Chapter 9 #4
The man surveyed them both again, and Harry tried not to squirm as his attention rested on the awful wig sprouting out from beneath her hat.
‘One moment, please,’ he said, and murmured to one of the burly men stood discreetly at his shoulder.
The man disappeared inside and Mr Quaglino turned back to fire a charming smile at Harry and Oliver. ‘If you wouldn’t mind stepping aside.’
‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ Oliver whispered as they waited. ‘I’m not sure what will happen if I try to remove this hat.’
‘We’ll keep them on,’ she replied. ‘People will stare but we’ll look so out of place that they’re going to do that anyway.’
He regarded her levelly. ‘Then why are we doing this?’
She sighed. ‘Because I think someone might be following us. No, don’t look.’
Oliver had the grace to look sheepish. ‘Sorry. But won’t they just hang around until we come out?’
‘I had a thought about that,’ she replied. ‘But let’s see if we get in first.’
A few minutes later, the doorman returned and spoke to John Quaglino. He turned to Harry and Oliver, beaming widely. ‘Mr White is delighted you’re here. Please, come in.’
The cloakroom attendant could not hide her consternation when both guests declined to remove their hat and coat. ‘But you’ll be dreadfully warm,’ she said, her expression suggesting they had taken full leave of their senses.
‘Don’t trouble yourself, my dear,’ Harry rumbled, sliding a shilling towards her. ‘We’re not staying long.’
The bar was busier and the band much louder than on Harry’s previous visit.
She wished she had a camera to capture her brother’s expression when she and Oliver were escorted to his table by a blank-faced waiter.
Seb rose, gaping in bewilderment as he stared from one unknown face to the other.
‘Good to see you again, White,’ Harry boomed, clapping him on one shoulder.
Leaning closer, she reverted to her natural voice. ‘Sit down, you fool. It’s me.’
His eyes widened in almost comical astonishment, but to his credit, he recovered fast. ‘Wonderful of you to join me,’ he managed, and sank into his chair. He waved at two of the empty seats clustered around the table. ‘Won’t you sit? What will you have to drink?’
‘A Manhattan,’ Harry said firmly. ‘Make it a strong one.’
‘Whisky,’ Oliver said, and puffed out his cheeks. ‘Make it quick.’
Seb peered at him, his incredulity growing. ‘Fortescue? Is that you?’
With obvious reluctance, Oliver nodded. ‘Hello, Seb.’
Laughter exploded across the table, causing several heads to turn in their direction. ‘Good lord. For once, I think I might be lost for words.’
Harry leaned back in her chair, wishing she had followed the suggestion of the cloakroom attendant and left her coat upstairs, if not her hat.
She was far too hot and those around them were making no attempt to hide their curiosity.
She fanned herself with the cocktail menu.
‘It’s a long and complicated story but don’t worry, we can’t stay long. ’
Her brother nodded. ‘I’m very glad to hear it. Lord and Lady Pritchard are joining me soon and I cannot begin to fathom how I would explain the two of you.’ He studied Harry with interest. ‘Is that a dead ferret on your face?’
‘Behave yourself,’ she hissed. ‘I borrowed it from Drury Lane, if you must know.’
Seb’s expression lifted. ‘You’re involved in a drama? That makes sense, although I can’t imagine how you’ve managed to persuade Fortescue to get involved.’ He turned an amused look towards Oliver. ‘Who are you meant to be? Old Father Time?’
‘Mr Gill, actually,’ Oliver said, a little stiffly. ‘Sidekick of the great detective, Mr Emmanuel Thompson.’
‘Excellent,’ Seb said, and raised his glass of champagne. ‘I never had you down as the dramatic type, but you must let me know when your opening night is coming up. I’d be delighted to come and support you.’
‘I will,’ Harry said, battling to keep her own expression neutral. ‘But for now, I need your support with something else. Tell me, is there a back door here?’
‘But of course,’ Seb replied. ‘How else would they remove those guests who have partaken in too much merriment at the end of the night? It’s through the cellars.’
Harry nodded. ‘Do you think we might use it to leave?’ Her brother’s eyebrows rose. ‘It’s for the play. Method acting – the art of experiencing, as the eminent Mr Stanislavski calls it.’
She had read about Konstantin Stanislavski and his school of acting in one of her mother’s magazines and she hoped it would lend some much-needed credibility to her story now.
‘Who am I to argue with such dedication?’ Seb said, with airy respect. ‘Although I think you should know I don’t believe a word of it. What are you really up to, Harry?’
