Mystery at the Regal Rose Hotel

by C Jane Reid

  “They make a fine couple,” Gordie said as he escorted Lola to the bar.

  “They are certainly hoping everyone thinks so.”

  He gave her a questioning look but she didn’t explain.

  “Good evening once more, Mickey.”

  “Miss Rose,” he nodded to her with his cocky smile. “And Mr. Canfield. Wot a pleasure, my good man.”

  “Say, Mickey,” Lola began, leaning on the bar and putting up her foot on the brass foot rail in her best cowgirl style. It did wonders to show off her hips. “Do you know Marilyn? She’s a hostess at the Tea Rose.”

  Mickey frowned. “Can’t say I do, but I’m not one for the tea room.” He winked.

  “Naturally.”

  “Marilyn Phillip?” Gordie asked. Lola straightened in surprised.

  “I can’t say I know her last name.”

  “She works in the Tea Rose.”

  “What can you tell me about her?”

  “Why?” His response was abrupt.

  “When I was in today, she seemed not to take to me at all.”

  “The horror!” Mickey exclaimed. “Who in their right mind wouldn’t delight in yer company, me Rose.”

  “My thoughts exactly. But I do hate to think I might have inadvertently caused offense. Though I swore I’d never seen her before in my life until I recalled seeing her with you last night.”

  Gordie hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “Marilyn and I, we were together for a time.”

  “Together?” Lola arched her brow. “As in a couple?”

  Gordie nodded. “I broke it off.”

  “Whyever for? If I might ask,” she added.

  “She— It’s difficult to put into words. Possessive is the best way to describe it.”

  “Following you around, calling at yer flat, that sort of thing?” Mickey asked.

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “Happens to me all the time.” He sniffed.

  Lola chuckled. “You poor dear. However do you manage?”

  “Marilyn must have seen us together last night after I left her.”

  “I suppose that would cause her to dislike me. Was she following you?”

  Gordie shook his head with a sigh. “I came to speak with her. She’s been sending notes round my flat for weeks. I told her she had to stop. Thankfully, I don’t have a telephone at my flat or I’m certain it would be ringing throughout the night.” Gordie thumped the bar in frustration. “I apologize if it caused you trouble. I can speak with her about it.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Lola took his arm. “Could be this is just the thing for her to overcome you. Realize it’s over and all that.”

  Gordie looked unconvinced.

  “And if it doesn’t, at the very least you’ll have a good time.”

  That had him smiling. “Yes, I suppose I will at that.”

  “Now, Mickey, a Sidecar if you will.”

  “Not yer usual, me Rose.”

  “No. I’m feeling adventurous.”

  Gordie ordered his drink, and they stepped away from the bar with them in hand.

  “I should stop coming here,” Gordie confessed. “When I met with her last night, I resolved not to return, but then I met you.”

  “And you simply couldn’t go without my company.” Lola tightened her grip on his arm. “How long ago did you and she part company?”

  “Over a month.”

  “That’s something at least. I’d be worried if it had been months and months and she was still out to reclaim you.”

  Gordie stiffened as they turned from the bar. Lola followed where he looked and saw Herr Prinz was no longer alone. Marilyn was sidling up to him with a flirty smile.

  Gordie started forward, but Lola caught hold of his arm.

  “You rushing off to throw down with the German is a very bad idea.”

  “I can’t let her—”

  “No, of course you can’t, so we shall both go bid them a good evening.”

  Gordie stared at her, surprised. “I’m not certain that is a good idea, Lola.”

  “It’s a perfectly wonderful idea. Don’t worry. I’ll do all the talking. I’m rather used to it.”

  Taking a fortifying breath, Gordie nodded.

  “Herr Prinz, what a delight,” Lola said as they came to him.

  He eyed them both warily. “Fräulein. A pleasure.”

  “And Marilyn. I didn’t have the chance to say what a lovely time I had this afternoon.”

  “So glad to hear it.” She didn’t look glad, but she put on a false front, stepping closer to Herr Prinz and wrapping her arm around his as she watched for Gordie’s reaction.

