She stared at me as if my words were incomprehensible to her. Then her eyes narrowed and she said, “I’m afraid that is completely unacceptable.”
Chapter 9
Lord Ellis leaned on the counter and smiled. It wasn’t a knee-slapping-that’s-a-funny-joke smile. It was a closed-lipped, wicked smile as if he was taking a twisted delight in her disappointment or my dilemma or both. Either way, it gave me the creeps.
I turned my attention to Lady Ellis. “I’m sure my assistant will be able to locate your hat for you. If you’d like, I can deliver it to your home personally.”
“No, I don’t like,” she said. “I want my hat, for which I paid an outrageous sum, and I want it now.”
“Do you know what it looked like?” I asked. I could feel myself getting flustered. I had assumed having her hat delivered to her home would calm her, but no.
“No, I don’t,” she said. “Vivian promised me a one-of-a-kind creation, something that would be the envy of all of my guests. As for me, I sincerely hope it was created to bring attention to my eyes.”
I met her gaze. Her eyes were spectacular, and I could imagine that Vivian would have been quite inspired to match their unusual hue. They were a light teal or a dark aqua depending upon how the light shone into them. I glanced around the shop to see if perhaps Viv had put the hat she had created for Lady Ellis on display.
“It won’t be out here. I told you it was to be kept a secret,” she said. She sighed. I knew it was to let me know that she was finding the entire situation tedious.
I felt a prick of irritation with her but an even deeper stab with Vivian. How could she take off and not leave decent records? It was completely irresponsible. I didn’t care how brilliant Viv was with her designs: if she annoyed a client with the stature of Lady Ellis, the business was going to go belly-up before her clever fingers could save it.
“Let me just go check in back,” I said. “Can I offer you refreshments while you wait?”
“No, thank you,” Lady Ellis said. “We are in a hurry, after all.”
“Yes, my lady,” I said. Suddenly, I felt as if I were in an episode of Downton Abbey, playing the part of a clumsy American.
I hurried into the workroom, thinking that if Vivian didn’t get back soon, we were going to have some issues, namely, me throttling her.
Although Fee had given me a quick tour of the studio portion of the shop, I hadn’t really paid much attention because this was not my area of expertise. Oh, I knew a lot of hat terminology, such as crown, brim and blocking. I’d have to have been in a coma all these years not to have picked up on most of it.
Still, although I admired pretty ribbons and cool hat shapes and what could be created by putting these things together, my brain was more geared toward appreciating the finished result. The few hats I had attempted in my youth always ended up looking like chowder pots and not very attractive ones at that.
I opened all of the cupboards and drawers and I checked all of the shelves. I saw loads of supplies and lots of half-done projects but there was nothing that I thought Viv would have concocted to accentuate Lady Ellis’s eyes.
Going out front empty-handed was going to be like facing a firing squad without a blindfold. I straightened my shoulders. There was nothing to be done for it. I could almost hear the low tones of a dirge playing in my head as I dragged my feet toward the front.
Lady and Lord Ellis were browsing the shop when I returned. Lord Ellis was trying on a trilby hat in front of one of the mirrors while Lady Ellis tipped it to sit jauntily over one of his eyes. They were laughing together and for a moment I thought the bad news might not be received as poorly as I feared. Again, I was so wrong.
“I apologize, Lady Ellis,” I said. “But I didn’t locate any special projects in Vivian’s studio.”
The smile vanished from Lady Ellis’s face as if I’d slapped her. I got the feeling she did not often hear the word “no.” The man with her gave a low whistle like a teapot that was about to reach optimum boil.
Frantically, I glanced around the storefront. There had to be something here that would appease her. Again, I knew I should focus on her vanity.
“It could be that your hat is such a special creation that Viv didn’t want to leave it where anyone could see it,” I said. “I’m sure that must be it. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Vivian was hoping to have you model it for the shop.”
“Model?” Lady Ellis asked.
