Chapter 11 #2
Floyd’s fingers skimmed over the silver cutlery.
I hoped he had enough control not to pick up the fork and threaten the guest the way I had.
I doubted Mr. Lombardi would report me to my uncle, given it would mean revealing the reason I wanted to stab him, but I doubted Floyd could get away with it.
To alleviate some of the tension I sensed Floyd was feeling, I was about to mention the article in the Italian newspaper that discussed the closure of Mr. Lombardi’s factories but decided against it.
I didn’t want to reveal all the cards in my hand yet.
At the restaurant entrance, Mr. Chapman greeted Uncle Ronald and Flossy.
They all looked at us before my uncle and cousin approached our table.
While my uncle stopped to speak to a guest, I put a smile on my face and asked Mr. Lombardi a question that I hoped would unsettle him.
“The Nerve Elixir is your bestselling product, is that right?”
He looked pleased that I was taking an interest. “It is, because it is so powerful, so good. Many people suffer from melancholy, particularly women, but my tonic revives them. It gives them energy.” His hands gestured to his torso with a lifting motion.
“So your marketing materials say. What I want to know, however, is what happens if it stops selling?”
He tilted his head to the side. “I do not understand the question.”
“If sales of the Nerve Elixir fall significantly, does your business fail?”
Floyd stood as Flossy arrived at our table, having left her father behind.
Mr. Lombardi didn’t stand. He continued to stare at me. “Sales will not fall, Miss Fox. There is nothing wrong with the ingredients in my tonic.”
“I didn’t say there was.” I turned to my cousin.
“Flossy, dearest, you’re here. Come and sit down.
No, not beside Mr. Lombardi. He wants Uncle Ronald to sit on his other side tonight so they can more easily discuss business matters.
” I may be stuck with him, as it was impolite to swap places now, but I could save Flossy.
Hopefully, the horrid man wouldn’t dare flirt with me—or try anything else—after I’d threatened him with the fork.
The dinner was surprisingly, and blessedly, short. Mr. Lombardi excused himself before dessert and left. Uncle Ronald ate his vanilla blancmange quickly, then got up to mingle with hotel guests, leaving me with my two cousins.
Flossy pushed her trifle away, untouched. “Pretending to enjoy listening to that man is the absolute worst. The sooner he checks out, the better.”
Floyd leaned across her to speak to me, forcing her to sit back. “What were you and Lombardi talking about when I arrived, Cleo? I want the truth this time.”
I was going to lie, but decided there was no point. Besides, Flossy needed to be warned. “His flirtation crossed a line.”
“That bloody cur. Just say the word and I’ll call him out.”
Flossy screwed up her nose at him. “Don’t be silly. You couldn’t duel with a fly, let alone a man.”
“It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle,” I said. “Do not cause a scene, Floyd. Not until after his event is over, and, even then, wait until he has left the hotel altogether if you must say something to him.”
Somewhat mollified, he sat back and finished his dessert.
I ate mine, too, but hardly tasted the ice cream. I couldn’t stop thinking about all the famous people who’d endorsed the Nerve Elixir. “Do you think Lombardi personally knows the people who’ve given testimonials praising his tonic?” I asked Floyd.
“He told me he sent them all free samples of the tonic and asked them to write back endorsing it if it worked. He says he has thousands of positive reviews, but only uses the most famous people in his advertisements.”
“It must have been expensive to send free samples all around the world,” Flossy said.
“It’s ingenious. Think about it, Flossy. If you needed a new medicine, would you try the one endorsed by the queen or the one that fellow over there says cured him?” He pointed to a man at a far table.
“The queen, of course.”
“It may have been expensive sending all those bottles, but it was a successful endeavor.”
Flossy didn’t seem to be listening anymore. She longingly eyed her dessert.
Floyd followed her gaze. “Are you going to eat that?”
She shook her head, and he swapped his empty bowl for her full one.
“Aren’t connections interesting,” I murmured. “Those important and well-known people trusted Lombardi enough to try his tonic. He must have met them before.”
“He claims he hadn’t,” Floyd said.
Perhaps the connection was fleeting, a few moments at a gathering, an encounter in a hotel foyer…
Was Isabel Kempsey and Edith Hamlin’s connection fleeting?
An introduction at a luncheon, a shared interest that led to paths crossing?