  “This is my friend, Gordie,” Lola introduced.

  Herr Prinz inclined his head. She was glad he had the good taste not to attempt to shake hands.

  “A wounded soldier,” Herr Prinz observed. “I trust your country takes care of your needs.”

  “More than your country did.” Gordie’s voice was hard.

  Lola stepped closer to Gordie, taking a firmer hold on his arm. She didn’t miss Marilyn’s glance at Herr Prinz.

  “Gordie earned a medal during the war,” she told Herr Prinz, who looked down at the woman on his arm.

  “As did I. Several.”

  “Do you enjoy jazz music, Herr Prinz?” Lola asked, trying to change the subject.

  Herr Prinz looked around them, squinting his pale eyes. Lola could swear he was swaying ever so slightly.

  “I abhor jazz, but I am fascinated by those, what is the phrase, Bright Young Things?”

  “And the women beautiful, I’m sure,” Gordie added for him, his voice still tight.

  “Naturally.” Herr Prinz examined Marilyn, lingering a little too long on her low neckline. Marilyn’s dress was definitely tighter in the chest than was fashionable, showing off her well-endowment.

  Lola did not like the look in Gordie’s expression when he noticed, nor the way he stiffened then drew himself upright. If Herr Prinz felt himself in danger, he didn’t show it.

  “You are a guest in this country,” Gordie warned. “And one who can quickly become unwelcome.”

  “You will find that I am courteous and appreciative,” Herr Prinz said calmly.

  Gordie took a step forward. Lola pulled on his arm and forced herself to smile.

  “Gentlemen—” she began.

  “Gordie—” Marilyn said at the same time.

  Lola’s smile slipped as Marilyn glared at her.

  “Eckhardt.” Marilyn turned a beaming smile to Herr Prinz. “You promised me a dance.”

  “You seem to be without refreshment,” Eckhardt told her. “Please allow me to remedy that first.”

  Marylin glanced at Gordie again. He acknowledged her with a look that was rife with emotion.

  “I’d love to,” Marilyn said.

  “Marilyn—” Gordie warned.

  “I have stumbled upon a history between you,” Eckhardt interrupted, but he didn’t seem at all bothered by it. If anything, he seemed delighted. He laid his hand possessively over where Marilyn’s gripped his arm. “It is unfortunate.”

  “You—” Gordie bit back what might have started a scathing retort. Instead, he turned on his heel, making Lola scramble to keep up with him, and stalked away, practically dragging her with him.

  Lola cast a glance back at Marylin. She was watching Gordie retreat with a guarded expression. Herr Prinz, however, looked victorious.

  “Jackass,” Lola muttered.

  Gordie drew up short, shocked.

  “Not you,” Lola told him hastily. “Prinz.”

  Gordie drew in a deep breath. “I apologize for my behavior.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken you over there.”

  “I would have preferred to go than to let you face him alone.”

  “Do you think she’ll be all right?”

  They both looked back. Herr Prinz had led Marilyn to the bar and was ordering a drink from an unsmiling Mickey. Marilyn was getting
a fair bit of sidelong looks from the others around her.

  “She isn’t making any friends tonight,” Lola observed, wondering if Vera had felt any backlash from appearing with the German last night.

  “No.”

  “We should rescue her. Or I could send Jack and Brandon to do so.”

  Gordie shook his head.

  “Then we’ll keep an eye on them,” she said. “Make sure he behaves himself.”

  “I hope you aren’t referring to Jack,” Vera said as the two came up. “I’m rather hoping he misbehaves.”

  Jack laughed. Lola tried to smile, but she was growing more concerned.

  “Gordie and I had an unfortunate encounter with Herr Prinz.”

  “Oh, him.” Vera smirked in his direction. “Git.”

  Jack was looking at him now, too. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Admiring the view,” Gordie said angrily.

  Jack stiffened. “Maybe we should encourage him to admire it elsewhere?”

  “He’s staying at the hotel,” Lola told him.

  “Then he can find a better view out the window of his room.”

  “Or as he falls through it.”

  Lola frowned at Gordie. “None of that.”

