At the Drop of a Hat (3 page)

“You're not backing out now, Harry, are you?” I asked.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “No. I accept the wager.”

We shook on it and he released my hand. I missed the warmth of his fingers against mine immediately.

“Since that is settled,” Nick said. “I do believe it is time for dinner to be served.”

Nick sashayed back to the kitchen while Harrison fell into step with Vivian and I walked beside Andre to the dining room table, which was already set with mismatched cobalt-blue-and-white Wedgewood plates and bowls. Andre had a passion for Wedgewood, but he bought miscellaneous plates instead of a whole set because he felt it was more visually interesting.

Looking at the blue-and-silver accents on the table, I noted that the place settings went well with Nick's Brierley Hill Crystal. I always felt like more of a grown-up when I dined at Nick and Andre's. Left on our own, Viv and I usually did takeout and ate in front of our television, and that was only if Viv wasn't caught up in some creative endeavor which left me eating alone.

I had been watching my cousin over the past few weeks, looking for any signs of interest outside of hats or our shop. As far as I could tell, she had none. Oh, there were designer friends she created hats for, and she had a loyal customer base that she was friendly with, but there was no one of any significance in my cousin's life. This disturbed me. Partly because I felt guilty for not noticing sooner and partly because it wasn't like Viv.

Viv had known from the time we were kids that she was going to follow Mim's lead into the millinery business. She was a natural at it, creating hats that were in demand from Paris runways to the Royal Family. Her work had been featured in fashion magazines and the wait to get a hat for Ascot from her was three years long.

Despite all that, Viv had always managed to have a life. She'd had friends in the neighborhood and friends from school. She was always a little flighty, being a creative genius, and disappeared from time to time without telling anyone, usually on some crazy quest for feathers or lace or hat forms, but still she had relationships outside the business. Since I had gotten back to London four months ago, however, I had seen no evidence of any sort of social life for my cousin.

She never talked about friends or men or anything really. I was worried about her, and while I tried not to badger her about her lack of a social life, I was definitely keeping an eye on her. Honestly, if I hadn't come back when I did, the only thing she would have in her life would be the shop, Harrison and Fee. And no, Harrison and Viv were just friends. Yes, I checked.

Andre held my chair while Harrison held Viv's. I was across the table from Harrison, which was nice but also distracting. Andre went to help Nick schlep the food to the table while the three of us settled in.

“So anything noteworthy happen at the shop today?” Harrison asked.

Viv and I exchanged a glance. Harrison was always good about asking about the business, and I got the feeling it wasn't because he was part owner but because he genuinely cared that things were going well.

She shrugged as she put her napkin in her lap. “Nothing dramatic. Hats were made and hats were sold.”

Andre and Nick flitted back and forth with a variety of dishes that smelled divine.

“Nick, you've outdone yourself,” I said. “It all looks amazing.”

Nick flushed with pleasure and then waved his hands at the food. “Go ahead and start. It isn't any better when it's cold.”

We each chose a dish and started serving and passing. Compliments were heaped on Nick's culinary prowess and I realized, duh, that he was lapping it up like a kitten did cream. I imagined he received fewer compliments for his dentistry, not that he wasn't a great dentist, but let's face it, you don't generally heap praise on the person who roots around in your mouth, nags you to floss and occasionally delivers the bad news bomb that you have a cavity or worse.

“So that's it?” Harrison steered the conversation back to the shop. “No gossip from any of the customers?”

“None,” Viv said. She shrugged.

“Oh, but there is one thing you could help us with,” I said. “Ariana Jackson hasn't answered her phone for the past three days, and we really need to get in touch with her about her wedding hat.”

“I can text Stephen and have him tell her,” Harrison offered.

“I'd really like to talk to her directly,” I said. If she wanted to haggle about the price, I wanted to be the one to do it and not have Harrison and his rugby buddy make a mess of it.

“Doesn't she work for a solicitor in Kensington?” Viv asked. “Could you get his number from Stephen?”

“Yeah, that should be no trouble,” Harrison said. “Do remind me after dinner.”

“I think his last name was Russo,” I said.

“Anthony Russo?” Nick asked.

“Yes, that's right,” Viv said.

“Ooooh,” Nick and Andre said together. It wasn't a good sort of Ooooh. It was the sort of Ooooh someone said when there was a juicy story to be had. I was all in.

“What do you know?” I asked. I looked back and forth between them, wondering who I could get to crack first.

“We only know what we've heard,” Nick said.

“Unfounded rumors and gossip,” Andre said. “All speculation really.”

“So speculate,” Viv prodded them.

Andre and Nick exchanged looks. I knew they were having a silent debate about how much to say and, more important, who got to say it. Andre gave Nick a small nod; it was his dinner party after all.

