Page 61 of Murder on Harley Street

“That’s all. Thank you for your assistance.”

“Don’t thank me. Pay me. I apologize if that’s too forward coming from a woman, but we don’t all have the luxury of working for free because we live in a luxury hotel owned by our uncle.”

“Well done, Miss Bolton,” I said smoothly. I was determined not to let her ruffle my feathers. “When did you work it out?”

“I knew I’d heard your name somewhere, so I spent most of yesterday scouring old newspapers, focusing on the social pages. You were mentioned a few times in connection to the Bainbridges of the Mayfair Hotel, most recently when you attended a ball a few weeks ago.”

I acknowledged her investigative endeavor with a shallow bow. “Congratulations.”

Her lips pinched, perhaps in irritation that I wasn’t more upset at being found out.

Harry broke the awkward silence. “You have my card with my office address. Come tomorrow and I’ll pay your fee. If I’m not there, I’ll leave it with Luigi in the Roma Café below.”

Rose gave a curt nod, tugged on her jacket hem, and strode away.

“Well,” I said, blowing out a breath. “That was enlightening.”

“But not too surprising.”

I frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“It stands to reason Mrs. Iverson found you attractive if she’s that way inclined.” His fingers skimmed mine. “You are lovely, Cleo.”

“Oh. Uh. Thank you.” When I realized I was touching the hair at the nape of my neck I dropped my hand to my side.

Harry smirked. “Come on. Let’s confront her.”

“Mrs. Iverson?”

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“If you’re too embarrassed?—”

“I’m not embarrassed. I’m flattered and somewhat nervous, if I’m honest. What if I blush when she looks at me?”

“She’ll think you’re even prettier than she already does.”

“That’s not helpful, Harry.”

“You’ll be fine, Cleo. Just relax and follow my lead.”

Now that Iwas aware of Mrs. Iverson’s interest in me, the signs were obvious. I was somewhat used to the lingering gazes of men, the coy smiles, and their efforts to give the best impression of themselves, but I’d misunderstood those same cues from a woman. The meeting wasn’t as unnerving as I thought it would be. Indeed, I felt quite flattered.

That is, until the tone of the encounter changed when Harry brought up the topic of the anonymous note. “Why didn’t you tell us you were working the day it arrived in the clinic when we first mentioned it?”

“Was I?”

“Miss Wainsmith was ill. You worked at the reception desk last Wednesday in her stead.”

“Did I? Goodness, I quite forgot.”

“Come now, Mrs. Iverson. You don’t expect us to believe that.”

She bristled. “Are you calling me a liar?”

I decided to step in. Perhaps Mrs. Iverson’s interest in me would work to our advantage and soften her a little. “When we mentioned it, you sat where you are now, and almost said something when we brought it up with your husband. But you didn’t. It makes it seem as though you have something to hide.”