Murder at the Mayfair Hotel (Cleopatra Fox Mysteries #1)- C.J. Archer Page 0,104

is largely wrapped up now, so I can manage it.”

At least there’d be one friendly face there, although I wasn’t entirely sure if the inspector had forgiven me yet, despite appearances to the contrary.

“Three o’clock,” he said, walking off. “I’ll tell my wife to expect you.”

“I thought she already was,” I called after him.

Afternoon tea wasn’t as awkward as I thought it would be, mostly because Detective Inspector Hobart filled the silences by talking about the investigation. I thought Mrs. Hobart would object, but she listened to his account and even asked her own questions. She was probably used to him talking about his work. Or perhaps it gave her an excuse not to talk to me directly. She could hardly meet my gaze, after all.

Mr. Armitage sat listening too, not saying much. It was difficult to know what to make of him today. Who was he? There were so many facets to his character, I was no longer sure if one of them was more dominant than the other, or if one or more were an act. He could be the charming assistant manager who made the guests feel at home, or the brooding fighter who’d tackled Conrad, or the unforgiving, argumentative fellow who wanted to punish me for getting him dismissed.

Worse still, I didn’t know if I liked or disliked any or all three of those facets. Just when I thought I understood him, he changed. And just when I thought I liked him, he said something to make me dislike him, or vice versa.

But not today. Today, he was contemplative as he let his father carry the conversation. That is, until I asked him how his hunt for work was progressing. It was the only way I could be sure to poke him into speaking. A more sensible woman would have chosen a less controversial topic, but I wasn’t always sensible and I really did want to know how he’d fared.

“Yesterday was New Year’s Day and everything was closed,” he said. “I haven’t progressed very far since the last time we spoke on the subject.”

“I saw an advertisement in this morning’s newspaper for a bookkeeper. You’re good with numbers and have experience with the hotel’s books.”

“How do you know what I’m good at?” he asked mildly.

“Your uncle told me.”

“I asked him, and he said he’s never spoken about my private business to you.”

Oh, that wasn’t fair. Mr. Hobart had told me a little about Mr. Armitage, although not about his abilities with numbers.

Mr. Armitage gave me an earnest, somewhat mocking, frown. “Did you somehow discover that I was once apprenticed to a bookkeeper? Perhaps my file from the orphanage fell out of the cabinet and into your pocket.”

Ohhhh. It seemed the vicar had guessed what I’d done after finding the piece of paper slipped under the orphanage door. I couldn’t admit to the crime. Not in front of the detective inspector. I didn’t want to get Victor into trouble. “Don’t be ridiculous. I was with the reverend the entire time when I was in the boys’ home. I would have had to break in during the night and where would I learn to do that?”

His frown turned to a scowl. He clearly didn’t believe me innocent but he couldn’t prove I’d broken in, either.

“You have a fanciful imagination, Mr. Armitage. Perhaps you should be a novelist.”

“Or a journalist,” he added with a hard edge. “Since they make up a lot of what they report on.”

“Not all of them,” his father said, thoughtfully. “Some are good at uncovering things. You should consider it, Harry.”

Mr. Armitage set down his teacup. “I might as well tell you both,” he said to his parents. “I wanted to think about it some more first, but Miss Fox has forced my hand, as she has a habit of doing.”

“You can’t blame me for this too,” I said.

He ignored me. “I’ve decided to become a private detective.”

His mother pressed a hand to her throat. “No, Harry.”

His father shook his head. “They’re a nuisance.”

“Until the police force changes its criteria and allows for the recruitment of reformed felons, this is my best option. Besides, I’ll be one of the respectable ones.”

“There’s no such thing,” the inspector growled. “They trawl for clients in the most unseemly places.”

“I won’t have to trawl. I’ll have Uncle Alfred put it about among the hotel guests that I’m available. I’m known to be reliable and discreet among that set. I’ve kept their secrets for years and I’ll continue to do