Nick dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin. I took a bite of my beef Wellington. It was melt in your mouth yummy, but I was betting that Nick's gossip would be just as tasty.

“Word on the street is—” Nick began but Andre burst out laughing.

“Word on the street?” Andre said. “You have been watching too many American cop shows.”

Nick wrinkled his nose at him. “I can't help it if I find Nathan Fillion simply delicious, now can I?”

“Not at all,” Viv said. “I quite agree.”

“The point, people, could we get back to the sordid tale of Anthony Russo?” I asked.

“So eager for gossip?” Harrison asked.

“More like answers,” I said. “What do we know about Ariana Jackson, really, other than she's marrying a friend of yours?”

Harrison frowned as if he had never thought about Ariana before as anything other than Stephen's fiancée.

What I didn't add was that of course I was eager for juicy gossip. Having done my time in the hot seat, I always enjoyed hearing about someone else's foibles so long as it wasn't mean in nature.

“Anthony Russo is known for being a womanizing, drunken, lascivious letch,” Andre said. “And a gambler.”

“How does he still have a career then?” Viv asked.

“He is also an excellent attorney,” Nick said. “He works for people in the entertainment industry who find themselves in sticky situations.”

“Such as?” I asked.

“The singer Shelley Martin was busted for drug use and sex with underage boys,” Andre said. “Russo got her off without even an ASBO.”

I lifted my eyebrows. An ASBO is an antisocial behavior order and was actually quite common.

“And then there was Mark Tracey,” Nick confided. “Doped up on heroin and decided to take a naked stroll in front of Buckingham Palace. He was wearing nothing but his rubbers.”

I burst out laughing. Rubbers having an entirely different meaning in the States, making Nick's comment even more hilarious.

“Got off with some charitable works, I believe,” Nick said. “Reading to the blind or some such malarkey.”

“I find it hard to believe Ariana works for such a man,” Viv said. “She seemed very earnest and hardworking, not the sort who would be amused by the shenanigans of spoiled rock stars.”

“It's a job,” I said. “A good-paying job, and since she doesn't seem to have any family to lean on, it makes sense that she would work for whoever paid her the most. She strikes me as the type that would be very good at legal work. There is something very . . .”

“Dependable.” Harrison supplied the word I was looking for.

“Exactly, dependable about her,” I said. Then I frowned. “Except I really would have expected her to answer my texts or messages by now.”

“It could be a severe case of bride brain,” Vivian said. “Goodness knows we've dealt with worse. Remember the bride who showed up at our shop the night before her wedding completely pissed and wanted hats for her entire wedding party—the ones she had met in the pub that afternoon?”

I laughed. Pissed in this case meant drunk rather than angry and the bride in question had been sauced. She had left the shop with ten mismatched fascinators, adorable small hats worn mostly in front or on the side, and to this day I wonder what had happened and would love to see the pictures of this sordid wedding party.

“I suppose we're just going to have to pop in at her place of employment,” Viv said. “That way we can speak with her directly about the options for her mother's hat.”

I noted that everyone's gaze turned to me. Of course they did, because we all knew that when Viv said “we,” she meant “me,” not the two of us.

*   *   *

Kensington, the borough where Russo's office was located, was on the other side of Hyde Park from Notting Hill. I could have bussed the entire distance but I decided to catch the tube to Lancaster Gate and cut through the park instead because for the first time in weeks the sun had trumped the rain and the world was sparkly and shiny and new once again.

There was a crisp sweetness to the air as if I were breathing the first bite of a crunchy apple. The sun was warm on my face but the breeze was cool, tossing and teasing my hair as I made my way into the park.

Judging by the way the ducks were cavorting in the fountains of the Italian gardens, I wasn't the only one enamored with the beauty of the day. The grassy hill to my left was dotted with the striped canvas chairs that the park people put out so that visitors could rent a seat for one pound sixty pence per hour or eight pounds for a whole day. I was so tempted to sit and soak up the world for an hour or two. If I'd had a cheese-filled baguette, a hot cup of coffee, and a book, I would have been unmovable.

Sadly, I had to get back to the shop to help Viv. Manning the front of the shop was not exactly her gift, and Fee was in class this morning and not coming to work until later.

I took the path that ran along the north edge of the park. As I passed the Princess of Wales Memorial Playground, I stopped by the food stand to treat myself to a hot chocolate. They had food, but I didn't want to wait. I kicked myself for not stopping at the Pret A Manger outside Notting Hill Gate for a sandwich on my way.

