Chapter 22
Bing returned just before dinner, exhausted but very much satisfied with the sights she had witnessed. “Marvelous,” she pronounced, her face burnt from the sun as she unpinned her hat and dusted it off. “Would you mind, Hathor, if I have a tray sent up to the room? With Mademoiselle Leone present, there can be no objection to your dining under Monsieur Berry’s auspices.”
“I am willing to stay and hear your tales of the crypt,” Hattie offered. “There will be plenty of opportunities to dine with our companions when we travel up the Nile.”
“Best not to allow Mademoiselle Leone a clear field,” Bing opined with a knowing air as she unlaced her half boots. “Men tend to lose their bearings around women of that stamp.”
This was undeniably true, as Hattie had witnessed first-hand at the consulate. In fact, she would not be surprised if Eugenie’s role was to cause certain hand-picked men to lose their bearings. The list would not include Berry, but as Hattie would rather be in his company anyway she did not demur. “I shall come hear of your adventures after dinner, then—in the meantime I’ll go down and arrange for your tray.”
“Something substantial, if you please,” directed her companion, lying back on her bed with a happy sigh. “I confess I am sharp-set.”
After having arranged for a tray of cold meats and soup for Bing, Hattie joined Berry and Eugenie in the dining room for dinner. With an apologetic smile she announced, “Bing sends her regrets—she is exhausted from her tour.”
“A shame.” Berry pulled out her chair, his fingers brushing Hattie’s shoulders as she was seated.
Aware that she should not feel quite so gleeful at the prospect of further improprieties, Hattie nevertheless could not contain a sidelong glance at Berry to gauge his reaction to the loss of her chaperone. His manner was all that was correct and polite, but she was not fooled; the emotion was there, simmering just beneath the surface. I am beyond redemption, she thought without remorse; but it is such a sweet, sweet surrender.
All thoughts of heated embraces, however, were replaced by abject surprise as Hattie spied a familiar figure approaching the table. “Why, Robbie,” she exclaimed.
With a familiar gesture, Robbie leaned to take her hand, smiling at her reaction. “Hattie, you devil—I have finally managed to track you down, and no thanks to the management here, who seem to suspect I am some sort of burglar.”
“Robbie—I must own I am astonished. You remember Monsieur Berry, my parents’ agent?”
Berry had stood to shake hands and Robbie greeted him before his gaze rested on Eugenie. “Ah—Mademoiselle Valérie.”
“Leone—Mademoiselle Eugenie Leone,” she corrected him with a beguiling smile.
“I beg your pardon—my wretched memory.” He seemed amused for some reason as he took her hand.
Hattie offered a place at the table, ashamed of herself for feeling a bit disappointed that Robbie had chosen to make an appearance at this particular juncture; it was just as well, she told herself firmly—you are nothing less than a hoyden. “Do join us, Robbie; have you eaten?”
“No; I am just arrived and set out to find you first thing—Lord, Hattie, you gave me a turn.”
But Hattie was unrepentant and lifted her chin. “Turnabout is fair play, my friend. How does your superior?”
Unable to suppress a grin, he confessed, “Fit to be tied; that’s how he does—I expect to be summarily fired at any moment.”
Hattie shot him a look from under her brows. “If you expect me to feel sorry for you, Robbie Tremaine—”
Berry interrupted the exchange before it escalated into fisticuffs. “Please accept my condolences, Monsieur Tremaine.”
At the reminder, Robbie assumed a grave expression and thanked him in a sincere tone before seating himself between Hattie and Eugenie as they signaled that an extra setting should be brought. Hattie could not help but note that he wore no black mourning band—although she wasn’t certain of the protocol, as the dead woman was not yet his wife. Deciding there was no point in putting off the topic, she added, “Yes; I am also sorry to hear of your loss, Robbie.”
The newcomer poured a full measure of wine into his glass as he made a wry mouth. “It is insult upon injury, I’m afraid. The prefect questioned me very closely—in this type of situation the men in the dead woman’s life are always scrutinized.”
Outraged on his behalf, Hattie exclaimed, “Surely they do not suspect you?”
He shrugged. “It was irksome to be questioned but it could not be helped—I’ll admit I departed before they were quite done with me, so I have an ulterior purpose in coming to track you down—I figured you’d need some help over here.”