The Body in Bloomsbury

by Bianca Blythe

  Never mind.

  She would be able to look through the phone book to find a new employment agency. Then she could have lunch and go out in the afternoon, sans Archibald.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The second employment agency was unfortunately no more helpful than the first one, and the third one managed to surpass both employment agencies in general horribleness.

  She sighed.

  Everyone had always extolled her when she was a child star, but for all her experience of working, she wasn’t qualified to do anything.

  She would be more qualified if she’d just finished high school properly and taken a shorthand class.

  She trudged back to the building.

  Raindrops fell as Cora made her way back.

  The poor weather shouldn’t have surprised her. Everyone had been remarking how pleasant the weather had been in London, and yet, somehow she’d managed to take the sunshine and clear skies for granted.

  They were gone now.

  The skies turned a gray more commonly found in weapons, and then everything turned wet and cold and ghastly.

  Cora hurried through the streets, happy Archibald was safe and warm in her flat.

  The double-decker buses remained a vibrant red, though rather than conjuring cheerfulness, they seemed intent on competing with one another to see which of them might splash puddles at pedestrians with the greatest force.

  The Londoners seemed unperturbed by the rain, opening umbrellas and removing glossy raincoats from bags. Cora wished she’d brought an umbrella, though the umbrellas did not seem overly useful as the rain increased in intensity and blew the rain under their rims. The pitter-patter of raindrops changed to a waterfallesque sound, as if they were touring Niagara Falls or one of the more grandiose waterfalls in the Amazon.

  She hastened her speed, weaving through the crowded streets. Finally, she arrived at her building and proceeded toward the steps.

  “Cora!”

  Her name was only whispered.

  She shouldn’t have been able to know who it was.

  But the faint Scottish lilt was unmistakable.

  Her heart thumped.

  Randolph.

  She swung around quickly.

  He’s here.

  Randolph was approaching her. He carried a bouquet in his hand, and her heart soared.

  “You’re here,” she said dumbly.

  “So are you.” His baritone voice sounded warm, like the stronger drinks served after dinner at some elaborate dinner parties, and her heart thrummed pleasantly.

  Randolph was the sort of man women were warned against. He was handsome and accomplished, traits that were good in theory, though which might leave a lingering sense he might easily flit away.

  It didn’t help that Randolph’s job truly did take him everywhere.

  Cora had first met him in Bel Air, and then in Yorkshire and Sussex.

  But now he was standing outside her home with flowers.

  “For you, sweetheart.” Randolph handed her the bouquet. The rain decided to cease, and the wet petals sparkled under the sunbeams.

  She inhaled the floral scent. “Thank you.”

  “I only wish I’d brought you an umbrella.” Mirth filled his voice, and his eyes gleamed.

  She laughed. “I prefer this.”

  Randolph.

  He was here.

  In London. Outside her apartment building.

  And they were talking as if no time had passed at all.

  “How did you know I was here?” Cora asked.

  “I have my ways,” Randolph said casually.

  Perhaps the phrase might make her worry if another person said it, but instead she smiled. Randolph’s job was top secret, but he worked closely with the British government and its intelligence circles.

  “How is Eastbourne?” she asked.

  “Eastbourne is fine,” Randolph said. “The channel still glistens, lambs still frolic on the Downs, and your Aunt Maggie really is a great cook.”

  “You’ve seen her?” Cora widened her eyes, suddenly missing her great aunt.

  “I have,” Randolph said. “I went to say goodbye to her.”

  “Goodbye?” Cora’s voice sounded higher. This was when he told her he was off to Latin America or Indochina or wherever the British government needed people like him. This is when he told her he’d never see her again. She forced herself to smile.

  He echoed her smile.

  Well. He didn’t need to put on a brave face.

  He was the person who was leaving!

  “Are you going to say goodbye to me now?” she asked, despising that her voice seemed to have decided to stay firmly in a higher octave.

  His eyebrows sailed upward. But then he took her hands in his.

  As far as gestures went, it was of the more innocent sort. How many times had she shaken hands with people each day in Hollywood? And yet, his skin set hers aflame, even though her hands were encased in gloves, and even though she was sufficiently cold from the recent showers for it to seem impossible that anything as meager as a touch could warm her.

  “I’d rather hoped the opposite,” he said.

  She must have blinked, for this time he smiled.

  “No goodbyes.”

  She was silent, hoping she was about to hear something good, but not quite believing it.

  Butterflies had invaded her the first time she’d met him. They’d fluttered through her, in Bel Air, and they’d continued to flutter in Yorkshire and then Sussex.

  They’d kissed, and the world had been wonderful, but she’d always known their time together was limited.

  “I’m moving to London,” he continued.

  “Oh?” Her heartbeat quickened, and she waited for him to continue.

  He was going to be here.

  “So I expect, my dear, to see much more of you.”

  “Oh.” This time the word didn’t come out as a question. This time it came out curiously like a moan, and Randolph clasped her to him, even though they were outside, and anyone on the square might see them.

  “Well, well.” Lionel’s voice interrupted them, and Randolph pulled away.

  “Smooching on the front stairs,” Lionel continued with bemusement.