While I waited for the girl to make my cocoa, I watched two young boys scamper across a huge wooden pirate ship complete with a crow's nest and rigging, the whole works. They had wooden swords and were apparently fighting off a takeover from a bloodthirsty pack of girls. I laughed when the boys decided that jumping ship was their best chance of survival. Amazing how the whole guy-girl thing doesn't really change as we mature.

I sipped my cocoa and stayed to the edge of the path as people on rented Barclays Cycles zipped by me. Viv and I had used the bike rental service a couple of times. They had a stand in our neighborhood and it was quite handy until you went to return it and found the rack to be full. Then you had to wait for someone else to rent a bike or go to the next stand, which could be a bit out of your way. Still, it beat the upkeep and maintenance of owning a bicycle of your own.

I took my phone out of my purse and checked the directions to Russo's office. I veered off the main path onto a side one that let me out of the park just past Kensington Palace. I had heard that Kate and Will had renovated the big, redbrick colossus and wondered, like everyone else I'm sure, what their life was like living in such a beautiful place.

I remembered my brief, very brief, stint with infamy and blanched. If I never had a photographer shove a camera in my face again, well, that was fine with me.

Stepping out of the park was like a punch in the nose. Buses, cars, pedestrians, sirens, horns, construction noise and voices all clamored to be heard. I sipped my cocoa, trying to maintain my Zen. I crossed the street and wound my way to a quieter section of Kensington.

According to the map on my phone, I needed to walk up a block and take a left on Edgemere Place, then two more short twists and turns and I'd be there. My inner compass, which is faulty, is always overriding the directions I've been given, causing me to spend a lot of time lost and backtracking. Today I was determined to follow the directions to the letter.

Townhouses with offices on the bottom floor lined the small side street that I turned onto. My phone vibrated in my hand and for a moment I thought it was congratulating me on finding my way, a cell phone version of a high five. But no, it was an incoming text from Harrison.

Ginger, I heard from Stephen. Ariana misplaced her phone.

That was it? No cute or pithy or flirtatious anything added to the message? I have to admit I was a bit disappointed. Ridiculous, I know.

Here's the thing with me and Harry. We go back. Way back. We weren't just pals as kids; he'd had a crush on me. One day, he asked me to go for ice cream and I stood him up to chase some other silly boy. For the record, I was ten. Fast-forward seventeen years, and I am committed to my vow of celibacy, which Harry almost completely messed up by kissing me and making me see stars. Then he did the most unforgivable thing. He accepted my vow of celibacy and said he'd wait. Who does that, I ask you?

Mind you, there were extenuating circumstances to his kissing me, such as he'd just taken a blow to the head. Does that make the stars I saw null and void? Maybe the kiss would have been
meh
if we hadn't just been in a life-threatening situation. How was I supposed to know, since we were now apparently just waiting? Ugh, it was maddening, truly.

I debated texting Harry back, but then I decided not to since he'd really given me nothing to work with. My thanks could wait until after I'd met with Ariana, who did not at all seem the type to lose her phone.

I glanced down the street trying to figure which one might be Russo's office. They were mostly redbrick buildings with stern rectangular shapes and white trim on the windows and eaves. A few bore brass plaques stating the name of the business inside. I resigned myself to following the numbers and hoping I picked the right side of the street on the first try.

I did not. Halfway down the street I spotted the building I needed across the way. I looked both ways, to the right first, naturally, or rather unnaturally, as it takes me forever to get into this habit when I'm across the pond. Seeing the road was clear, I hurried across the street.

A shallow staircase with a thick white hand railing on either side led up to the front door. A brass plaque announced that I had indeed found the office of
Anthony Russo, Attorney
. I glanced at the windows on each side of the door. There were sheer curtains blocking my view, and I couldn't see if Ariana was inside.

I looked for a buzzer but couldn't locate one, so I chose to give the door three sharp raps with my knuckles instead. I stepped back waiting for the door to be opened. It was not.

Given that it was a business, I wondered if the door was unlocked and I was expected to just go in. I paused. For some reason I felt awkward. What if Ariana had forgotten about the hat? Or worse, had decided she didn't want to do business with us? I would have wasted a trip over here and I'd feel like an idiot.

Ah, well, I was here now and the walk through the park had been just the sunny boost to my rain-drenched spirits that I'd needed, so regardless of how this turned out, I was fine with it.

I decided to try the door this time, and if it was unlocked, I would assume that I was supposed to let myself in. The knob turned and I opened the door.

The first thing that hit me was how silent it was. For an office, it was eerily quiet. No voices, no tapping on a keyboard, nothing. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end and I had a mild moment of panic, wondering if I'd entered the wrong office. I took a small step onto the marble foyer and paused.

I was about to call out a greeting when an ear-piercing shriek ripped through the air, making me jump. What on earth had I just walked into?