  “Yes, the war’s over,” Vera reminded them.

  “Not for all of us,” Jack muttered. Gordie rubbed at his maimed shoulder.

  Vera and Lola exchanged concerned looks.

  “Let’s dance,” Vera said cheerily. “But not here. I know the perfect little dive where they serve bad drinks, worse food, and the best jazz in London.

  “Oh?” Lola perked. “Do tell.”

  “Yes, do tell.” Brandon said as he and Willa joined them.

  Vera leaned in. “The Blue Door.”

  Brandon whistled. “Surely you can’t be serious.”

  “I am extremely serious,” Vera defended. “I never joke about jazz clubs.”

  “What is the Blue Door?” Lola asked.

  “It defies description.”

  “It defies laws,” Brandon quipped.

  “Not so much anymore since the Licensing Act.”

  “Yes, but the food . . .”

  “Oh, buck up, young man,” Willa said. “I’m all for it.”

  “Lola?” Vera asked. She bounced on her toes. “Do say yes. You simply must.”

  Lola looked at Gordie. He was watching Marilyn and Prinz, who were looking more comfortable together. Too much so.

  “I think not tonight,” Lola finally answered, regretfully.

  “I should head back, too,” Jack said.

  “No, you can’t,” Vera said with a pout. “It will hardly be a to-do without you.”

  He kissed her cheek. “You know how to make a man feel welcomed, but my friend will be off work soon, and I leave in a couple days.”

  “I hope this friend isn’t of the womanly sort?”

  He chuckled. “Not a bit.”

  “Well, then that’s all right, I suppose. If you promise to meet me tomorrow night.”

  “I’d be a fool to pass that up.”

  “Gordie?” Lola asked.

  “I’m going home.” He gave her a weak smile. “I am sorry, Lola.”

  “I understand. If you’re sure?”

  “I think it best. I’m afraid I’m not going to be good company.”

  “I don’t mind bad company,” she said, “when it’s a friend.”

  He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to it. “Can I see you again?”

  She grinned. “Absolutely.”

  “Brandon, Willa, say you’ll come?” Vera begged. “It isn’t nearly as fun on my lonesome, and I’ve gotten myself worked into a frenzy to go.”

  “Please tell me you haven’t been by yourself, Vera?” Brandon pleaded.

  Vera grinned. “Maybe once or twice.”

  He frowned.

  “Vera, you are incorrigible,” Willa said.

  “I certainly hope so.” She hooked her arms through Willa’s and Brandon’s. “I also perfectly enjoy corrupting friends. Onward, darlings!”

  Lola bid them goodbye. Jack walked out with them, but Gordie hesitated.

  “I’ll be fine,” she told him. “I’m going to finish my drink and retire to my room to listen to the radio. I’m still trying to grow accustom to the programs here.”

  “I hope I haven’t ruined your evening.”

  “I could ask the same.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Next time, no more Germans. I promise.”

  He squeezed her hand then followed after the others.

  Lola found a place to stand where she could watch Herr Prinz and Marilyn. He had refilled his drink and was speaking with the young woman, every now and then reaching out to touch her arm, her chin, brush a stray lock from her cheek as she laughed, leaning close and running her fingertips over the rim of his tumbler before dipping her fingers. She rubbed them over Herr Prinz’s lips.

  Lola hadn’t felt so disturbed in some time. Marilyn turning her attentions from Gordie to another man was all for the good, but not a man like Herr Prinz who would no doubt get what he wanted from her and leave her by the wayside.

  She sipped her drink and resolved to remain until Herr Prinz left. Hopefully, it would be without Marilyn.

  If not, she’d find a way to interfere.

  Chapter Five

  Marilyn finally noticed Lola watching them. She shot Lola nasty glare and sidled closer to Herr Prinz. He looked pleased by her attentions, leaning too close with his hands brushing over her shoulders and back.

  Lola realized she was making the situation worse and there were better places to watch without being so easily noticed. She set her glass on one of the tables, cast a final look towards the couple, and left the club.

  There were two ways to leave the club, which was in the basement of the Regal Rose. One was the lift. The other was a set of stairs. Lola naturally took the lift.