She was saved from having to answer by the arrival of the waiter with their drinks.
Once he’d gone, she took a fortifying gulp of her cocktail and opened her mouth to reply, but Oliver beat her to it.
‘It’s my fault,’ he said, shooting Seb an apologetic look.
‘One of my contacts at Scotland Yard gave me a lead on Serafina Eccleston and I persuaded Harry here to go undercover to follow it up.’
It was all Harry could do not to drop her drink and Seb appeared similarly astonished. ‘Undercover? I must admit, I didn’t think you had it in you, Oliver. But I appreciate the lengths you’re going to on our behalf. That wig is a crime all on its own.’
‘So now you see why we need to use the back door,’ Harry said, flashing Oliver a grateful look before turning an entreating gaze upon her brother.
‘Not really,’ he said. ‘But discretion is all part of the service here.’ Raising a hand, he summoned a waiter and murmured something into his ear.
The man nodded and straightened, turning an expectant look towards Harry and Oliver.
‘Drink up,’ Seb went on encouragingly. ‘Lord Pritchard is coming down the stairs and I really don’t care to introduce you. ’
Obediently, Harry swigged the rest of her cocktail, wincing as the alcohol seared its way to her stomach. ‘Thanks, Seb,’ she said, rising to follow the waiter. ‘I owe you.’
He waved her away. ‘Don’t mention it,’ he said, his expression somewhat pained. ‘Really, don’t mention it. I dread to think what Mama would say. Let’s just pretend this never happened.’
The waiter maintained a dignified silence as he led them through the sea of whispering diners, towards a discreet burgundy velvet curtain and a set of stone steps beyond it.
The air grew noticeably cooler as they travelled further underground, for which Harry was profoundly grateful.
They passed a number of alcoves, each piled high with pyramids of wine bottles that looked dustily expensive.
At last they came to another staircase, leading steeply upwards to a door.
Without a word, the waiter drew back a number of bolts and pulled the door open, fixing his gaze somewhere above the lintel.
Offering a nod of thanks that she knew would go unacknowledged, Harry stepped past the man and onto one of the narrow alleyways that ran between some of Mayfair’s streets.
Rectangles of light shone at each end but the alley itself was black with shadows.
A resolute thud indicated the door had been closed behind Oliver. ‘Now what?’ he said.
Harry stood still for an instant, savouring the bite of frosty air and the welcome anonymity of the night.
She had been all too conscious of the attention they had garnered as they had made their way between the tables in Quaglino’s.
It had been a relief to be able to pass beyond the velvet curtain and an even greater respite to escape the mute disapproval of the waiter escorting them.
But they could not linger in the passageway forever. ‘Now we go home. Separately.’
Oliver shook his head, as she knew he would. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘It makes sense,’ she argued. ‘If whoever was following us is still in the area, they’ll be looking for two men, not one.’
He folded his arms. ‘If you think I am letting you walk home alone at almost midnight, then you don’t know me very well at all.’
His glower almost matched hers in ferocity. Harry raised her chin. ‘I appreciate that you mean well, Oliver, but you have to stop treating me like a child. You only see me as your best friend’s little sister but I’m a fully grown woman. Haven’t I proved I can look after myself?’
Oliver’s jaw tightened. ‘Believe me, I’m well aware of everything you are, Harry. And I don’t think of you as Lawrence’s little sister.’ He stopped and looked away. ‘Perhaps it would be easier if I did.’
‘What does that mean?’ she cried. ‘Easier to do what?’
He took a deep breath. Harry waited, fists clenched in frustration.
She was tired of having to bend to society’s expectations, tired of being told what she could and could not do.
And right at that moment, she was tired of Oliver’s overcautious attitude.
She was wearing a false beard and a suit, for goodness’ sake, she looked every inch a man, especially under cover of darkness.
What could possibly happen to her in the ten minutes it would take to walk to Hamilton Square?
‘Easier not to care,’ he said.
He meant for her reputation, Harry supposed, and huffed with irritation. ‘No one is going to recognise me dressed like this.’
‘I don’t imagine so,’ he replied. ‘But that isn’t what I meant. Everything would be easier if I didn’t care for you.’
Abruptly, the wind was plucked from Harry’s sails. ‘You… care for me?’
The look he gave her was level. ‘You must know I do. Would I be dressed like this if I didn’t?’
‘But—’ she paused to gather her scattered thoughts ‘—you’re dressed like that to solve a crime – to make sure justice is done.’