Murder at the Mayfair Hotel (Cleopatra Fox Mysteries #1)- C.J. Archer Page 0,33

are no killers wandering the halls, looking for jewels to steal.”

I didn’t bother to correct him. It seemed like a good idea to let him think that I believed theft was the motivation and that the right culprit had been arrested.

A slim man with sleek black hair and a goatee beard entered with a beautiful woman on his arm. I found myself staring at her, unable to look away from her lovely face, the exquisite beaded cream silk gown and the diamonds at her throat.

The goateed gentleman offered her a cigarette from a gold case and lit it for her. She blew out her first breath of smoke in the direction of the two elderly gentlemen who’d not stopped muttering to themselves since her entry.

They promptly got up and walked out. Her languid gaze watched them go.

“She’s striking, isn’t she?” Mr. Hookly said quietly.

Good lord, I’d been staring too long. I cleared my throat. “Tell me more about yourself. You mentioned selling your mine at an opportune time just before the war, but what happens next for you?”

“I’ll return home to Berkshire and find something to do, I suspect. I haven’t decided what yet.”

“And why did you choose The Mayfair for your stay in London?”

He flashed me a smile. “Spoken like a member of the Bainbridge family.” He tossed the butt of his cigarette into the fire and pulled out the silver case again. “The hotel was recommended to me by a friend, Lord Addlington. Do you know him?”

“No.”

“Excellent chap. Regular guest here. Sir Ronald knows him well, so he told me when he read his lordship’s letter of recommendation.” He suddenly glanced up and nodded at someone.

I followed his gaze and froze. Then my insides sank beneath Mr. Armitage’s shocked stare.

He quickly recovered, however. “Good evening, Mr. Hookly, Miss Fox. May I say it’s a surprise to see you in here. I didn’t think you smoked.”

“If you saw her attempt it, you’d realize she doesn’t.” Mr. Hookly chuckled. “Armitage, any word from that fellow I asked about?”

“As far as I’m aware, he’s still coming to the ball.”

“Excellent, excellent.” Mr. Hookly threw his cigarette into the fire. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go. I’m dining out tonight with a friend at his club.”

“Enjoy your evening, sir.”

Mr. Hookly took my hand and bowed over it. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Fox. Perhaps I’ll see you in here again tomorrow.”

Not unless I could think of more questions to ask him.

Mr. Armitage checked the levels of the decanters on the sideboard. I ought to leave too, but I wanted to speak to him again. The air between us felt a little tense after he’d quite rightly accused me of doubting his father’s ability as a detective. I was also very aware that he’d lied to his father about his whereabouts. I was considering how to discover the reason for the lie when he spoke.

“What are you doing in here, Miss Fox?” he asked idly.

“Smoking, of course.” To prove my point, I inhaled on the cigarette. The resulting cough was unladylike. A sip of sherry helped a little.

Mr. Armitage plucked the cigarette from my fingers. He tossed it into the fire.

“I was smoking that,” I said irritably.

“You were choking on it, not smoking it.”

I abandoned the idea of trying to find out why he lied to his uncle. Not only could it put me in danger, if he were the murderer and guessed my motive for asking, but I simply didn’t feel like talking to someone highhanded enough to take my cigarette and stub it out without my permission. He was not my uncle or cousin. Indeed, if Uncle Ronald or Floyd had done what Mr. Armitage had, I’d be just as vexed with them.

Unfortunately Mr. Armitage followed me out of the room. “You do realize that wasn’t Count Ivanov’s wife. She’s his mistress.”

Mistress! Good lord. What sort of man brought his mistress to a hotel like The Mayfair and treated her as if she were his wife? Russians, I supposed. Wealthy, titled Russians.

“I see I’ve shocked you,” Mr. Armitage said.

I schooled my features. “Not at all. Anyway, I don’t see that Count Ivanov’s private arrangements are any of my affair, or yours, for that matter.”

“On the contrary. As assistant manager to the hotel, the private arrangements of the guests are very much my affair. I need to know who is staying here, with whom, and why. Not that I expect Countess Ivanov to arrive from Russia out of the blue, but