  She delighted in taking the lift. The attendant on duty, Henry, knew her by sight, but then, all the attendants did.

  “Good evening, Miss Rose.”

  “Henry. Always a delight to see you.” She stepped onto the lift, and Henry closed the gate. “Ground floor if you will, Henry.”

  “Of course, Miss Rose.”

  Unfortunately, Lola could not indulge in her habit of counting floors as they ascended since it was only one. Instead, she asked Henry a question.

  “What do you know about the German gentleman staying here?”

  Henry took on a sour look. “Herr Arrogant Blighter.” He coughed, fist to his mouth. “Beg your pardon, miss.”

  “Oh, no, I happen to agree.”

  “He don’t belong here, miss, if you don’t mind me saying. I can tell you, not many of us is happy about it, but we’ll do our jobs for the Regal Rose’s sake. Won’t no one be saying we don’t run the finest hotel in Britain.”

  Lola smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of saying otherwise. I adore the Rose.”

  Henry grinned and switched the lift lever. “Ground floor, miss. Oh, and miss?”

  Lola paused. “Yes?”

  “If you don’t mind a bit of advice, I wouldn’t go talking about the German to Monsieur Brodieur.”

  “Gaspard? The chief concierge?”

  “That’s him, miss. Bad blood between him and those Germans, miss.”

  “Being French would make it so.”

  “Not just that, miss. Some bad doings where he was stationed toward the end of the war.” Henry opened the gate for her. “Just a word of warning.”

  “Thank you, Henry.”

  “Have a pleasant evening, Miss Rose,” Henry said as she stepped off the lift. “Take care of yourself out there.”

  “Oh, I always take care. But I appreciate the sentiment.”

  The lobby of the Regal Rose was all marble and glass and brick. Somehow, it worked. Lola’s low slung heels clicked as she crossed from the lift to one of the collections of comfortable chairs. The lobby was quiet at this time of night. Only one de
sk clerk, Jerome, was working. Lola had asked him a few days ago if he felt like he’d been shuffled off to the night shift because he was black, but he simply shook his head and gave her his best smile. “I requested it,” he told her. “That way I can be home for my little girl when her mum goes to work.”

  “However do you and your wife find time together?”

  His smile had turned into a grin. “When it is important, you make it happen.”

  She liked Jerome.

  He gave her a nod when he saw her and she waved. She settled on the pin-striped beige chair set before the glass and brick partition, within view of the lift and the stairs but not so as to be immediately noticed.

  She wished she’d brought her drink.

  And a book.

  Though, if she were reading, she might miss whoever came off the lift. No, that was unlikely. She always heard the lift bell, especially in the quiet lobby.

  She could have done with a magazine. Or one of the London rags. She was still learning about the city and its inhabitance. Jerome could most likely scare a couple up. The Regal Rose kept all the best, and some not so best, papers for its guests.

  A couple walked in through the double front doors. They were staggering drunkenly, though not so much as to not be able to walk. The woman was laughing loudly, hanging on the man’s arm. He said something to her in French and she laughed again. They looked good together, full of spirits, both the liquid kind and the happy kind. Lola grinned at the thought.

  They took the lift down. The party was carrying onward. She wished she could understand French.

  Jerome crossed from the desk to her. “Are you waiting for a friend, Miss Rose?”

  The staff always seemed to know her name. Not that it was terribly difficult given that she shared it with the hotel.

  “In a way.” She leaned forward. “I don’t suppose you could send for a drink.”

  “Coffee or tea,” he asked in all seriousness.

  Lola grimaced, then gave the matter some thought. “Coffee. Turkish, if you have it.”

  Jerome looked affronted. “Only but the finest, Miss Rose.”

  She chuckled.

  Jerome returned to the desk and placed a call.

  Coffee had been her first illicit drink, stolen from her father’s cup when she was five years old. It had tasted awful. Almost twenty years later, she preferred it to the tea her mother usually drank. It was odd, actually, how she’d take coffee as strong as possible, but tea as diluted with cream and sugar as she could make it.