The waiter departed, and after a sip of tea and a bite of croissant, Delia once again picked up her pen, but she had barely dipped her pen in the inkwell before she was once again interrupted.
“Good morning, Lady Stratham.”
Turning her head, she spied Mr. Ross in the doorway between her office and Calderon’s, and though she couldn’t help feeling a little bit resentful that Calderon had decided his own secretary was necessary while hers was not, she knew none of that was Ross’s fault, and she gave him a sunny smile.
“Good morning,” she replied and gestured to the tray at her elbow. “Would you care for some tea and croissants? Please have some,” she added as he hesitated. “The kitchen sent up far too much, and if you don’t help me, I fear I shall eat all of them by myself, and then I’ll have to loosen my corset, something a lady never wants to do.”
The young man blushed to the roots of his hair at the mention of corsets, but when she poured a cup of tea and held it up with an encouraging nod, he came into her office. “Your ladyship is very kind.”
“Not at all. Do sit down,” she added, gesturing to the chair opposite her desk. “Would you like sugar? Milk?”
“Neither; thank you, my lady,” he replied as he took the offered cup and saucer and sat down.
“Your employer seems to be running a bit later than you this morning,” she commented, nodding to the empty adjoining office as she set a croissant on a plate for him.
“I have been informed that his lordship will not be in today.”
“Oh? Early meeting?” she guessed, handing over the croissants and a napkin.
“Oh, no, my lady. His valet sent word that he was feeling a bit under the weather this morning.”
“Indeed?” Taking pleasure in news like that, she reminded herself sternly, would be very, very wrong. “It’s not serious, I hope?”
“Oh, no. He’ll be quite all right by tomorrow, his valet has assured me. But it leaves me rather at loose ends in the meantime, with nothing much to do.”
It was an opportunity she could not resist. “Really? I’m sure it must be difficult to be idle, but…” She paused, assuming a woeful expression as she gestured to the heaps of files, letters, and papers on her desk. “I’m so inundated with work, I can’t help envying you.”
Like a magnet to steel, the young secretary responded at once. “Can I help you in any way?”
“Oh, would you?” She clasped her hands, looking hopeful. “Would you really?”
Fifteen minutes later, the tea and croissants had been consumed, and the invitations, envelopes, and list of invitees for the East India Club dinner had been transferred from her desk to the secretary’s. “You’re an angel, Mr. Ross,” she told him with relief and gratitude. “An absolute angel.”
At this gushing praise, Mr. Ross’s fair, freckled face once again turned bright red. “Not… not… at all, my… my lady,” he stammered. “It’s my pleasure.”
“I know it isn’t, though you’re terribly sweet to lie and say it is. But please understand,” she added before he could protest, “that I am in your debt. If there is anything I can ever do for you, I insist you let me know.”
Delia returned to her office, sat down, and prepared to tackle her correspondence, but then she noticed the note she’d scribbled on herblotter last evening during her conversation with Kay: a reminder to reserve the banquet room for the other woman’s wedding dinner.
Deciding it was best to handle that now while it was at the forefront of her mind, and happy to avoid tackling the pile of letters on her desk for a few more minutes, Delia left her office and headed for the lobby.
When she arrived at the registration desk, she found young Ricardo on duty. Frowning over a slip of paper in his hand, he didn’t even notice her until she gave a little cough.
The clerk looked up. “Lady Stratham,” he said, straightening respectfully and setting aside what he’d been reading. “Good morning, my lady. You’re out and about quite early today.”
Delia made a face. “I know it.”
He smiled, but it was an abstracted smile, and watching him, Delia grew concerned. “You seem rather preoccupied today, Ricardo. Can I help?”
“Oh, no.” He sounded shocked. “I couldn’t possibly trouble your ladyship.”
“By all means, trouble me.” She gave him a wink. “You should know by now how much I adore trouble.”
He hesitated, then said, “Two cashiers were let go this week, and Mr. Agostini asked if I would help with the charge tickets.” He held out the slip of paper. “This was waiting for me when I arrived this morning.”
Delia glanced at it, recognizing that it was a ticket for charges from the American Bar to one of the rooms, and aside from the brow-raising amount of liquor consumed, she saw nothing particularly extraordinary about it. “Yes, and…?” she asked, looking up, not understanding the problem.
“It is for room 538. Lord Calderon’s room,” he added as she remained unenlightened.
