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Goliath went to fetch a luggage trolley while Peter smiled and greeted the new arrivals as they passed us on their way to the check-in desk. He then turned to me.
“Harmony was looking for you.”
“Shouldn’t she be resting at the residence hall?” Her cleaning duties would have finished at two and she wouldn’t be starting her rounds as personal maid for another hour.
“She wanted to hear how your day went. I think she’s bored.”
I’d come to the same conclusion about Harmony. Ever since her role as assistant to Floyd ended, and she’d returned to her duties as maid, she seemed listless. She never complained, but I could see the dissatisfaction in her eyes. They no longer lit up when we ate breakfast together in the mornings. Cleaning rooms wasn’t enough stimulation for her. She’d liked being involved in the opening of the new restaurant. She’d been good at it, too. Floyd had made a few key decisions, and had been influential in getting the right people to attend opening night, but Harmony had organized it all.
I found her on the sofa in my suite, reading a book I’d borrowed from the hotel library. Her feet were tucked up under her and she was absent-mindedly twisting a curl of hair around her finger.
“You’ll never guess what happened at the polo today,” I said as I unpinned my hat.
She put her feet on the floor and closed the book. “A horse attacked your hair.”
I sat beside her and touched my hair. “No.”
“You fell over and got dirt on your cheek.” She rubbed my cheek then inspected the smudge on her thumb. She sniffed it. “It’s not dirt.”
“It’s probably oil from the automobile smuts. I’ll clean up in a moment. But first, listen to this. There was a murder in the club’s stables.”
She sat up straight. “Good grief! Are you a witness?”
“I was second on the scene after the fellow who discovered the body.”
“Then you are in a unique position.” She retrieved a pencil and notepad from the desk and returned to the sofa. “Tell me everything.”
By the time I needed to get ready for dinner, we had two full pages of notes, questions, and information about the victim and potential suspects. Talking it over with Harmony helped consolidate my scattered thoughts and decide what to do next. While I hadn’t declared it in so many words, I knew I would investigate. Starting in the morning, I would find out all I could about Vernon Rigg-Lyon.
I was unable to escape talk of the murder that evening. It was the topic of conversation at dinner, particularly after our fellow diners discovered we were at the polo.
Aunt Lilian and Uncle Ronald had invited several American guests to dine with us in an attempt to garner favor with the wealthy travelers. Some were coming to the end of their stay in England and he wanted to ensure they would return to the Mayfair Hotel next year. The personal touch from the city’s last remaining family-owned luxury hotel was the Mayfair’s best attribute and he was aware of that more than anyone. To make them feel special, he’d asked Mrs. Poole to add several American dishes to the menu. Alongside canvasback ducks, terrapin, clams, oysters, and green corn were seasonal vegetables, all accompanied by her own unique sauces and seasonings.
I was disappointed to find I wasn’t seated with Miss Hessing. My aunt had chosen the traditional arrangement of alternating the sexes which placed me between two men, only one of whom was under thirty. The other was his uncle, a contemporary of Mrs. Hessing. After the requisite exchange of pleasantries, he turned to her on his other side and found himself stuck for the remainder of the evening. I was left with his nephew, Marshall Miller. Fortunately, the younger Mr. Miller was rather pleasing to look at with his dark hair and warm brown eyes.Unfortunately, we got off on the wrong foot.
“The Mayfair is spectacular,” he said in his American drawl. “I hear it was once your uncle’s manor house and he converted it to a hotel after he married your aunt.”
My heart sank. He was interested in me only because of my connection to the hotel and the Bainbridge family. ThewealthyBainbridge family, distantly related to nobility.
“I wish I lived in a luxury hotel,” he went on.
My disappointment at being seen as nothing more than an object in the Bainbridge orbit meant my next words were bitter ones. It was a poor excuse, however, and I regretted them the moment they were out of my mouth. “Why? Don’t you already have your laundry done for you, room service at your beck and call, maids to clean for you, and a fine menu at your disposal every evening?”
His lips parted and a strangled noise escaped. He recovered quickly, however, and laughed. “You mistake me for my uncle. I simply meant you’re fortunate to meet a variety of people from all over the world. I suspect every day is different to the one before it.”
My heart sank even further. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I was…” I couldn’t think how to get out of it with my dignity intact. I really ought to have learned my lesson about not jumping to conclusions by now, but it seemed I hadn’t. I’d made a dreadful mess.
“You were too distracted by my handsome face?” he teased. He tilted his chin and turned to the side. “They say my profile is my best feature. Although that could be because the straight-on view is hideous.”
It was a relief to learn I hadn’t offended him, and that he was offering me a dignified way out. “Who is this ‘they’ you speak of, and do they know they need glasses?”
He grinned. “They’re work colleagues at my uncle’s office. They’re the only people I associate with back home. I’m too busy to have friends and my cousins are all dribbling idiots. They’re aged under four, though, so there’s hope for them yet.”
I laughed. “It’s good of your uncle to bring you with him on holiday.”
“We’re not on vacation. He’s here for business, and I’m here as his assistant.”
“Then you won’t have time to see the sights.”
