“I’ll catch a cab to the station. I’m heading to Ealing to see your nephew, as it happens.”
He stopped short. “Well, isn’t that a lovely surprise. I’m sure he’ll be very happy to see you.”
I doubted that but smiled anyway.
“You’re unlikely to find him there, I’m afraid. He moved out, much to my sister-in-law’s disappointment. She enjoyed having him home these last couple of weeks. But it was time for him to go. A man his age can’t live with his parents for long, especially when he’s been away from home as many years as he has. If I give you his new address, can you remember it or do you want me to write it down?”
I hadn’t expected him to give it to me so easily. I hadn’t even told him why I wanted to speak to Mr. Armitage. “I’ll remember it.”
He gave me the address in Soho, a mere fifteen minute walk from the hotel. “Now,” he said on a heavy sigh, “I have to see a bereaved man about funeral arrangements.”
“Lord Rumford?”
He nodded. “Sometimes this job is disheartening. But you enjoy your day, Miss Fox. No need for such a sorry business to upset you.”
It was kind of Lord Rumford to organize his mistress’s funeral. Then again, perhaps she had no one else. I hoped his wife didn’t find out.
That thought had me shaking my head at the direction my own moral compass was pointing. Three weeks ago, it hadbeen straight as an arrow. Now it seemed not to know which way was the right way.
I accepted an umbrella from Frank at the door and headed off. My thoughts began with the “sorry business,” as Mr. Hobart called it, but moved to the prospect of seeing Harry Armitage again. No doubt he’d be surprised by my visit.
He’d be even more surprised at my suggestion we should become partners in his new private investigation venture. After he recovered from his surprise, he’d give me an emphatic no.
But I knew how to convince him it was a good idea.
Chapter 2
My hopes of convincing Mr. Armitage that I should become his partner in his new enterprise were dashed upon arriving at the address his uncle had given me. It was not Mr. Armitage’s home, but his place of business, and ARMITAGE AND ASSOCIATES: PRIVATE DETECTIVES had already been painted on the door. I wondered how difficult it would be to change it to ARMITAGE AND FOX. Probably as difficult as it would be convincing him he needed a partner.
Wedged between a barber shop and a café, the door was easily missed. While both shops sported clean windows and seemed respectable, there was a hint of the foreign origins of their owners in the translations below the English. I recognized the Italian words on the café window but not those painted on the barber’s.
Soho was the poor relation of neighboring Mayfair, and up until a decade ago it had been a slum. Its Bohemian heart and close proximity to the wealthy meant it was the ideal location for the theaters and assorted restaurants and cafés that sprang up on the main streets. There was an energy about Soho that was not present in Mayfair. It was as if the area looked forward to the possibilities of the new century, while Mayfair was too busy looking back at past glories to notice that the world had moved on.
Mr. Armitage’s office was not located on one of the busy Soho thoroughfares. The narrow street looked as though it was still struggling to leave its slum roots behind. The buildings’ paintwork was either fading or peeling away, and rubbish blew down the street whenever the wind picked up. Yet despite the muck-filled gutters and lack of street lamps, the stoops were swept clean.
I pushed open the door to Armitage and Associates and climbed the stairs to the first floor landing where another door was painted with the sign for Mr. Armitage’s business. The paint smelled fresh.
I hesitated a moment before knocking. The door was immediately opened by a smiling Mr. Armitage. The smile vanished upon seeing me.
“It’s you,” he said flatly.
“I’m sorry to disappoint.”
“I hoped it was a potential client.”
“Perhaps I am.”
Mr. Armitage’s gaze narrowed, clearly not believing me. He stepped aside, however, and invited me in. I brushed past him, very aware of his closeness. Harmony had been right when she said I found him handsome. I did. With dark hair and chiseled features, coupled with his height and broad shoulders, he was an impressive man.
A physical attraction was as far as my interest went, however.
The small office was as masculine as the man himself with its half-wall paneling and bulky furniture. He must have bought the desk and armchair secondhand. Both bore scratches and the leather of the armchair had faded to a mid-brown. Except for a clock, the walls were completely bare. There wasn’t even a bookshelf, although a filing cabinet stood behind the desk.
“You ought to put up a picture of your parents,” I said. “It’ll make the place a little more friendly. And get a bookshelf and stock it with books. A few knick-knacks wouldn’t go astray too, but don’t clutter the place.”
He slammed the door, making my nerves jangle. “Did you come here to give me decoratingadvice?”
“I’m simply trying to help. If you want clients to feel comfortable, you should add some small touches. You don’t want to intimidate the clients, but you do want to create an air of competence. Your choice of furniture makes it seem as though you’ve been in business a while, which will be good for establishing your authenticity.” I ran my hand over the back of the armchair. “This is nice. It’s very homely.”
