Page 86 of Murder on Harley Street

He opened the instruction leaflet, the rest of us already forgotten.

“Why are they sold in toy shops?” his aunt asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I saw one in the window the other day, but it wasn’t until D.S. Forrester spoke about getting a camera for his investigations that I realized Harry would like one too.”

“The manufacturer marketed them to children when they first came out earlier this year,” her husband said. “They’ve only just started selling them in England.

“It looks expensive,” Harry’s mother said.

“Not at all. That’s the beauty of them, and why they’ve become so popular in such a short time.”

Harry inserted the roll of film into one side of the compartment, then threaded the loose end of the roll onto the empty spool on the other side. He turned the knob to wind it and closed the compartment panel. “Line up and I’ll take a photograph.”

Harry’s aunt declined, while his mother declared she needed to take her apron off, and she wasn’t going to do that before lunch was ready. She headed toward the delicious smells coming from the kitchen.

“Can I help you?” I called after her.

“No, thank you,” she tossed over her shoulder. “My sister-in-law is all the help I need.”

Harry’s aunt leapt up from the sofa and hurried after his mother.

While we waited, Harry photographed his uncle, father and me, then I took the camera and photographed him with his father then his uncle. We then sat to discuss the investigation. D.I. Hobart insisted on knowing every detail, and asked many questions, while his brother listened. Afterward, Mr. Hobart asked me to describe Mr. Lombardi’s reaction when he read the newspaper articles mentioning his company.

“How do you know we saw him before he checked out?” I asked.

He simply smiled that knowing smile of his. The smile turned satisfied when I described how Mr. Lombardi couldn’t get away from us fast enough.

Lunch was declared ready a short while later, and we moved to the dining table. Although the food wasn’t as rich or lavish as that served at the hotel, it was delicious and hearty. The wine flowed freely. All talk of the murder was set aside in favor of more pleasant conversation.

When the four members of the older generation fell into a discussion about politics, I found my concentration drifting. I wasn’t sure when my gaze focused on Harry, but at some point it did, and he noticed. He lifted his wineglass in salute. I picked up my glass and saluted back.

When the afternoon’s shadows grew long, I bade them all farewell, and thanked my host and hostess for luncheon. Mrs. Hobart kissed my cheek while D.I. Hobart looked like he wanted to kiss the other, but wasn’t sure if it was appropriate or not. In the end, he simply shook my hand.

Harry escorted me to the front door. Before opening it, he took my hand. “Thank you for coming, Cleo. It means a lot that you’d risk Sir Ronald’s ire. By the way, did I mention he finally asked me yesterday whether I would return to work at the hotel?”

“What did you say?”

“I refused. I told him my business was too successful to abandon it, and that I had grand plans for the future.”

“Was he disappointed?”

“Actually, no. I thought he would be.” Harry shrugged. “Seems he wasn’t so set on the idea, after all.” He leaned down to kiss me, but I put a hand to his chest.

I glanced past him along the corridor. “They’ll see.”

He chuckled softly. “Cleo, they know we’re together.”

“When did you tell them?”

“Officially, a week or so ago. Unofficially, I’ve been hinting for some time that you were going to feature more in my life.”

“Some time?”

“After things ended with Miss Morris.”

“That long ago?” I circled my arms around his neck. “That explains your mother’s acceptance of me. I’m glad she has softened her stance and hasn’t thrown me out for being a wicked influence on you.”

He smirked. “If only she knew how wicked.”

“Harry,” I chided.

“Cleo,” he murmured back.

I teased the thick dark hair at the back of his head, my gaze locked on his. Having told his family about us some time ago, most men would pressure their girl into telling hers. But not Harry. He was giving me the time I needed.

That day would come. I knew we couldn’t stay in limbo forever, more than friends yet not publicly a couple, but for now, it felt right. Indeed, it was a relief not to have to contend with my family and their prejudice. I was enjoying our stolen moments, our secret rendezvous. They felt special, and completely ours.

“Happy birthday, Harry. Now, for your other gift.” I leaned against him, stood on my toes, and kissed him thoroughly.