Page 8 of A Change of Location
As the crowd thinned Hannah handed out flowerpots to departing women. She offered the remains of the cheese and fish and biscuits to the people clustered around the serving table.
“Take fruit, too,” she urged. “I can’t eat all these leftovers. I’m leaving early tomorrow.”
Marching forward, he seized a tray of Belgian chocolates. “Don’t give these away.”
“I’m not that generous,” she admitted.
“Might it be possible to speak with you privately?”
“Sure,” she said airily. “Wait down the hall, I’ll be there in a sec.”
Martin conferred with Karl about storage of the unopened wine bottles prior to their being returned to the vintner. After a brief stop in the palatial lavatory, he made his way along the corridor. In the bedroom, he found club chairs and a sofa arranged around a reproduction butler’s table, and a king-sized bed with a nubby satin counterpane. An alcove was arranged as a work space—it contained a small glass-topped desk and black chair. Through a half-open window he could hear the drone of traffic in Piccadilly. A gust fluttered the gauzy curtain, depositing several loose papers onto the floor.
Hannah surged into her inner sanctum. “Karl says you’re wholly responsible for the additions to my catering order. In the past twenty-four hours I’ve become Wincott & Sons’ greatest fan.”
“Our reputation for quality is over two centuries old,” he responded in his smoothest salesman voice.
“I’ll quote you when our production accountant squawks at the cost.” She collapsed into one of the leather chairs. “Will I get a hard copy of the invoice?”
“Not from me, I don’t have anything to do with paperwork. Karl will leave an envelope in a conspicuous place. The chocolates you kept won’t sustain you for very long. Fortunately, I know a superior French bistro in Shepherd Market.”
“Thanks for the suggestion, but it’s the room service menu for me.” Her tone was polite but implacable.
“Drinks instead? I’m familiar with several pleasant pubs, steps away.”
“I wish I could join you, but I’ve got calls to make. Clothes to pack. I’m booked on a morning train to Reading.”
“Really?”
“Ree-leee,” she mocked him, her accent spot-on.
“I was born there. Stayed till I was five years old.”
“I’ll be picking up my hire car. Never fear, I pose no danger on your motorways and narrow lanes. I have experience with right-hand drive and manual transmission. Mum gave Dad a clunky vintage Morris Minor for their tenth wedding anniversary.”
Her parents sounded like fun, a pity she wasn’t more like them. He’d better get to the point before she chucked him out.
“Miss Ballard—”
“Hannah. We moved past a business relationship when you came to my party.”
“Your visit to Wincott & Sons yesterday was a stroke of luck. For each of us.”
“Do you say that to all your lady customers when you get them alone?”
Martin shook his head emphatically. “The shop’s clientele are strictly off limits.”
“Even the posh ones, with titles?”
He didn’t waste time on an answer. “Hannah, I’ve got something spectacular I want to show you.”
Sitting straighter, she eyed him suspiciously. “What is it?”
“My most significant possession. I’m very attached to it. And it’s attached to me.”
She leaned forward, eyebrows arched. “Big?”
“Enormous,” he boasted.
