Bright Young Dead by Jessica Fellowes

Author:Jessica Fellowes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

In the daytime, 43 Gerrard Street looked like just another scruffy townhouse in Soho. The pavements were black with grime and there were fewer people about. It would be another two or three hours before the punters started showing up for their illicit pleasures. Ignoring the bell that advertised Mr Gold the tailor on the top floor, Guy knocked firmly and was immediately faced by a man who appeared to fill the entire doorframe as if he’d been made to measure for it.

‘Ja?’ This must be German Albert, the notorious doorman of the 43.

Guy was in full uniform, so it was unlikely that German Albert couldn’t guess at his business. He certainly wouldn’t be trying to get an early drink. ‘I’d like to see Miss Meyrick.’

The door was slammed in his face and Guy stood there wondering what to do, when a minute later it was opened again and the hulking figure beckoned him to follow. They walked past the desk where the entry fees were collected, past the staircase which curved down to the dance floor in the basement and up to the cloakrooms on the first floor, and turned into what appeared to be a small sitting room, wallpapered with a busy flowery pattern and two sofas with cushions of all sizes scattered across them. There was a fireplace and a tiger-skin rug before it, which brought to Guy’s mind the ditty of the saucy novelist (‘would you like to sin/with Elinor Glyn/on a tiger skin/or would you prefer/to err with her/on some other fur?’). His brothers had been fond of chanting it until their mother caught them and gave them a clip on the backs of their heads. Sitting, thankfully, on a sofa and not lying on the rug, was a young woman with dark, skilfully waved hair and a smart woollen suit of olive green. She couldn’t have looked further from the Merry Maids of her mother’s nightclub, but rather more as if she had prepared for a board meeting. A ridiculous thought. No woman had ever been in a board meeting. Guy reminded himself sharply to focus on the matter in hand, and ignore the seduction of the fire and the heady scent from the vase of lilies set upon a nearby table.

The woman stood and put out her hand. ‘Good afternoon, officer. How may I help you?’

Guy felt wrong-footed. ‘Good afternoon. You are Miss Dorothy Meyrick?’

‘Yes but everyone calls me Dolly. Please, take a seat.’ She gestured to the sofa opposite. Guy sat down and immediately sank into the cushions. It was impossible to sit up straight unless he perched on the very edge, but pulling himself up to that position took an embarrassing struggle with his long arms and legs. It was like fighting with a cloud.

Dolly laughed. ‘I’m so sorry. They’re rather more for comfort than practicality. Can I get you a drink? We have a very good single-malt whisky here.’

‘No thank you, ma’am.’ Guy recovered his equilibrium – he hoped – and pulled out his notebook and pencil.

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