Page 85 of Murder on Harley Street
“Let’s have breakfast,” I said. “Why wait to celebrate at lunch when we’re all together now?”
Floyd glared at me from beneath heavy eyelids covered with red spidery veins. “Now?” he growled.
“Why not? We’re all wide awake with nothing much to do, and itisbreakfast time. We can have the restaurant opened up just for us.”
Floyd heaved in a huffy breath as he glared at me.
“Besides,” I went on, “I’m so relieved that Mr. Lombardi paid his account after being worried he’d leave before doing so. Aren’t you pleased, too, Floyd?”
“We could postpone luncheon until dinnertime,” he said with an arch look at me.
Uncle Ronald repeated his excuse that he had a dinner engagement at his club this evening. He made no comment about breakfast, however.
Aunt Lilian glanced from me to Floyd. Even suffering as she was from her addiction, she was more aware of the subtle cues than her husband. “I think breakfast is an excellent idea, Cleopatra. Don’t you agree, Florence?”
“Oh, yes,” Flossy said. “Confrontation makes me hungry. I’m going to have extra bacon today, in honor of the man who called me fat getting what he deserved.”
Not even Floyd had the heart to disagree with that. He flung an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll join you in the feast of bacon. But first, I need coffee.”
“Breakfast it is,” Aunt Lilian declared.
Uncle Ronald clapped his hands together. “Capital idea, Cleopatra. The cooks are already in the kitchen. I’ll see them now and put in orders for five of everything. Floyd, you open up the restaurant. We’ll get underway before Chapman gets here and insists on turning it into a formal occasion.” He looked so pleased that I dismissed my previous opinion. He didn’t realize I planned to meet Harry for his birthday, after all.
“Quite right, dearest,” Aunt Lilian said. “This can be an indoor breakfast picnic. No need for tablecloths and silverware.”
“Steady on, my dear. We’re not barbarians.”
She laughed, much to his confusion.
The hypocrisyof going to church with my family after our celebratory breakfast, then lying to them about where I was going afterward wasn’t lost on me. I told them I was heading to the Tate Gallery for an exhibition and would be gone for some hours. Perhaps if Floyd had been there, he’d have challenged me, but Uncle Ronald, Aunt Lilian and Flossy all seemed to believe me.
I caught a train to Ealing then walked from the station to Harry’s parents’ place. D.I. Hobart welcomed me into his home with enthusiasm. As did his wife. When I’d first met Harry’s mother, she was somewhat curt with me. She’d blamed me for getting him dismissed from his position at the hotel. Since Iwasto blame, I’d accepted her frostiness.
Recently, however, she’d been more pleasant. Today, she even smiled in greeting. “Harry tells us you helped him solve the murder at the doctor’s clinic. Your name should be in the newspapers alongside his.” She indicated the stack of newspapers on the table in the sitting room. There were even more than had been delivered to the hotel.
Mr. Hobart was there with his wife. As Harry’s aunt and uncle, and childless themselves, they were a very close family. The more I came to know them all, the more I realized they’d needed Harry in their lives as much as he’d needed them. Aged thirteen when they’d taken him in, it couldn’t have been easy for anyone, but they’d gotten through those difficult years and managed to raise an incredible young man.
I was suddenly feeling as fortunate to have found him as they were. My face must have expressed my feeling of good fortune because Harry suddenly flushed, embarrassed.
Remembering my gift, I held it out to him. “Happy birthday, Harry.”
“I told you not to get me anything,” he chided.
“I couldn’t resist. I first got the idea when I saw it in the toy shop window in Regent Street. Then something D.S. Forrester said decided it for me.”
“Toy shop?” Harry’s mother asked. “What on earth did you find in a toy shop that a man would want?”
Her sister-in-law sat forward as Harry unwrapped his gift. “Is it a spinning top?” Mrs. Ann Hobart asked.
“Why would Harry want a spinning top?”
“Why would Forrester mention one?” D.I. Hobart asked, as he too leaned forward.
Only Mr. Hobart, the hotel manager, had an inkling. Even though he didn’t say, I could tell from the way his eyes twinkled that he might be on the right path. As someone used to guests asking where they could find the perfect gift, I wasn’t surprised he’d heard of the Kodak Brownie box camera, even though they were quite new.
Harry’s face lit up as he unwrapped the box. “A portable camera!” He removed the device, which was also box shaped, along with a roll of film I’d included. “I’ve wanted one ever since reading about them.” He blinked at me with childlike wonder. “Thank you, Cleo.”
His enthusiasm was infectious. I grinned back. “My pleasure.”
