If I Had You by Heather Hiestand Page A

averting her gaze from the ashtrays. “A Miss Dorothy Haldane, in Bloomsbury. I’m not surprised, really. Bloomsbury, you understand.”
    â€œWhere did you hear that?” Alecia said, attempting to follow the conversation.
    Mrs. Plash’s gaze was vague, focused on her mind’s eye. “ The Vote , my dear. My daughter is a member of the Women’s Freedom League.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œShe believes in equality of morality,” Mrs. Plash said.
    â€œI see,” Alecia said, assuming that was why the woman was unmarried and having an affair. “I do find that tidbit fascinating, but I did wonder about the ashtrays?”
    â€œWhat ashtrays?” Mrs. Plash patted her arm. “You shouldn’t smoke, dear. Makes wrinkles around the mouth. So unattractive.” She tottered down the hall to her room, Alecia and the apron of ashtrays quite forgotten.
    Alecia hefted the apron, hoping Mrs. Plash wouldn’t miss it later, and took the ashtrays to her room. Then she went into the sitting room. Mr. Eyre had gone but Richard sat at the table, drinking a cup of tea and reviewing Macbeth .
    â€œI think you’ll be pleased,” she said, handing him the pawnshop envelope.
    He opened it with a grunt, and flipped through the banknotes. “You did well. Used to fleecing your flock, I suppose?”
    â€œThat was never my job, except at the annual bazaar,” she said.
    â€œHmm.” He regarded her with a speculative gleam.
    She found it discomforting. “If you don’t mind, I need to return something to the front desk. I found it in the hallway, but I wanted to get the money to you as soon as possible.”
    â€œTake a letter for me first, will you?” Richard said.
    She held back an urge to sigh. She’d wanted to use the time to review her afternoon with Ivan as she made her way downstairs. “Of course. I’ll find my pen.”
    He dictated a letter to Dolly Tree, a very prominent costume designer for stage and film, asking her to create the costumes for the command performance. “She’ll be very dear, especially in this time frame, but with such a distinguished audience she might be swayed. Send this off immediately so we can have a response Monday. We’ll have a lot of letters to write then if she says no.”
    â€œYes, sir.” Alecia stood. “I’ll just do a proper copy of this for your signature.”
    â€œUse the hotel stationery,” he said.
    She nodded and went to the writing table next to the picture window. Ten minutes later she had a clean letter and Richard signed it. “I’ll post this and run my little errand, then be back.”
    â€œNo sign of Sybil yet?” he asked.
    â€œNo. Do you want me to check the salon?”
    â€œNo, she wouldn’t still be there,” he said, returning to his book. “Make a dinner reservation for me downstairs, will you? If she turns up she can join me.”
    â€œYes, I will.” She poised expectantly on the balls of her feet. When he said nothing more she went out the main door of the suite and down the hall to her own door. Inside her room, she blew on the envelope to dry the ink and tucked it into the pocket of her dress, then hefted the apron of ashtrays, hoping she wouldn’t chip any of them on the journey downstairs.
    The man at the front desk had a tag on his red uniform jacket identifying him as Lionel Dew, Night Manager. Alecia felt oddly relieved when she realized she wouldn’t have to see Mr. Eyre.
    â€œGood evening,” she said, hefting her apron full of contraband onto the desk. “I found these behind a plant on the fifth floor and they appear to belong to the hotel.”
    Mr. Dew, a blond with a barely discernible unibrow, given his unusually light hair for a man of middle years, opened the bundle with an air of professional indifference. “Where did you find them?”
    â€œNear the lift,” she said,