She looked interested, so I ran with it.
“Oh, yes,” I said. “We do put out a catalog and our Web site features Viv’s exclusive designs.”
Lady Ellis studied me as if trying to figure me out. “Do you really think Vivian would want me to model one of her hats?”
“I think she’d be honored,” I said.
Lady Ellis gave me a smile that reminded me of the one Lord Ellis had worn a few minutes ago. It was a smile devoid of warmth but rather seemed to take its delight in something sinister. No wonder they were a couple.
I tried to figure out why my words amused her but before I could latch on to an answer, Lord Ellis called to us from Aunt Mim’s raven-topped wardrobe.
“Excuse me, but what’s in here?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said. At least, Mim never used to keep anything in there. I supposed things could have changed.
Suddenly, it all made sense. I wanted to smack my hand to my forehead but I refrained. Of course, Vivian had probably kept Lady Ellis’s hat in there. That was the only explanation.
“But let’s check just in case,” I said.
I crossed over to the wardrobe and turned the old-fashioned iron handle on the cupboard door. It opened with an ominous creak.
The scent of lavender wafted out into the room. Viv had obviously filled the wardrobe with the calming sachets. I sincerely hoped they worked if we found the wardrobe empty.
There was no need to worry, however, as I swung the other door open, there it was. Perched on a pedestal was a gorgeous, teal-colored cloche trimmed with a wide satin ribbon in a matching teal and finished with a brilliant cluster of Swarovski crystals set into the satin ribbon in an art deco diamond pattern. Viv had outdone herself.
“That—” Lady Ellis paused and glanced at her husband as if seeking his approval. He nodded, which of course he should have because it was a fabulous hat. I shifted from foot to foot, wondering if I was going to get reamed if she didn’t like it. Of course, she was crazy if she didn’t like it, and I had a good mind to tell her that.
“—is it,” Lady Ellis continued. Then she smiled at me. “Well done.”
I felt myself relax just the slightest bit. The Ellises exchanged delighted smiles, and I was so relieved it was all I could do not to jump up and kiss the raven on the beak in gratitude.
“Let me just box it up for you,” I said.
“Yes, and while you do that, we can talk about my photo shoot,” Lady Ellis said. Her eyes gleamed, but I couldn’t tell if it was with delight or malice.
Chapter 10
When I closed and locked the door behind them, I felt a moment’s panic that I now had to come up with a photographer by Friday, which was Lady Ellis’s preferred day to meet for the photo shoot. Like a wet dog, I shook it loose, refusing to let it dampen my evening. I turned and leaned my back up against the closed door, surveying the shop.
Okay, yeah, the panic had me by the throat and it was not letting go. In fact, it seemed to be squeezing my air passage tighter and tighter.
“Viv, when you get back, we are going to have a long chat,” I said. “It is completely unacceptable to leave me here alone with insufficient records.”
It felt as if the word “alone” echoed back at me from every corner of the room like ghostly specters swooping down on me. I realized I had never been in the shop, or the house for that matter, by myself. Last night I’d had jet lag and a couple of pints to knock me out, but now I just had worry.
Worry about Viv and where she was and why no one wa
s as concerned as me, worry that Harrison knew more than he was telling and quite possibly had something to do with Viv’s disappearance. Worry that I now had to find and hire a photographer to take pictures of Lady Ellis modeling her hat. And lastly, worry that there was nothing decent to eat in the kitchen upstairs.
My stomach rumbled and it seemed to me that the last worry was now the most pressing. If I didn’t eat, then I would be too weak to solve any of the other issues.
Of course, another problem for me was that there weren’t any MoonPies in the UK. Yes, they did have Jaffa Cakes, a sponge cake with a burst of orange in the center and coated in dark chocolate, and I planned to stock up on those. But I really would have enjoyed a marshmallowy, gooey bite of decadence right now, or you know, a whole box of them.
