Charlotte Wynthorpe and the Case of the Disappearing Diamonds

3. None Of Your Business

The Hummingbird was a popular restaurant with a generous dance floor and stained glass lamps that bathed the well-heeled diners in gentle, flattering tones of pink, green and blue. Charlotte and Carlton sat at a table for two along one dark-wood panelled wall, two red leather menus laying unregarded on the table between them. 

They were only on their second drink and Charlotte was regretting having broached the subject of the robberies with Carlton. She could already tell he was going to be utterly useless.

Devilishly handsome, of course, but still utterly useless.

"What's there to remember?" he said, smiling at Charlotte as he swirled his whisky glass in one hand, making the liquid revolve in hypnotic waves. His blue eyes, so perfectly matched by the blue of his jacket and tie under the starched collar, twinkled in the electric light. "It was a party like hundreds of others we've been to. Nothing special."

"Anne's collier was stolen. That's not special?"

Carlton shrugged. "We only found that out at breakfast. The mere smell of those bloody sausages! Thought I was going to be sick right into the ferns, quite honestly. What sadist serves up a full banquet after a night like that? That's all I recall, really. And besides, I only have eyes for you, darling, you know that. Everything else is secondary."

On any other day, Charlotte would have enjoyed and encouraged Carlton's flirting, perhaps participating herself if she was in the mood. Now, however, after having those juicy details she'd overheard at the charity society sloshing around in her brain all afternoon, Carlton's well-intentioned compliments were like tiny pebbles caught in her shoe. Nothing earnest, but it would annoy her until she slipped it off and beat the damned thing out against some brickwork. 

"Carlton, I'm asking a serious question. Let's start with something basic that perhaps you can remember. Who all was there? Not at breakfast, during the night, is what I'm asking."  

"Oh, not again." Carlton put his drink down with a firm clack and reached into his jacket for his cigarette case. He took a cigarette out, lit a match and took a few puffs before saying anything more. Charlotte watched him, wondering what show he was going to put on next. She wasn't disappointed.

"Is this a test?" he asked, finally, through puffs. "Like the Celia debacle? What do you want to hear? That I'd hidden one of my  former lady friends in a cupboard somewhere while you were looking the other way? Sorry to disappoint, darling. No lady friends in cupboards. Or under the kitchen sink or perched on the roof like a pigeon. I promise. You are the only woman on my mind, then, now and forever. Happy?"  He reached for his whisky.

"That wasn't my question and don't want to hear a word about wretched Celia Paggett or any of your other former lady friends. If I did, I'd simply ask you straight out and take the answer on the chin. Look." Charlotte leaned forward and fixed Carlton with as piercing of a gaze as she could muster after two dirty martinis. "I don't remember much about the party, and it's rather important that someone remember something. So do me the favour and remember something, Carlton, be a dear."

"Why? What's so important about who was there? If you'd tell me, maybe I could help."

"Because Anne's necklace was stolen!"

"I'm still not seeing the point. We didn't take it and neither of us saw who did. We were too busy having a smashing time of it downstairs and in the garden to even think of crawling up the stairs and causing havoc in unoccupied rooms... or at least not that kind of havoc." Carlton winked as he took another sip of his drink. 

Charlotte ignored the wink. She rather enjoyed causing havoc in unoccupied bedrooms during parties, but she'd only tempted Carlton into it once, and he'd been so nervous about being caught going at it that it hadn't been any fun. The man hadn't understood that getting caught by other partiers, or even the host, with your naked bum bouncing in the air was exactly what made creeping upstairs so exciting and the reason simply everybody did it. Another point in favour of giving him the old heave-ho.