the café before.
Harry and I placed our orders for spaghetti Bolognese, and I also ordered a pot of tea. Luigi shook his head in disappointment as he walked off, then repeated my order in Italian for the benefit of the women and the two leathery-skinned men seated on the stools at the counter. I didn’t speak much Italian but understood enough to know that Luigi told them I was still drinking dirty water.
I took out my notebook and pencil from my bag and placed them beside the diagram. “Starting from the front of the carriage is Ruth Price’s compartment. She sat alone. In compartment number two were two women, both wearing large hats. The one with the wine-red flowers decorating her hat bumped into me on the platform in Brighton. I don’t know their names and didn’t see their faces.”
I flipped open my notebook. At the top of a blank page, I wrote ‘Compartment Two’ and ‘Woman in Red Hat’ beside it. On the next page, I repeated the compartment number and wrote ‘Other Woman in Big Hat.’
“In the third compartment was the actor and impresario, Clement Beecroft.” I wrote that down on the next page of my notebook as I told Harry how my maid had seen Beecroft swimming up to a bathing machine. “I overheard the woman in the hut giggle, so I presume they were enjoying themselves.” I wrote that detail down, then suddenly looked up. “Jane thinks he’s married, so the woman could have been his wife, but he has a reputation as a philanderer.”
