Page 308 of The Hallmarked Man
‘I hear you’ve been pestering my daughter,’ he drawled.
‘Not pestering,’ said Robin, forcing herself to sound unruffled, because Longcaster was intimidating both in size and manner. ‘Just asking a question.’
‘Could you spare me five minutes?’ said Dino Longcaster, looking at her down his long nose. ‘Inside the club?’
‘Of course,’ said Robin.
‘Thank you, Joshua,’ said Longcaster, as they passed the doorman.
‘Mr Longcaster, sir,’ muttered the attendant, touching his top hat, and he looked away as Robin passed him, revealing his earpiece and microphone.
A delicious warmth met Robin as she stepped into an opulent hallway full of artfully tarnished mirrors. The walls were covered in midnight blue fabric patterned in gold with stylised 1920s women and greyhounds, the air smelled of amber and sandalwood, and a staircase wound upwards past a multitude of paintings, many of them of dogs. A real white canine Robin recognised as a Pyrenean Mountain Dog was waiting for Longcaster just inside the door, wagging its tail; it thrust its nose into Longcaster’s hand, and he patted it.
‘We’ll go upstairs,’ said Longcaster, and he turned to a gorgeous black girl who wore her hair in a chignon and a tightly fitting burgundy dress. ‘Montagu’s empty, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Mr Longcaster, sir.’
‘This way,’ Longcaster told Robin, and he set off upstairs, the Pyrenean Mountain Dog padding after him.
There were more burgundy-clad staff on the upstairs landing, all of them good-looking, all straightening like elegant meerkats at Longcaster’s approach. Robin was busy telling herself that she absolutely refused to be intimidated by this man or by his club, because she’d met far more frightening people than Dino Longcaster during her detective career, but the increase in alertness and nerves that seemed to touch every member of staff they passed told her that it might take a certain degree of gumption not to be frightened of Dino Longcaster.
He led Robin past a couple of doorways bearing the name plates ‘Amarillo’ and ‘Dostoevsky’, finally leading her into an empty room even more opulent than the hallway, which managed to be simultaneously grand and cosy. The walls were covered in a swirling red paisley fabric; there were many more oil paintings, mostly of dogs and horses; a log fire was burning in the grate; scarlet roses were arranged in large crystal bowls; the velvet armchairs were deep and looked welcoming. A backgammon board and a chess set were laid out on small tables, and the impression of a private home was reinforced by the few pictures that stood in silver frames or hung on the walls, some of them black and white, mostly featuring Longcaster himself, or his most photogenic daughter. In one of these pictures, Longcaster was collecting a silver racing trophy from the Queen; in another, he stood in black tie, greeting the Aga Khan at the doorway of his club.
‘Please,’ said Longcaster to Robin, gesturing to a pair of armchairs beside the fire.
He hitched up his trousers at his knees before sitting down opposite her. The dog immediately placed its huge white head in his lap, and Longcaster began to massage it with long, spatulate fingers.
‘May I have the pleasure of knowing who’s been harassing my daughter?’
‘My name’s Robin Ellacott, I’m a private detective, and there was no harassment.’
Still stroking the dog, Longcaster extended his free hand to press a small brass bell on a side table. A uniformed waiter appeared so quickly Robin thought he must have been standing in readiness right outside the door.
‘Martini,’ said Longcaster.
‘Yes, Mr Longcaster, sir. Madam?’
‘No, thank—’
‘Bring her a Majesty,’ Longcaster told the waiter, who smiled and left the room. Longcaster turned back to face Robin. His deep-set grey eyes raked her from head to foot and back up again, before he said,
‘So, you’re trying to track down the jellyfish.’
‘Who’s “the jellyfish”?’ asked Robin disingenuously.
‘GenusFleetwood,’ said Longcaster. ‘SpeciesRupert.’
He reached out a long arm towards a humidor sitting on another low table, opened it and extracted a cigar and a cutter. The dog peered reproachfully up at his master at the cessation of stroking, then, with a kind of low groan, settled down at his feet, head on its paws. Longcaster now set about trimming the end of a cigar, glancing up at Robin to say,
‘You shouldn’t wear black.’
‘What?’
‘Black. It ages you. You can’t be more than, what – thirty-five?’
‘Don’t you think that’s quite arudething to say to someone you’ve only just met?’ said Robin, forcing herself to sound amused.
‘Nothing rude about it. I’m giving you good advice.’
