Page 83 of Bad Luck Bride

“Trial and error. I own three hotels of my own, and I have interests in several others.”

“In Africa?”

“Mostly, but also in Constantinople, Athens, and Cyprus.”

“Goodness,” she said. “You proved my father utterly wrong about your prospects, didn’t you?”

“A fact which has given me a great deal of satisfaction over theyears, I confess, though without the loan he gave me, none of it would have been possible. Sadly, my own father is still not the least bit impressed by my success.”

“Sod him,” she said, earning herself a shout of laughter from him. “Who cares what he thinks?”

“Quite right,” he said as their cab slowed to a halt and the window in the roof slid open.

“Duke Street, guv’nor,” the driver told them through the opening. “Sixpence for the fare.”

“Here’s your tanner,” Devlin told him. “And a joey for a tip.”

A gnarled hand reached through and took the coins. “Much obliged, guv’nor.”

The hand disappeared, and a moment later, Devlin was helping Kay alight from the vehicle.

“It’s right here,” she told him, gesturing to the modest building of white stone and black wrought iron nearby as the cab rolled away. She pulled out the key, but when she started up the front steps, he didn’t, and she turned in surprise. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I just thought of something I have to do.” He gave a nod to the front door of the building. “You go in. I’ll catch up with you in a quarter of an hour.”

“I’ll come with you, if you like?”

“No need. Go in and start looking around. I’ll be interested to hear your opinions when I get back.”

“But I don’t know anything about hotels,” she protested as he started walking away down Piccadilly. “I’ve only been working for the Mayfair for a week.”

“You know more about hotels than you think.” He paused and looked at her over his shoulder. “You’ve been assessing them withme for over three hours. And besides,” he added before she could point out that three hours was hardly an adequate education on the subject, “you’ve stayed in dozens of ’em. You told me so.”

With that, he turned and resumed walking down Piccadilly the way they’d come.

Kay watched him for a moment, baffled. He really was the most unaccountable man. Where was he going? And why was he leaving her to assess this place on her own?

Still, perhaps he had a point. If she considered this place from a customer’s point of view, what would she think?

Intrigued by the challenge, she turned her attention to the building in front of her.

The Woodville wasn’t much to look at. A modest three-story building of white painted brick and wrought-iron railings. But it was at least clean and tidy. She went inside, trying to follow Devlin’s advice in forming her opinions, assessing it with the business considerations he had mentioned during their time at the Marchmont and with her own experience of having lived most of the past year as a hotel guest.

The lobby, she decided, was quite nice, if somewhat old-fashioned, with its walnut pillars and malachite floors. The kitchens and laundry, she noted, had no hot water taps, only cold, which meant a boiler would have to be purchased and more plumbing added—a major expense. Worse, however, was yet to come.

When she reached the first floor, she tried to look beyond the worn and faded carpets and the stained cabbage rose wallpaper, for those could be replaced, but as she began to explore the rooms, she was reasonably sure Devlin would advise against purchasing this building.

For one thing, the rooms seemed awfully tiny. There was no furniture to provide a sense of scale, however, and unwilling to trust her eyes, she pulled out the tape measure Devlin had asked her to bring.

“Eight feet by nine feet?” she muttered. “That’s not nearly enough room.” Put a bed, armoire and dressing table in here, she thought, looking around, and there’d be no room to move. There were storage lockers for customers’ luggage downstairs by the laundry, but even so—

“Kay?”

At the sound of Devlin’s voice floating up the stairs, she snapped the tape measure, causing it to roll up inside its casing, and shoved it in her handbag, then she stepped out into the corridor.

“I’m up here,” she called down the stairs. “On the first floor.”

“Well, come down. I’ve had an idea.”

---