Page 33 of Evil at the Essex House
“I wasn’t disparaging your behavior,” I said mildly. “If the lady wanted out of the motorcar, of course you set her down. And proceeded directly to the Savoy to ruin my dinner date, I presume?”
“Of course, Darling.”
“Did you see her again?” Christopher wanted to know.
“Florence, do you mean? No, I didn’t.”
“For how long did you loiter outside the entrance to the hotel before you tried to run me down? You would have seen her go in, wouldn’t you?”
“Not long, Darling,” Crispin said, blandly, with no evidence of a guilty conscience in his tone, “but certainly longer than five minutes. I imagine I would have done, had she used the Savoy Court entrance.”
“How do you know that she didn’t?”
“Because I didn’t see her,” Crispin said. “There are lots of ways into the Savoy, Darling. Savoy Hill, Savoy Street, Savoy Place, Carting Lane… Perhaps she used one of those.”
She must have done, if he hadn’t seen her. “So you put her down across from Charing Cross, and that was the last time you saw her.”
“That’s correct. I drove to the Savoy, without once looking in the rearview mirror, because between you, me and Kit, I couldn’t care less about Florence Schlomsky and what she was doing—and there I proceeded to lurk outside in the lane until you came out with His Highness and I could carry out my plan of sweeping you off your feet.”
“Is that what you’d call it?”
“My apologies, Darling.” The tone of voice was accompanied by a mock bow. I knew it as well as if I’d been able to see it with my own eyes. “Did I say ‘sweep’? I meant ‘knock.’ I lay in wait until you appeared, and then I attempted to take you out at the knees.”
“Of course you did, you?—”
“Stop,” Christopher said and pulled the earpiece away from me. “If you can’t behave yourself, I’m not letting you listen.”
“I’m behaving myself perfectly well. He’sthe one?—”
I dragged the earpiece back towards myself as Christopher leaned in to speak into the mouthpiece. “Listen, Crispin. The elder Schlomskys came to the flat this afternoon. Flossie didn’t show up at the Savoy, not last night nor this morning. Are you certain you didn’t bring her to Wiltshire with you?”
“Of course I’m certain, Kit,” Crispin’s voice said. “I think I would know if I’d had Florence Schlomsky in the boot of my motorcar, don’t you? Darling can attest that there was no one else in the H6 when I took her home last evening.”
I nodded. I hadn’t checked the boot, admittedly, but I was inclined to believe Crispin when he said that Flossie hadn’t been in it.
Christopher didn’t respond, and Crispin continued, “I set her down at Charing Cross. The last thing I saw as I drove away was her waiting to cross the street.”
“She didn’t go into the Underground, did she?”
“No,” Crispin said. “There’d be no point in her taking the Tube, Kit. Charing Cross is the closest stop to the Savoy. She might flag down a cab if she didn’t want to walk, I suppose, but it’s only a handful of blocks, and hardly worth the fare. I don’t see why she’d bother.”
I didn’t, either. “And you have no idea where she is?”
He sighed. “Why would I? If she were going anywhere but to the Savoy, she didn’t mention it to me.”
So that was that, then. “Thank you,” I said.
“Anytime, Darling. Kit. Anything else?”
“I think that’s it,” Christopher said. “Get in touch if you think of anything else, would you, old chap? Or if you hear from her?”
“I hardly think I’m likely to receive a missive from Florence Schlomsky,” Crispin told him, “but if it’ll help, of course I will.”
“Thanks, old bean. Pippa?”
“Yes, St George,” I said grudgingly. “Thank you.”
“Delighted to be of service, Darling. Do let me know when Miss Schlomsky turns up, won’t you?”
