Chapter 6 #2
Harry caught any number of interested looks being cast their way as they wove between the tables to a comfortable velvet banquette curved around a table at the back of the room.
It offered a clear view of the band, the dance floor and many of the other guests, and was clearly a premium seat, reserved for the very best customers.
That, together with the easy familiarity with which Seb had navigated the hurdles to get inside, told Harry that this was not his first visit to the Hot Spot.
Given the dangers Oliver had hinted lay within its walls, she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
But there was no doubt that his acquaintance with the club had benefitted her this evening.
Perhaps it was best not to dwell too much on what Seb might have got up to in the past, especially since it was the actions of Rufus that had launched the family crisis they were trying to defuse.
Albert waved an expansive arm. ‘Please, make yourselves comfortable. Mi casa es su casa.’
‘My house is your house,’ Harry murmured to Beth, seeing her brow furrow ever so slightly.
Taking their coats, their host gave another ingratiating bow. ‘Your drinks will arrive momentarily.’
Harry slid behind the table and took the opportunity to examine their surroundings in more detail.
Her first observation was that she was overdressed – not in terms of finery but definitely in terms of coverage.
Many of the women she saw around her had bare shoulders and wore scandalously low necklines, while hemlines varied from floor-length to almost non-existent.
The men, by contrast, wore dinner dress, although those on the dance floor had discarded their jackets and waistcoats.
Some of the shirts had come untucked as they danced and others had dispensed with their collars.
It was all so wonderfully unbuttoned and free.
‘Did you spot Maud and Rosalind Goldsworthy as we came in?’ Seb asked. ‘They certainly saw you so we shall have to say hello at some point.’
Harry’s gaze swept across the tables until she saw the two sisters, holding court among a small group of other young men and women. ‘Isn’t that Cecil Porter with them?’
Her brother nodded. ‘And Josephine Dibley. She’s the star of Noel Coward’s new play. Beside her is Ivor Novello – another of Noel’s darlings.’
‘Is there anyone here you don’t know?’ she asked.
Seb laughed. ‘Of course. I’m sure you’ll have realised this isn’t my first visit to the Hot Spot but I’m not a regular. Which is why our little brother’s attachment to Miss Eccleston escaped my notice.’
The mention of the name caused Harry to glance across the room once more, this time seeking out those who might be working as dance hostesses.
She saw white-coated waiters carrying trays of drinks, others attending to champagne buckets, but there were no women waiting on the tables.
Frowning, she turned back to Seb and beckoned Beth nearer.
‘How are we to discover which one is Serafina?’
‘I imagine the hostess assigned to us will make herself known once the drinks arrive,’ he said. ‘We could always ask her.’
Harry exchanged a look with Beth. ‘We don’t want to raise any suspicions,’ she said. ‘Let’s give it half an hour, then Lizzie here can slip away and make some discreet enquiries.’
Seb glanced back and forth between them. ‘Why do I get the feeling I’m surplus to requirements here?’
‘Nonsense,’ Harry said, patting his arm. ‘You’re our secret weapon. Tell me what goes on here on a typical night.’
His expression grew slightly wary. ‘What do you mean?’
She fought the temptation to roll her eyes.
Really, did he still consider her so very unworldly?
‘I read the newspapers, Seb, I’m well aware we’re in a den of iniquity.
’ She laced the final three words with unmistakable sarcasm.
‘But it might be helpful to get an idea of the extent of the place. I don’t see any card games, for example – is there a separate room for gamblers? ’
‘Yes,’ he replied, and she sensed his reluctance to elaborate. ‘There’s a card room on the top floor, along with some private chambers for more intimate encounters.’
Harry was determined not to blush. ‘Do you mean there’s a brothel?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘No, that’s two doors down. These rooms are for consenting guests who want to get to know each other better. Much better. Usually in a group.’
‘Oh.’ Harry sat back against the velvet seat, feeling her cheeks turn scarlet. ‘How… Bohemian.’
She was saved from her brother’s knowing grin by the arrival of a waiter bearing a silver champagne bucket, followed by another expertly balancing a tray laden with three crystal flutes on the splayed fingertips of one hand.
The glasses were deposited on the table in deferential silence, then the champagne cork was popped.
Harry felt Beth quivering beside her, despite the other woman’s outwardly cool expression, and realised it must be the first time she had ever seen it done.
