“I always found him charming.”
“He can be.”
Mr. Armitage certainly turned on the charm when he worked at the hotel. But as soon as he left, the charm slipped and his true nature revealed itself. Of course, that could just be for my benefit. I had cost him his job, after all.
Harmony glanced at the clock and sprang to her feet. “We better do your hair so I can get on with my work.” She gathered up the dirty dishes and placed them on the tray then ushered me into the bedroom even though I hadn’t finished my egg.
I sat at the dressing table and succumbed to her ministrations. Afterwards, I dressed while she tidied up the sitting room. When I emerged from the bedroom, she had the tray balanced on one hand and was heading for the door.
“We’ll talk about Miss Westwood again later,” she said. “Perhaps you’ll change your mind.”
I was hardly listening, however. A thought had occurred to me. “Do you know what Mr. Clitheroe looks like?”
“Who?”
“He’s a guest here.”
“What room number?”
“I don’t know.”
She shrugged. “Sorry. I only know guests by their room numbers not their names. Why?”
“No reason.”
Her dark eyes narrowed. She didn’t believe me, but she didn’t pressure me for an answer either.
I headed downstairs and smiled at Goliath, waiting stony-faced beside a trolley stacked with a large trunk, two cases and three hat boxes. He gave me a fleeting smile, but it withered upon Mr. Hirst’s glare. According to the new assistant manager, porters should be as invisible as possible. I wasn’t sure how he expected someone as tall and well-built as Goliath to be invisible and had once joked to him about it. Mr. Hirst had laughed too, but it had rung false.
Frank the doorman signaled to Goliath to bring the luggage to the waiting carriage. The guests were still completing their check-out procedure with Peter at the desk as I passed them on the way to the senior staff offices.
Mr. Hobart’s office door was open and he looked as though he was just about to leave. Unlike Mr. Hirst, the smile he gave me was genuine. We’d not started on a very good footing, after I’d been the cause of his nephew’s dismissal, but he was quick to forgive me, thankfully. No matter how busy he was, he always had time to speak to me and never rushed me.
Today, however, I sensed his eagerness to get away. “Good morning, Miss Fox. Is there something I can do for you?”
“I wanted to ask you about a particular guest, a Mr. Clitheroe.”
His clear blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly and the sense of eagerness vanished. He was very curious about my interest in Mr. Clitheroe but wasn’t sure whether he should ask me why. No matter how much he’d decided to like me, I was still his employer’s niece and not someone he should be demanding answers from. “What did you want to know about him?”
“What does he look like?”
The question seemed to catch him off guard. Whatever he thought I was going to ask, that was not it. “Medium height and build, brown hair. Rather typical for a man in his mid to late thirties.”
“Does he have any distinguishing features?”
“Such as?”
“Such as his nose? Is it somewhat beaky?”
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly before he schooled his features. “Some would call it a little prominent.”
“But you’re too diplomatic to say it?”
That got his smile to break free. “Is there anything else, Miss Fox?”
“That’s all, thank you.”
We walked out of his office together, and he closed the door behind him. “May I have one of the hotel carriages brought around for you?” At my arched look, he indicated the coat and gloves in my hand. “You appear to be going out.”
