Page 15 of Murder at the Dinner Party
“Why does he want to see me?”
He stopped. “He doesn’t, but I think you should speak to him.”
“Flossy told me to avoid him.”
“You can’t avoid him, so it’s best to get it over with.”
“Get what over with?”
“Hobart.” With that cryptic response he knocked on Uncle Ronald’s office door, then opened it. “After you, Cousin.”
Sometimes, the best way to counter someone’s ill temper is to attack it with positivity and brightness. I smiled. “Good afternoon, Uncle. I’ve just been outside for a walk. It’s a glorious summer day out there.”
He grunted. “Glad some of us have the time for walks. I’ve got work to do.” He picked up a ledger then dropped it on the desk with a loud bang. A pencil rolled across the surface and tumbled to the floor.
I picked it up and returned it to the desk. “Don’t you have an assistant to take some of the load from you?”
“He’s busy. Besides, this is a reporting issue. Hobart should be taking care of it, but he’s busy, too. Usually he does his reports at home if he doesn’t get them done here, but lately he’s been shirking.”
“Is it shirkingnotto work out of hours? If he has so much to do that he needs to take work home, then perhaps he needs more help.”
“He has an assistant,” Uncle Ronald growled. “Anyway, this has never been a problem before. He never complained about taking work home. He simply did it. This lackadaisical attitude of his is becoming a problem.”
“It’s hardly lackadaisical to refuse to take work home,” I said tightly.
“He should have been at the hotel last night for the engagement party. And he leaves right on time lately, not a moment later, and he takes an entire hour off for lunch. He used to work through the day without stopping.”
I glanced at Floyd, standing a little behind me, but he remained silent. I suspected he didn’t want his father’s attention to turn to him. He appeared to be waiting for his father to say something, however.
“Floyd, why did you insist I come in here to speak to Uncle Ronald?”
Uncle Ronald frowned. “Why indeed? Afraid to talk to me alone, son?”
Floyd cleared his throat. “I thought Cleo might have an answer for you about Hobart’s change of attitude. If not, she could find out, given they’re on friendly terms.”
I narrowed my gaze at him. “I don’t have any answers for you. Perhaps Mr. Hobart simply needs a rest. When was the last time he had a holiday?”
Father and son both shrugged.
“There you are. Perhaps he’s tired.”
“Then why not just say so and ask for some time off?” Uncle Ronald snapped. He had a point. “I know what’s going on with him,” he went on. “I don’t need you to find out for me, Cleopatra. I can make an educated guess. I have it on good authority that the Carlton Hotel is in need of a new manager. Hobart must be considering the position.”
“Steady on,” Floyd declared. “Hobart would never leave the Mayfair. He’s been here longer than I’ve been alive. He’s part of the furniture.”
“Perhaps that attitude explains why he’s considering leaving,ifindeed he is,” I pointed out. “You take him for granted.”
Uncle Ronald narrowed his gaze at me. “So, you do think he’s leaving?”
“I’m simply saying you should treat him with the respect he deserves. Don’t give him so much work that he needs to take it home of an evening, and don’t expect him to work through lunch or stay late.”
Uncle Ronald stroked his moustache with his thumb and forefinger and grumbled a protest under his breath. Finally, he got to the point. “It’s not just Hobart. I feel as though I can’t trust any of the staff lately. Ever since Armitage left—”
“You dismissed him.”
“The business with Armitage, then the former housekeeper, and lately Cobbit’s unrest…it feels as though the staff are mutinying.” He stabbed his stubby finger on the ledger’s cover. “The problem is, there’s no loyalty anymore.”
“They will be loyal if they’re treated with respect,” I pointed out.
