Cloche and Dagger (8 page)

“Oh, you do, do you?” I asked.

Now normally, when there is an opinion expressed that is different from mine, I assess the situation, study the person and try to see their point of view. Then I determine the best way to devise a compromise that will meet both of our needs and let us go forth from there.

Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the way his dark hair was falling over his forehead in an annoyingly attractive way, or maybe it just bugged me that he seemed to have taken a dislike to me, which frankly, is not how most people respond to me.

I am a people person. I am all about getting people to yes, meeting their needs, helping them to have not just a hotel stay but an experience. Granted this wasn’t a hotel and he wasn’t a guest of mine, but still, what had I done to make him dislike me so?

Oh, yeah, I stood him up when we were kids. Well, sheesh, that was seventeen years ago. Move on, already.

“Are you still mad at me for standing you up?” I asked.

“What?” he asked and then quickly said, “No!”

I ignored my tea and stared at him, willing him to be straight with me.

“Besides,” he added. “You said you didn’t.”

He met my gaze with a steady one of his own. I raised my eyebrow in question and he mimicked me. Game on.

Suddenly, it all came rushing back. That summer as children when he’d been staying with his uncle and I’d been here with Mim. There had been a whole pack of us shop owners’ kids, running amuck up and down Portobello Road daily until we were sent to nearby Kensington Gardens to play.

I remembered Harrison now as he had been then, a tall, skinny boy with big feet and messy hair. He’d been smart and funny but had seemed to be in a constant battle with his elbows and knees as if he just couldn’t seem to get them all going in the right direction at the same time.

Oh, he’d had the potential to be good-looking even then, but I’d had my eye on what’s-his-name. What was his name? How sad. I really couldn’t remember the boy I’d had a crush on.

As I locked stares with Harrison, it was hard for me to believe anyone could have outshone him, even as awkward as he had been then. With our fellow wild things, we’d engaged in all sorts of games from ghost in the graveyard and freeze tag to staring contests, silent contests, and the impossible no-laughing contest, all were staples from that lazy summer.

I usually won the staring contest, Viv was best at the silent contest, definitely not my gift, and we both failed at the no-laughing contest, primarily because Harrison always made us laugh with his quick wit and silly expressions.

The memory made me nostalgic for days gone by. It made me miss Mim. I felt a tear well up, and I knew I couldn’t blink it away. I saw Harrison watch the tear track down my cheek and he looked as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t.

He didn’t blink either, because whoever looked away first lost. For some reason I couldn’t fathom, beating me seemed very important to him.

The sound of the clock ticking and the steady beat of the rain against the window kept time to our showdown of wills.

My eyeballs started to dry out. He grinned as if certain of his victory, as if he could tell I was at the breaking point. Not going to happen, bub.

I forced myself to think of something else. I pretended his pupil was an access point to another world and I focused on that as if I could tunnel my way inside of him and see his soul. He leaned in closer and narrowed his eyes, and it was then that I noticed the greens of his irises were full of heat and not the angry kind.

I felt my own eyes widen in surprise and for the first time I thought Harrison Wentworth might be more than I could handle.

A crash at the window made us both jump and turn toward it, ending our childhood game of a stare down in a definitive draw. I hopped off my stool and hurried toward the window. It appeared that one of the shutters had come loose and the stiff wind blowing outside had it slamming against the side of the house.

Mim had installed new windows to reduce the draft just a couple of years before she died. I unlocked it and it slid open easily. I then tried to figure out how to pop the screen.

“It’ll be easier if I do it from outside,” Harrison said.

“But you’ll get soaked,” I argued.

He was out the door before I could press my argument.

It was “bucketing” out again, as Nick had said. I watched helplessly through the window, letting the rain in, while Harrison wrestled the shutter back against the side of the house. It took him a few moments to latch it back, and I knew he was going to be soaked to the skin by the time he came back in.

I met him at the door with a batch of fresh tea towels from the drawer in the kitchenette. I blotted off his shoulders while he toweled his thick head of hair. I draped the towels on his shoulders and he left one on his head.

“Come sit and have your tea,” I said. “It will warm you up.”

He clutched the towel under his chin and gave me a coquettish look. In a high falsetto, he said, “Just a spot of tea, dear, and only half a biscuit. They go right to my arse, you know.”

It was a spot-on impression of Mim, and I busted out in a belly laugh. How had I forgotten his ability to mimic people? He was never cruel, but he always managed to capture the person’s mannerisms and say something that I could hear the person saying, but when Harrison did it, it was hilarious.

He lifted up his teacup and took a noisy slurp, still with his head in a tilt like Mim held hers.

“My grandmother did not slurp her tea,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow at me and said, “Oh, no, I was imitating you.”

