Page 14 of Evil at the Essex House
Not that we had any reason to thinkGrafWolfgang wasn’t exactly what he purported to be. I would probably be perfectly safe, because the idea of putting something in my food or drink or jabbing me with a syringe wasn’t likely to have crossed his mind at all.
“And come straight home,” Christopher admonished. “Don’t dilly-dally. If theGrafoffers to canoodle?—”
“I’ll turn him down, never fear.”
“I was going to suggest that you canoodle in a corner of the lobby, where there are other people,” Christopher said with a grin, and I made a face.
“He won’t want to canoodle, Christopher. He was as stiff as a board yesterday, and I don’t intend to give him any encouragement. Not on a first date.”
He nodded. “Then tell him goodnight and let the doorman send you home in a Hackney by yourself. Any problems, make a scene.”
“Of course. Do you still insist on seeing me there?”
“What kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t?” Christopher wanted to know, and I rolled my eyes.
“You’re just hoping for another glimpse of theGraf.”
He grinned. “How can you blame me? He’s about the most decorative specimen I’ve seen in my entire life. Not that there aren’t plenty of attractive blokes in London. But it isn’t every day I get the chance to ogle someone like that.”
I shook my head. “Please don’t ogle him. In fact, I would prefer it if he didn’t notice you at all. I don’t want him to feel as if he has to include you in the dinner invitation. No offense.”
“None taken,” Christopher said blithely. “If he were my dinner date, I wouldn’t want to share him, either.”
“That’s not why, and you know it. But if he has something he wants to say to me privately, he won’t say it if you’re there.”
“That’s true,” Christopher agreed, and offered me his arm for the walk to the lift. “Do you suppose there is anything like that? Does he have something to say he doesn’t want me to hear?”
“I have no idea,” I said, tucking my hand through his elbow, “but he did invite me to supper. He might have something to say.”
Christopher nodded and pushed the button to call the lift. “I’ll take you to the Savoy and hand you over. And then you’ll tell me everything when you come home.”
“Of course I will,” I assured him, and let him hand me into the lift.
ChapterFour
His Highness,theGraf von und zuNatterdorff, was waiting in the lobby of the Savoy when we walked in off the Strand. His face lightened when he saw me, and then closed up again when he spied Christopher coming in behind me.
“This is far enough,” I told the latter and pulled him to a stop just inside the doors.
He flicked a glance in the direction of theGrafand nodded. “Be careful, Pippa. I’ll be waiting up for you.”
Of course he would be. I lifted up on my toes—not a far distance, as I’m not particularly short and Christopher isn’t particularly tall—and pecked his cheek. “I’ll see you at home.”
“See that you do.” He squeezed my hand and nodded to theGrafacross the lobby, and then turned and walked back out the doors. I waited until he was outside in the street before I started my own trek across the checkerboard lobby floor towards Wolfgang.
He put out a hand as I approached. When I placed my own in it, he clicked his heels together and bowed over it. “FreuleinDarling.”
“GrafWolfgang.” I had no idea whether that was the correct address or not. I hadn’t grown up rubbing elbows with the German nobility—theGraf’s assertion that we had met before notwithstanding—and I had arrived in England at the beginning of a war against Germany, at a time when no one cared about addressing any German, even the nobility, properly. So whereas Aunt Roz had instructed me in how to speak to His Grace, Duke Henry, and to Uncle Harold, the then Viscount St George and his wife, Lady Charlotte, I had no grounding in how German noble titles worked. “You may call me Philippa,” I added graciously, “as it seems we’re old friends.”
At this, Wolfgang’s lips curved up in the kind of smile that made an older lady crossing the lobby stumble over her own feet. “You must call me Wolfgang, then. No need to stand on ceremony.”
“I would be delighted,” I simpered.
He offered me his arm. “Shall we?”
I put my hand on it. “Let’s.”
A few minutes later we were seated at a table in the River Restaurant, watching the Thames flow lazily by outside the tall windows, surrounded by white-topped tables under an ornately carved ceiling.