  “I’m sorry.” Cora stepped away. Her heart still beat quickly, and she smoothed her dress, as if desiring to do something with the extra energy that swirled inside her.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Randolph said sternly.

  “Mama wouldn’t approve,” Lionel said, raising his chin. “She’s the landlady. Luckily, you just saw me.”

  Cora didn’t feel particularly lucky. She felt embarrassed. She’d been so happy, and now she was being chided like some schoolgirl, though unlike a teacher or principal, Lionel didn’t have the most meager qualifications over her.

  Lionel hardly emanated respectability. His tousled hair signified a lax attitude to seeing barbers regularly. When she’d met him, he’d been obviously hungover and clutching a bottle of scotch, as if under the optimistic belief the strong liquid might make him forget his hangover.

  “Let’s take a walk,” Randolph said, and she nodded, eager to leave Lionel and his sudden avocation of propriety.

  “I’ll get Archibald,” she said.

  He grinned. “It will be nice to see him again.”

  “He’ll be happy to see you.”

  Randolph went to follow her inside, but Lionel cleared his throat noisily. “I believe Miss Clarke is unmarried.”

  “It won’t take long.” Cora felt her skin redden. She’d forgotten how conservative Britain was. This wouldn’t have been an issue in Hollywood.

  “Let’s not take chances. Besides...” He pursed his lips, “we all know you are in possession of a particularly strong imagination.”

  “You make that sound like an insult,” Randolph said indignantly.

  “Indeed?” Lionel retained an innocent tone at odds with his general demeanor. “I meant it to sound like the t
ruth. Or have you not heard about the dead body she claimed she saw?”

  Randolph widened his eyes.

  Oh, no.

  Cora wanted to sink into the ground.

  What must Randolph be thinking?

  “What dead body?” Randolph asked, and his nostrils flared.

  “An imaginary one,” Lionel said.

  “Is that so?” Randolph asked.

  “I’ll get Archibald,” Cora said quickly. “I’ll explain everything soon. I promise.”

  “Mm...hmm...” Randolph’s eyes remained focused on Lionel, and even Cora shivered at their intensity.

  She dashed up the stairs, conscious of murmured voices below.

  Why were they still speaking? They shouldn’t be speaking. They hadn’t seemed to like each other. They might both be British, but even Cora doubted Lionel and Randolph had changed the conversation to the oddities, or lack of oddities, about the weather.

  No.

  If they were talking, they were talking about her.

  Cora slammed her key into the lock and turned on the light, forgetting to feel any fear. The flat was soon swathed in light, and Archibald pitter-pattered toward her, wagging his tail.

  Good.

  At least he seemed to be behaving normally. Her stomach tightened at the thought of Randolph and Lionel continuing their conversation. Randolph didn’t need to worry about her safety.

  She grabbed Archibald’s lead. “Would you like to go on a walk?”

  Archibald gave a predictable joyful sounding bark, and she hooked his lead onto his collar. Soon, they were striding down the steps.

  Finally, they reached Randolph and Lionel.

  Archibald wagged his tail with greater intensity when he saw Randolph, and Randolph crouched down to pet him, while giving him several compliments. It was easy to give Archibald compliments, but Cora’s heart still warmed.

  Randolph cleared his throat, even though he’d given no signs of suffering from a cold earlier. Lionel’s face whitened, visible even in the dim light of the landing. Are those beads of sweat on his brow?

  “I should say,” Lionel said haltingly, “that I rather do apologize for my words earlier. They were unnecessarily aggressive.” He looked at Randolph, who nodded. “That’s not the kind of place this is, and I want you to feel comfortable here.”

  Randolph nodded, and Lionel’s shoulders seemed to lower a fraction.

  “I should go now,” Lionel said abruptly. “Have an—er—good evening.”

  In the next moment, Lionel had turned and was scurrying up the stairs.

  Randolph smiled and offered Cora his arm. “Let’s go on a walk.”

  Archibald rushed toward the door, his tail wagging fiercely, and in the next moment they were striding into the cool, London night.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The sun had fully set, and a dark blue sky rolled over them. Cora preferred it to the gray one which had been over her this evening, though perhaps anything she experienced in Randolph’s company was likely to be favorable.

  Randolph seemed to have that effect on her.

  He’d also seemed to have a disconcerting effect on Lionel, and Cora turned her head to her companion. “What did you say to Lionel?”

  “Me?” Randolph adopted an innocent voice.

  “He was a changed man when I came down.”

  “I merely told him to apologize. He saw reason quickly.”

  “Did you threaten him?”

  “Nonsense,” Randolph said. “Though people do seem to see reason quickly in my presence.”

  Cora smirked.

  Randolph could be intimidating. It did not take an expert in athletics to determine that Randolph was strong. Though he always fit comfortably into his suits and did not possess the overly broad shoulders and broader biceps of a boxer, his movements indicated a powerful force.

  He was handsome, all chiseled features and exquisitely tousled hair, and if he’d grown up in California, or even elsewhere, like Cora, perhaps he would have been practically forced into the film industry.