“Oh, you!” I snatched up the tea cozy and threw it at his head.

He laughed and caught it before it connected. We were quiet for a moment, enjoying each other’s company. Now I felt ridiculous for thinking he could have any knowledge as to Viv’s whereabouts. Maybe the events of the past week had caused me to become more suspicious. If so, I hoped it wore off. I didn’t like thinking the worst about people.

Now that Harrison and I seemed to be friends again, I couldn’t resist asking, “Do you really want me to leave?”

“Yes,” he said with no hesitation whatsoever.

“Ah,” I gasped. My feelings were hurt. I admit it. I’d thought we were joking around and getting our old friendship back, but no. He still wanted me gone. Fine!

I lifted my cup of tea and took a big sip. It was still hot but not scorching, so I drained it and plunked it back down onto the table.

“Oh, look at the time,” I said. I pointedly glanced at my wrist. And no, I don’t wear a watch.

He got it in one. “You want me to leave.”

“Why would I want that—just because you want me to leave the country?” I asked.

The sarcasm dripped so thickly off my tongue I was surprised it didn’t leave spots on the counter.

“I hurt your feelings,” he said. He came around the counter to stand beside me.

“You told me that I should go home as soon as possible,” I said. I refused to look at him and addressed the top of the counter instead. “How is that supposed to make me feel?”

“I just don’t think you’re a good fit for the business.”

“I sold a hat to Mrs. Looksee,” I reminded him.

“Listen, I didn’t think you’d take it so personally,” he began, but I cut him off.

“Really?” I asked. Now I turned to face him. I was losing my temper. I never lost my temper. Had my unfortunate experience with the rat bastard altered my personality? Well, wouldn’t that just be a lovely parting gift from that relationship? “Well, I did take it personally, and you know what I think? I think you have an ulterior motive for wanting me gone.”

“What possible motive could I have?” he asked.

“I think you know what happened to Viv, and you don’t want me to figure it out,” I said.

“Hey!” Now he looked outraged, and I found that quite satisfying. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”

“I think you know where Viv is,” I said.

“That’s ridiculous,” he argued. “Why wouldn’t I tell you?”

I pressed my lips together. There was nothing I could say that wouldn’t sound bad.

His eyes widened as he figured it out all on his own.

“You are mental!” he said. “Do you really believe I had something to do with Viv’s disappearance?”

“Aha!” I said. I poked him in the chest with my index finger to drive my point home. “Right there. You called it a disappearance. Why would you call it that if you didn’t know something?”

“I don’t know anything!” he protested. “I swear.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said.

“What do you believe then, Ginger?” he asked.

He was several inches taller than me and I probably should have been intimidated with him looming over me, but I wasn’t. I met his stare. I figured he was using my old nickname to soften me up, but when I studied his face, he just looked angry. Maybe when he thought of me, he thought of me as “Ginger” and the nickname came out by accident. Either way, there wasn’t much point in holding back now.

“I think you and Viv are romantically involved,” I said.

Now he laughed, and it wasn’t a mirthless laugh, he was actually amused. “Dating? Me and Viv?”

“Yes,” I said, but I knew I sounded less sure. “And the person involved with the person who is missing is usually the culprit.”

“Culprit of what?” he asked. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I don’t trust you.”

“Well, at least we have that in common,” he said.

“You don’t trust me?” I asked. Now I was offended.

We were mere inches apart and I was feeling feisty enough to do some bodily damage on him. It was a shocking thought as, other than the cake incident, I was not generally a brawler.

“You really think Viv and I were romantically involved?” he asked and I nodded. “Let me ask you this, did she ever mention me as her boyfriend?”

“No,” I said.

“And you and Viv talk frequently?” he asked.

“Well, it used to be weekly, but the time change makes it difficult,” I said. “So, it’s been less lately.”

Yeah, big fib. It had been a lot less for the past two years while I’d been dating he-who-should-have-choked-on-cake. Yes, I can admit it. I dropped everyone and everything for him. Only now that I was five thousand miles and a global humiliation away from him did I see how much I had sacrificed for him. It made me queasy.

“Still, if she and I were involved, don’t you think she would have mentioned me?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Are you married?”

“No.” He held up his left hand so I could see it had no wedding band. “But here’s an interesting theory you might enjoying chewing on, Ginger.”

“What’s that, Harry?” I asked. His brows lowered at the use of his old nickname. Point to me.

“Since I’m not romantically involved with Viv, and as far as I know, she isn’t seeing anyone, that would leave whomever she’s in business with as the most likely suspect, don’t you think?”

It took a few moments for his words to register and when they did, I gave him a hearty shove, catching him off guard and sending him back a few paces.

“Me?” I cried. “You think
I
had something to do with Viv’s disappearance?”