It was odd that neither spouse nor sister of each woman had heard of the other, but not entirely impossible.
They may not have been friends as I’d thought, but mere acquaintances.
Or their relationship had been a secret one.
Once our desserts were finished, we three left the restaurant together.
Mr. Chapman bade as goodnight as we passed him and we entered the hotel foyer.
Floyd excused himself and headed to the post desk to pick up a newspaper.
The desk was unmanned, Terence having gone home hours ago, but looking at the pigeonholes behind where he would usually stand got me thinking.
I pictured him going through the mail after it arrived, sorting it into the holes, ready to be collected by guests.
Mail for the hotel itself was set aside for the appropriate senior member of staff.
All the mail to the hotel came through Terence, and he was very good at making sure it got into the right hands.
Usually. There’d been an occasion when the mail had been sorted incorrectly. Flossy had received post meant for her brother because Terence read the name incorrectly.
The letter setting up the meeting outside the Café Royal that had been discovered in Isabel Kempsey’s things after her death may not have been intended for Dr. Iverson at all.
Without the envelope, and with no name on the letter, we couldn’t be sure.
Nor could he. He’d simply assumed it was meant for him because it was among his other mail.
Assumptions could cause mistakes in investigations. They could lead to the wrong paths being taken and incorrect conclusions being made. Despite our experience, Harry and I had made a fundamental mistake and assumed the same thing as Dr. Iverson.
Dr. Iverson was back at work the next day, much to Miss Wainsmith’s relief.
“I wasn’t looking forward to spending another day turning patients away.
” She kept her voice low so that the women in the waiting area couldn’t hear.
“Although Sister Dearden is a marvelous substitute, and I would personally be happy to be seen by her, most prefer the doctor. It’s not just his professional knowledge, it’s his manner.
” Her gaze turned wistful. “He can be so understanding, his calm temperament is like a soothing balm for fragile nerves.” Her cheeks flushed as she busied herself with the appointment book.
“So the patients tell me.” She cleared her throat.
“Do you need to speak to him, Mr. Armitage?”
“Actually, it’s you we came to see.”
“Me? Oh. How can I help?”
“We have more questions about the anonymous letter found in Isabel Kempsey’s things, the one setting up a meeting on Regent Street.”
“I already told you. I don’t remember it at all.”
“But you must have received it from the postman and given it to Dr. Iverson along with his other letters.”
“I know I must have, but I honestly don’t remember it.”
“Wouldn’t it be a thing you remembered?” I asked. “An anonymous letter suggesting to meet at a particular place at a particular time. It’s all rather clandestine. I think I’d remember it if I saw it.”
Miss Wainsmith chewed on her lower lip. “I suppose.” Her lips parted with a gasp. “Oh! Perhaps it arrived on a day I wasn’t here. I’ve been a little unwell off and on for a few weeks. When did the doctor say he received it?”
“Five days before Mrs. Kempsey’s death.”
She counted back on her fingers. “That was Wednesday. Yes, I was ill that day. Mrs. Iverson filled in for me. She’s familiar with how things work here, so it’s easy for her to slip into the role rather than get a temporary girl in.
In fact, she used to be a receptionist years ago at a different practice.
That’s where she met Dr. Iverson. I’m sure she’ll remember the letter.
She’s very clever.” Her brow suddenly furrowed.
“Wait a moment. Wasn’t she there when you asked me about it the first time?
I think she was. I wonder why she didn’t say anything at the time.
Perhaps she didn’t remember seeing it, after all. ”
“It would seem so,” Harry said, his tone easygoing. “Thank you, Miss Wainsmith. You’ve been very helpful.”
Miss Wainsmith smiled. “I’m so glad. I do want to help the doctor. Having this sword hanging over his head is a terrible burden to carry.”
Her metaphors may have been mixed, but the resulting imagery was clear.
The consulting suite door opened and a patient emerged.
She thanked the doctor and expressed her pleasure at seeing him again.
“I’m sure this nasty business will all be over soon.
I engaged the services of Mrs. Cook, the medium, and she spoke to her spirit guide right in front of me.
The guide assured Mrs. Cook that your name would soon be cleared of all wrongdoing, Doctor. ”
Dr. Iverson touched the patient’s elbow. “That’s very comforting to know.”