  Randolph’s style wasn’t repeating lines someone else had written, though Cora had no doubt he could do so perfectly, and it certainly wasn’t to feign living another character’s life.

  No, Randolph’s life was sufficiently interesting.

  “I don’t want you to cause trouble with my landlady’s son,” Cora said.

  “I was improving things,” Randolph said. “But you, sweetheart, have some explaining to do.”

  Oh.

  There was a distinct steeliness in Randolph’s voice.

  “I assume you weren’t truly jesting about finding a body,” Randolph said.

  Oh, dear.

  She didn’t want to speak about this with him.

  Speaking about this with him might make him worried. Speaking about this with him might make her worried.

  It was far nicer to examine the buildings. Everything in London seemed lovelier in the night. Street lamps glowed, and the people outside no longer rushed, but instead strolled, taking in the sights.

  “Cora...” Randolph interrupted her musings on the wonders of London parks, and she felt herself flush.

  Thank goodness it’s dark.

  “Please tell me you’re not in trouble,” Randolph said.

  “I’m not in trouble.”

  “Hmmm... That was not as satisfying to hear as I’d hoped,” Randolph said.

  “No?” Cora gave an awkward laugh.

  “I prefer it when you don’t lie to me,” Randolph said. “And I want more than lies to know you’re fine.”

  “I suppose that’s sweet of you to say.”

  “I’m not aiming for sweet,” Randolph said. “I care about you. Now are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Besides having that child for a landlord?”

  “He’s not so bad,” Cora said, pondering various boarding houses she’d lived in Hollywood which had been reigned over by stern looking women and inhabited by other actresses, many who seemed to deem attending parties vital to their careers and who came home at all hours of the night.

  “Hmph,” Randolph muttered. “The important question is, did you truly find a body in your flat?”

  “I did.”

  There was a silence. “A dead body?”

  “Yes.” Cora shifted her legs. “At least, I thought he was dead at the time. Veronica was also there. But when we called the constable and went downstairs to greet him, by the time we went back upstairs, the body was missing.”

  “That is most odd.”

  “So maybe we were wrong,” Cora said, trying to laugh. “Maybe he was just an intruder who was pretending to be dead. Or maybe he was ill and recovered.”

  He was going to want to know everything.

  “Why didn’t you tell me at once?”

  “You’ve only just arrived,” Cora protested. “And the others didn’t believe me. Even the constable.”

  “I will always believe you,” Randolph said, his tone shifting entirely from any lightheartedness.

  Butterflies fluttered inside Cora.

  Randolph took hold of her hand. “What exactly happened?”

  So Cora told him.

  She told him all about her excitement about moving into the flat. She’d dreamed of living in a quiet neighborhood, in a flat that would permit a pet, and in a location not too far from the livelier sections of the capital.

  And then she told him about the man in her bed.

  “So you never saw him before in your life?” Randolph asked.

  “No,” Cora said.

  “And no one in your building said they’d seen a man matching his description before?”

  Cora frowned, conscious she hadn’t asked precisely that question before. “I suppose I should ask the neighbors about that.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “You should not do that. You don’t know these people. They could be dangerous. It’s very likely one of the people inside killed him. Who was he going to see? What brought him here?”
>
  “Perhaps they just brought his body here,” Cora said, but she was conscious of doubt sounding in her voice. She didn’t have to be trained by the British Government, like Randolph, to know criminals were unlikely to carry a dead body up multiple flights of stairs to rest it in an apartment. Her apartment had been empty, but a stranger to the building would not know that. Besides, someone had then moved the body.

  No.

  Someone in the apartment must know the identity of the victim.

  If only the body hadn’t been moved.

  “The police found a body a few blocks from here,” Cora said.

  Randolph raised his eyebrows. “Most odd.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Cora said. “Veronica and I were in the stairwell after we left the body. No one could have gotten past us.”

  “Were the other residents home?”

  Cora nodded and then paused. “Well, not Bess. At least, I don’t think she was home. I saw her coming home from her work later.”

  “Who’s Bess?”

  “She’s my age. She mentioned she worked at the perfume counter at Harrods.” Cora smiled. “Perhaps one day I might work in a shop.”

  Randolph snorted. “I’ve seen you in the pictures. You’re talented.”

  “You sound like my father,” Cora said. “He’s in town, by the way.”

  Randolph lifted his eyebrows. “You mean, I get to meet him?”

  “You want to meet him?” Cora asked suspiciously.

  “Naturally.” Randolph squeezed her hand.

  “He’s singing at a club in Soho,” Cora said.

  “Then let’s go there later this week,” Randolph said. “Tonight, you have to tell me more about your new home. I don’t like the idea of you staying in a dangerous place. You’re not alone in London, and you’re not without means.”

  “You exaggerate my means. My parents invested what I was paid poorly. There’s nothing left.” Cora raised her chin. “Besides, I need to make a career on my own. I’m not going to be running to someone else to take care of me. I want to make a life here.”

  “You’ve got gumption,” Randolph said. “But making a life for yourself in the big city does not entail putting yourself in unnecessary danger.”

  “I’ll move if it becomes necessary.”

  “See that you do,” Randolph said, his tone serious.