‘Small sips,’ she whispered, as the waiter filled the flutes with golden, fizzing bubbles.
‘It looks harmless but it’s lethal if you drink it too fast.’
Beth gave her a look that reminded Harry she had watched her put away several pints of mild and be seemingly none the worse for wear.
But they needed clear heads for what they were about to do.
The appearance of drunkenness was desirable.
Actual drunkenness was not. ‘Spoilsport,’ Beth grumbled, taking the flute Seb was offering her.
‘Whenever else am I going to get a bottle of the good stuff?’
Taking a miniscule sip from her own glass, Harry allowed herself a moment to savour the burst of buttery richness on her tongue before resuming her study of the clientele.
As she got used to the movement between tables, the ebb and flow of friends as they mingled and greeted one another, she began to pick out subtle differences in demeanour among some of the women she observed.
While appearing to laugh and enjoy the company of the table where they sat, there was a watchfulness behind their merriment, as though they were not truly part of the group, despite draping themselves across the men in a manner that was decidedly over-familiar.
She didn’t observe many of them dancing; in fact, they seemed more concerned with topping up glasses that were not empty.
‘They work on commission,’ Seb said, noticing her narrowed gaze. ‘The more people drink, the more they earn. And speaking of which…’
Looking up, Harry saw a young woman in a skimpy sequinned dress sashaying towards them, a glossy black bob swishing as she moved and a wide smile on her expertly made-up face. ‘Our hostess, I presume.’
She reached them before Seb could confirm Harry’s assertion.
‘Now this looks like my kind of table,’ she said, with a broad wink.
Her accent was considerably more refined than Beth’s but left Harry in no doubt that she was London born and bred.
Shrewd blue eyes travelled over each of them in swift assessment, before coming to rest on Seb. ‘Mind if I join you?’
He patted the velvet in clear invitation. ‘I’d be utterly thrilled if you would.’
Smiling, she slid in beside him and placed an empty glass on the table. ‘Allow me,’ Seb said, reaching for the champagne and filling the flute to the brim. ‘I’m Samuel, this is Hortensia and her friend, Lizzie.’
‘Louisa,’ she said, and eyed Harry with some sympathy. ‘That’s quite a name you’ve got there. Do you often get mistaken for someone’s maiden aunt?’
‘It is a heavy burden,’ Harry said, sighing as though acknowledging a lifelong curse. ‘I can’t even shorten it.’
‘Not like Sam and Liz, here,’ Louisa smiled as she batted Seb playfully on the arm. ‘You can call me Lou, if you like. Now that we’re friends.’
There was nothing subtle about her approach, Harry observed in wry amusement, but it seemed the Hot Spot was not a place for subtlety.
From the lighting to the décor to the fast-paced jazz thrumming on the air, everything screamed excess.
And it must work; the place was almost full and it wasn’t even eleven o’clock.
Seb was clearly content to play the part of a man eager for attention. ‘I do so enjoy making new friends,’ he said, clinking his glass against Louisa’s with a conspiratorial smile.
At the furthest end of the table, Beth put a hand to her cheek and sighed loudly. ‘I do believe that champagne has gone right to my head. I might just go and freshen up.’ She rose, which caused Seb to stand too, and made her way around the edge of the table. ‘I won’t be long.’
Harry watched her leave, trying not to wonder just how she might go about finding Serafina.
Idly, she sipped her champagne, listening to Louisa’s too-bright chatter and watching the dancers move to the swinging beat.
She spotted Albert weaving between tables, pausing here and there to offer a solicitous greeting.
Maud Goldsworthy had climbed on top of the table she shared with her group and seemed to be reciting poetry, although it could have been her cook’s shopping list for all Harry knew.
And then her gaze came to rest upon a face she knew well.
Percy Finchem was seated on the periphery of the Goldsworthys and he was gazing straight back at her. He raised a hand in greeting.
Stifling a groan, Harry turned to her brother. ‘Percy Finchem is here.’
Seb nodded. ‘Oh, yes, I saw him as we came in.’ A wicked smile tugged at his mouth. ‘Perhaps it’s your lucky night.’
‘Ha ha,’ she replied, reaching for her glass. It didn’t matter that Percy was here, she told herself. Perhaps he would be content with a friendly wave across the room. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to contend with the smile that did odd things to her innards.
‘Don’t look now but he’s coming over,’ Seb remarked.