I didn’t want to go upstairs to find the cupboards lacking, so I decided to go out and forage for my food elsewhere, and if someone else cooked it, all the better, as I am a chef of absolutely no skill. I can’t even boil water for tea. All right, I probably could, but I was resistant to learning.
Somewhere in my formative years, I noted a serious imbalance of the domestic arts in my family. When I was little, my mother stayed home with me. She said it was to nurture and raise me right but mostly I remember jumps off the roof with bedsheet parachutes being thwarted, so I always look at it as more of a quelling of my personality rather than a shaping of my good sense.
Anyway, with Mum home all day, it made sense that she cooked. My father worked as a chemist, so he came home from his laboratory every night to a home-cooked meal. When I got older and my mother started her career as a professor of literature at a nearby university, she worked a full day like Dad but then came home and still cooked.
My father didn’t know how to cook and had no interest in learning. On nights when my mother didn’t cook and had to work late, Dad and I had cereal for dinner. I think it was then that I realized that the division of labor was less than equal in my house, and I determined that the best way not to get stuck carrying the load was to make sure I didn’t know how.
My former boyfriend, the rat bastard, had found this to be a charming trait of mine. I’m sure it was because he never actually left his wife, like he said he did, and she probably did all of the cooking. Did I mention he’s a rat bastard?
Viv kept an umbrella stand by the back door and one glance out the window told me that the overcast day was going to prove to be a soggy evening. As I shut off the lights in the shop on my way to retrieve an umbrella, I stopped by the wardrobe and peered up at my friend the raven.
“Nice work today,” I said. “I’m going to the Tesco, do you want anything?”
He watched me but not even the tiniest caw passed his beak.
“Fine then, but I don’t want to hear that you’re hungry when I come back with yummy food and you have nothing to eat.”
Still, he maintained his wooden silence.
“I’m talking to a carved bird,” I said. “Viv, you’d better come back soon before I am full-on crackers.”
There was no reply, which was not a big surprise, which I took to mean that I wasn’t completely around the bend just yet.
I grabbed Viv’s umbrella. Naturally it was not a plain black affair, no, hers was orange with pink polka dots. I was going to feel like there was a strobe light on me as I made my way down Portobello Road. On the upside, it would be very difficult to misplace.
I locked the shop door and headed out. It was only a light drizzle, so I didn’t pop open my carnival tent to cover my head, but instead lifted my face up to feel the dampness bathe my skin. I felt as if I was still washing off the five thousand miles of travel, the day spent in the shop and my worries about so many things I couldn’t control.
As I walked down the familiar road, I noted the changes that had happened over the years. Mim’s Whimshad been in the same spot for over forty years. Newly widowed, Mim had come to Notting Hill mostly because after the upheaval it had suffered during the riots of the late 1950s and the scandal of the early ’60’s, she found it cheap to buy in, but also she was charmed by the area, which seemed to have resisted all attempts at gentrification over the years. Mim was a rebel and the area definitely spoke to her wild side.
Mim had scrapbooks stuffed with photos of the hats she’d made for various members of the royal family as well as those that were particular favorites of hers. I used to spend hours as a child poring over the old albums, asking her questions about the people and the events they attended. I found it fascinating.
I paused beside an old shop. Its awning was tattered and it desperately needed some paint. It looked tired, like an aging beauty queen who refused to stop wearing her tiara and sash. I tried to remember what business had once been here, but I couldn’t pull it out of my memory banks.
I saw a man inside the shop. He was moving around the empty space unpacking crates. Curiosity got the better of me and I pressed my face to the glass.
He bent over and used a crowbar to pry off the top of a flat wooden box. He moved the lid aside and removed a layer of packing material. Beneath it, I could make out a large, framed photograph. Was he opening a gallery?
He glanced up just then and saw me. Not knowing what else to do, I waved. He waved back.
