Page 51 of Peril in Piccadilly
“There’s no lobby at Sweetings,” I pointed out, “so if you plan to lurk, you’ll have to find somewhere else to do so.”
“Across the street ought to do.” He squinted at me. “You’re going, then?”
I snorted. “Of course I’m going. It’s not every day a woman gets invited to Sweetings for luncheon.”
It’s the premier oyster bar in the city, that has been around since Victoria was on the throne. Christopher and I are more likely to snack on a serving of beans on toast at home than to venture out to Sweetings on an average Monday.
As a result, I was practically giddy by the time we came up out of the underground at the corner of Cannon and Queen Victoria Streets the next afternoon. I was wearing my favorite blue and white afternoon frock, and a matching blue cloche, while Christopher had on his own cloche hat with a little clutch of violets on it, and one of my skirts and jackets.
Other than the cloche, which had caught his eye at Style & Gerrish in Salisbury in April, Kitty’s wardrobe tends to run to evening wear. When Christopher needs something for daytime, he usually raids my wardrobe.
The skirt was a bit shorter on him than on me, seeing as he’s a couple of inches taller than I am. It’s a good thing that I’m not one of those terribly daring Bright Young People who hem everything to a practically indecent length, because had I been, Christopher wouldn’t have looked decent at all. As it was, the bottom of the skirt covered his kneecaps, but just barely, and I’m certain the couple of gentlemen who gave his nicely-turned calves admiring glances on their way past, would have been appalled to realize that they were, indeed, ogling a man.
“I’ll wait here, shall I?” Christopher inquired after we had made our way across Cannon Street and halfway down Queen Victoria. The restaurant sat on the pointed corner of Queen Victoria and Queen, a half block away, across from Bow Lane and Watling Street, and the gothic St Mary Aldermary Church.
I eyed the doorway he indicated, and then looked across the street. “Are you certain you wouldn’t prefer to go inside the church for a bit? You’ll get cold, waiting out here, and I’m sure we’ll be inside a while.”
Not to mention that he had come down from Oxford with a first in history, and he rather likes old churches. St Mary Aldermary was close to a thousand years old—or at least the first St Mary Aldermary had been. This new version—not new at all—was from the mid-1600s, so quite old enough in its own right to interest my cousin.
Under normal circumstances, he would likely have taken me up on the suggestion. Under these, he scoffed. “Looking like this? No, thank you. I’m sure I would be struck dead as soon as I crossed the threshold.”
“I don’t think God cares that you’re wearing a skirt,” I said. “Weren’t skirtsde rigeurin Jerusalem back in the day?”
He smirked. “I was more worried about the vicar coming after me with a hymnal than God striking me down with a bolt of lightning.”
Ah. “I suppose I can’t argue with that. But do you have to lurk in doorways?”
“I hardly think anyone’s going to look at me and think I’m for hire,” Christopher said coolly. “Unless you’re telling me I look cheap, Pippa?”
“Of course not.” There was nothing cheap about him, not the clothes he wore—mine—nor the face he had painted on himself. He looked like an elegant young lady of the upper echelon, not tawdry at all. Certainly not someone who was available for the right price.
“It’s just not common for nice women to loiter in doorways for hours at a time,” I added. “And it’s cold, and likely to get colder…”
“I doubt it’ll be hours,” Christopher said. “And if it is, I’ll manage. At least it isn’t raining today.”
No, it wasn’t. October had started off nice and warm, but then we’d had a few days of thunder and lightning about a week in, and that had brought in gray skies and lower temperatures. It was not so cold that we couldn’t be outside comfortably, at least as long as we were walking around, but I rather thought Christopher might freeze had he to stand in a doorway for an hour or more waiting for Wolfgang and I to appear again.
“Perhaps you could simply lunch at Sweetings yourself?” I suggested. “There’s nothing wrong with a young lady lunching on her own.”
“I’m sure there’s not. However, I rather think your beau will recognize your clothes, don’t you?”
I eyed him. “Perhaps he would.” He had seen them all before, as a matter of fact, so perhaps Christopher was right and it wasn’t a risk we wanted to run.
He patted my arm. “Don’t worry about me, Pippa. Just go meet Natterdorff. See if he’ll tell you where he lives now. And if he does, drop a glove on your way down the street, so I’ll know not to follow him.”
I promised I would do, and then I continued up the street towards the entrance to Sweetings. By the time I turned around, he had melted into the doorway and was nowhere to be seen.
ChapterTwelve
I expectedthe meal to be somewhat awkward, and I wasn’t surprised.
“I wasn’t certain you would want to join me,” were the first words out of Wolfgang’s mouth after the obligatory greetings. He pulled out the chair of a table by the window overlooking Queen Street and waited for me to sit before he pushed it in behind me.
“Whyever would you think that?” I inquired as he took the couple of steps around the small table and seated himself with his back to the view.
“The last few times I have seen you haven’t exactly gone my way.” He gave me a rueful smile.
“Nonsense,” I said briskly. “We had a nice time at tea the other day. I’m just sorry you had to leave early.”
