“So, what’s the plan, boss?” I asked.
“Stafford-Lyons is going to hand over the painting to a man in the bar of the Ash Court Inn at four o’clock. The hotel’s website says there’s a parking lot around the back, so I’ll drop you off and let you get in position in the bar while I find a spot for the car. Stafford-Lyons will circle the block a couple of times before she goes inside to give us time.”
“What should I do in the bar?”
“Relax. Buy a drink.”
“With what? In case you haven’t noticed, I have literally no money.”
Turned out the American carried twenties the way Emerson carried fifties. He peeled one off the wedge in his wallet and handed it over. Did he want the change? Because if he didn’t ask for it, I planned to keep it.
“Nothing alcoholic,” Alaric instructed. “Bar snacks are okay, but don’t order anything that requires cooking. Chances are, we’ll need to make a quick exit. Just follow my lead.”
I’d get food? Perhaps I should volunteer for this surveillance lark more often. My stomach grumbled in agreement, and I wondered if it would be rude to buy a dozen packets of peanuts to go. If only I had more pockets…
“Hungry?” Alaric asked.
“Starving. I skipped lunch.”
“There’re snacks in the glove compartment. Help yourself.”
He wasn’t kidding. I practically dove to open it, and a dozen bags of sweets fell into my lap. Had I died and gone to heaven? Unlikely. After the shit I’d got up to, I had a spot reserved in hell, but who cared when it came with jelly beans and gummy bears?
“That’s some sweet tooth you’ve got.”
“It’s all Emmy’s. She stashes candy everywhere her nutritionist won’t find it.”
I did the same, except with ramen noodles and a bunch of hungry housemates. Who had a freaking nutritionist, anyway? Emmy’s junk food habit meant dietary advice was obviously a waste of time, so she clearly had more money than sense. Still, I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I tore open a packet of Skittles.
“Want one?” I offered the bag to Alaric.
He shuddered. “No, thanks.”
Ah well, more for me. I’d got through the entire packet plus half a dozen melted peanut butter cups by the time I saw the sign for Richmond. Two miles to go, and I ran a thumb over the cracked screen of my phone. Lenny had promised to text me when Emmy dropped him off, but so far, there was nothing. How long would it take her to drive to Lambeth? And would Lenny even remember a word he’d said? Dammit, I just wanted to know he was safe.
But I couldn’t get distracted, not now. I spotted the Ash Court Inn on the right, a cream facade with a sign in curling black script over the portico. Four stars, rooms, bar, conference facilities, and the holy grail—free Wi-Fi. Someone must have been watering the flowers in the pots outside because they were the only plants around that weren’t brown and crispy, and a porter walked past pushing one of those fancy luggage trolleys stacked high with suitcases that matched my wallet. Except they probably weren’t stolen. In short, the Ash Court Inn was the sort of place I’d never have walked into on a regular day on the basis that I’d get kicked straight back out again. Bet Emmy hadn’t thought of that when she came up with her fucking plan.
Still, I waited until the doorman turned his back, then slipped through into the bar where the opulence continued. Everything was leather or crystal or polished wood, and the place stank of money and expensive perfume. Bet they didn’t have happy hour. Not a single person smiled, not even the barman when I sidled up and took a seat in front of him.
“Coca-Cola, please. Ice, no lemon.” I imitated Bethany Stafford-Lyons’s upper crust accent, something I’d become accustomed to doing before I got the job at Harlequin’s, back when I’d had to hustle for a living. I didn’t enjoy scamming tourists or picking pockets, but when it came to a choice between stealing or starving, or worse, going back into foster care, it wasn’t difficult to tuck my guilt away and do the necessary. When the barman looked down his nose at me, I produced Alaric’s twenty-pound note and stared right back. “And a packet of salt-and-vinegar crisps.”
Any time today would be good.
“Of course, Miss.”
I didn’t see him make a call, but he was still fixing my drink when a guy in a suit appeared at my elbow. Polyester, by the look of it, and it didn’t fit too well. Staff, then, not a guest, and from the pretentious manner, I pegged him for a manager. Brilliant. So much for me surreptitiously studying the patrons. Everyone was staring at me now, everyone except the preppy guy sitting by the window who kept his attention firmly fixed on the door. He was waiting for somebody. Bethany?
“Can I help, ma’am?” the manager asked.
Yeah, you can ask that prick to pour faster. “No, I’m fine, thank you.”
“Can I ask why you’re here today? I don’t recall you checking in.”
See? Welcome to being poor. “I’m waiting for someone.”
“I’m afraid Ash Court Inn isn’t that sort of establishment.”
For a moment, I was confused, but then I wanted to punch him in the face. He thought I was a hooker? No, asshole, that was my mother.
CHAPTER 13 - SKY
IT TOOK ALL my self-control to muster up a bland smile for the manager. “I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”
Spell it out, you pretentious git. Explain your nasty comment.
“Uh, well…”
“Is there a problem?”
I didn’t recognise the voice, which was a male version of Bethany’s, super posh, and I was fully prepared to have another argument until I turned around to find Alaric standing behind me. Nice accent, dude. Since I couldn’t imagine him ripping off idiots in the West End, I was curious where he’d got it from. He’d also dredged up a sports jacket from somewhere and slicked his light brown hair back. At least one of us fitted in perfectly at the Ash Court Inn.
“Do you know this young lady?”
“She’s my daughter. Did you get what you wanted, sweetheart?”
“Service is kind of slow. And I’m waiting for this guy to explain something.”
“Explain what?”
Now the manager turned the colour of Emmy’s nose and backed away. “Terribly sorry for any misunderstanding. It’s just that you don’t look like our usual clientele.”
Alaric sighed. “She’s going through a phase.”
“It’s not a phase, Daddy.”
He ignored me and signalled to the barman. “Sparkling water, light on the ice and heavy on the lime. Sweetheart, did you pay?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll get it.” Bonus. “Would you mind bringing our drinks over to the table?”
“Of course, sir.”
Alaric steered me towards the far corner of the room, where a potted palm meant we could see without being seen. I rubbed one of the leaves. Real, not fake. About the only thing in this place that was.
“Anything?” he asked.
“Ten quid says it’s the WASP by the window.”
Ten quid of his money. Should I up it to twenty? I knew I was right.