Since I didn’t move away, and I’m not sure why I didn’t, he straightened up and crossed to the door. I heard the dead bolt click as he unlocked it. He pushed the door open and poked his head out.
“I’m sorry. I’m not open for business yet,” he said.
The streetlamp on the corner shone on his face. He was black with close-cropped dark hair. He was of medium height but had a solid build. He wore all black except for the wink of diamond studs, large ones, in his earlobes.
“No, I’m the one who is sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, but I was curious to see what sort of shop you’re opening.”
“Well, if I ever get it going, it will be a photography studio,” he said.
“What a perfect location for it,” I said. “My cousin and I own the hat shop up the street.”
He looked me up and down as if considering me. I gave him my best wide-eyed ingénue expression.
“I’m Andre Eisel,” he said.
“Scarlett Parker,” I said.
We shook hands and I noted that his was warm whereas mine had grown cold from the chilly evening air.
“Would you like to see the inside?”
“I’d love to,” I said. I stepped forward before he could change his mind.
There are no such things as coincidences. I firmly believe this, and the fact that he was opening a studio just when I needed a photographer, well, I was not going to let the opportunity go by. Even if he wasn’t interested in taking Lady Ellis’s photograph, surely he would know someone who was.
The main room was stark with no furniture, just wooden flooring and white walls with large, framed photographs leaning up against the walls. They were mostly cityscapes from all around London. That was bad luck, but I was determined.
As he led me around the small space, telling me about his plans to sell his original works, teach classes and take professional jobs, I thought all might not be lost. A stack of portraits was against the back wall and I asked if I could look at them.
I don’t know a whole lot about photography, but the portraits had a quality to them, a certain angle or maybe it was the lighting that made me feel as if I was being let into the person’s innermost being.
“Wow, these are really good, Andre,” I said. “You have real talent.”
“Thanks,” he said. “With some of them I was just mucking around, but a few are keepers.”
“Are you looking for work in portraiture?” I asked.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Not particularly, why?”
“I’m in dire need of a photographer this Friday; would you consider it?”
“What’s the job?” he asked.
“A portrait of Lady Ellis, wearing her new hat from my shop.”
“Earl Ellis’s wife? Lady Victoria Ellis?” he asked.
“Do you know them?” I asked.
“Of them,” he said.
He put his hand on the back of his neck and tipped his head in that direction while crossing his other arm over his middle. I’m no expert on body language, but it looked to me as if he was torn. I was curious about why, but I was more desperate for him to agree to take the job, so I let it go.
A rapping on the glass door brought our attention around. While I’d been inside, the drizzle had surged into a downpour and only now I noticed the steady beat of the rain against the glass windows.
Standing outside in a trench coat with his collar up stood a fair-haired man, holding a plastic bag full of takeout food.
He looked soaked to the skin and suddenly I was grateful to have brought Viv’s hideous umbrella.
“Oh, that’s my partner, Nick Carroll,” Andre said, and he hurried forward to open the door.
“Is he a photographer, too?” I asked.
“No, he’s a dentist,” Andre said. “And my life partner.”
“Oh.”
“What? Don’t I give off enough poof?”
“Well, honestly, no, you don’t,” I said.
Andre grinned. “That’s all right. Nick more than makes up for it.”
I had no idea what he was talking about until he opened the door and Nick came in.
“It’s bucketing out there and me without my brolly,” Nick said. He kissed Andre’s cheek. “Why did you let me go out without it, love? I’ll catch my death and then you’ll miss me.”
Andre grinned. “I would at that.”
“Who’s the ginger?” Nick asked. He handed the food to Andre and put his hands on his hips as he looked me over.
“Manners, please,” Andre said. “This is Scarlett Parker, a neighbor from down the street.”
“Scarlett?” Nick asked. “I like that.” He gave a little growl out of the corner out of his mouth. “It suits you.”
“Thanks,” I said. I couldn’t help smiling.
Cloche and Dagger Page 5
