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There is nothing more anxiety-inducing than waiting for a scolding you know is coming. It’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop, where the shoe is made of iron and the floor of glass.
It had been a week since I’d seen Jonathon Hartly leave Uncle Ronald’s office on the fourth floor of the hotel. While I couldn’t be certain Jonathon told him that I’d continued to associate with Harry Armitage after being ordered not to, I suspected he was vindictive enough to do it. He’d been indignant after I rejected his advances and resentful that Harry had been the one to save Floyd from financial ruin when he could not.
No doubt Jonathon left out the business about the gambling house from his account to my uncle. That was the only silver lining in the grim cloud about to burst over my head. Floyd may have dreadful taste in friends, but he was my cousin and I liked him. I didn’t want him landing in further hot water with his autocratic father.
It was almost a relief when the summons finally came a week to the day after Jonathon called on Uncle Ronald. Relief was quickly replaced by a sense of foreboding as I presented myself at his office on a wet spring morning. I focused on the dense gray bank of clouds through the window and willed him to get on with it.
It seemed to take an age before he finally slotted his pen into the stand and set aside a list of names he’d been compiling. “Close the door, Cleopatra.”
I’d left it open in the hope it would encourage Uncle Ronald to keep his voice down. I went to shut it, but it was pushed open wider from the other side. Floyd stepped inside, frowning at me.
“I saw you through the gap.” He looked past me to his father. “What’s the matter?” He wouldn’t ordinarily intrude on a private conversation between Uncle Ronald and me, which meant he knew what this was about, or suspected, and wanted to help me if I needed defending.
I stepped aside to let him in.
Instead of sending him on his way, Uncle Ronald invited us both to sit. He clasped his hands on top of the desk and regarded me with a directness I expected from him. He was not the sort of man who beat about the bush.
“It has come to my attention that you have been in the company of Armitage, Cleopatra.”
“Who says that?” Floyd asked. He had not seen Jonathon leave this very room a week ago, nor had I mentioned it, but he knew his friend’s feelings towards Harry. And for me.
Uncle Ronald didn’t even look at his son. “Well? Is it true?”
“I’ve seen Harry from time to time,” I said. “He wanted my assistance with an investigation.” It wasn’t quite the truth, but it was close enough. “Before you forbid me from seeing him, again, I want to point out that Harry and I are merely friends. Anything more than that is impossible. Harry is a good person, trustworthy, and we work well together. Since he requires assistance with his work occasionally, and I require mental stimulation and a productive way to occupy my time, we share his case load. I’m discreet and careful. I don’t put myself or my reputation, or that of the hotel or our family, in any danger. Surely you can’t object to that?”
I’d been thinking of what to say for an entire week so now that the moment had arrived, it spilled out of me. My explanation had been far more eloquent in my head, but at least I managed to get the message across without letting my emotions overwhelm me, as they sometimes did when I was angry. I remained composed, not an easy thing to do under Uncle Ronald’s steely stare.
The ticking clock was loud in the silence that followed. In a way, it was good that he took his time to choose his words carefully. Perhaps, like me, he was determined to keep his temper in check and have a calm conversation. “I’m glad you understand the impossibility of it,” he finally said. “But does he?”
“Pardon?”
“You said, anything more than friendship is impossible. Does he realize that?”
“Yes, of course. He—"
“Armitage is a good man!” Floyd’s outburst made my nerves jangle. “He gave years of loyal service to this hotel and to our family, only to be treated abdominally by you.”
Uncle Ronald’s clasped thumbs switched positions. It was the only movement he made for several heartbeats before he finally turned to look at Floyd. “Armitage lied to me for years. He’s fortunate I didn’t dismiss his uncle for being complicit.”
“You did, but you came to your senses in Hobart’s case. You should come to your senses with Armitage, too. The hotel was better when he was assistant manager. He was an asset. The guests miss him.”
“Peter just needs a little more time to settle into the role,” I felt compelled to say. I needn’t have bothered. Both ignored me.
“What message would it convey to the staff if I let Armitage back?” Uncle Ronald ground out. “I’ll tell you what it says. It says that I’m weak, that anyone can lie to me and get away with it. It says that I’m not a man of my word. It says that I allow a common thief into my business—into myhome—and allow him near my family!” He grew redder with every sentence, and his moustache ends dampened with spittle.
I could throttle Floyd. His defense of Harry may have been well meaning, but he’d turned an otherwise civilized conversation into a shouting match. I may have known my uncle only a few months, but I knew how to handle him better than his own son.
Then it suddenly occurred to me. Their argument wasn’t about me. It wasn’t even about Harry. It was about father and son. Floyd had grown up, but his father still treated him like a child. Uncle Ronald didn’t want to relinquish responsibility, not even a little, and Floyd thought he was ready for more. It was an age-old story that either ended in disaster or success depending on how it was handled.
I was inclined to leave them to it, but since my friendship with Harry was the catalyst for their tug-of-war, I felt some responsibility to defuse the tension. “You have every right to refuse anyone entry into your hotel, Uncle.”
Floyd narrowed his eyes at me but remained quiet. He seemed to realize I was working up to something.
“I do,” Uncle Ronald agreed.
“But Floyd’s right in that Harry is quite harmless and his ten years of exemplary service for the hotel proves it. So,” I added, speaking loudly to be heard over my uncle’s blustery protest. “So, I think there’s no harm in me helping him with his investigations when required. We’ll maintain a respectable, professional relationship. We’re hardly even friends, really, and there is no danger of a misunderstanding between us. I am very content as a spinster, and Harry is courting someone.”
That knocked the wind out of my uncle’s sails. He looked as though he was getting ready to protest again, but suddenly sat back, deflated. “He is?”
