Royal Flush

 Bewen’s winning third Royal Spyness whodunit… will please fans of romantic, humorous historicals… 

- Publisher’s Weekly

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Excerpt

The taxi sped away, leaving me alone in the deserted street. It had rained again and the flashing red sign was reflected in the puddles as I crossed the road. I pushed open the door and found myself facing a flight of steps going down to a basement. Music spilled up to greet me–the wail of a saxophone and a heavy drum beat. I held onto the rail as I went down the steps. This then was a real night club. I had never been in a place like this. The stairs were steep with worn carpet on them. And I was wearing my one pair of high heeled shoes, in my attempt to look glamorous. I haven’t mentioned yet that I am apt to be clumsy in moments of stress. Half way down my heel caught in a threadbare patch in the carpet. I pitched forward, grasped at the railing and ended up slithering down the last of the stairs, arriving at the bottom in a most undignified way as I cannoned into a potted palm. I hastened to pick myself up before anyone had observed this unorthodox entry. I was in a sort of dark ante room with an antique writing desk and chair, mercifully unoccupied. The area was separated from the main area by a row of potted palms, one of which now had a frond hanging down, thanks to me. A man had just been emerging from the club beyond the palms. He was staggering slightly as if drunk and started in alarm when I came hurtling down the stairs toward him.

“Let me give you a word of advice, girlie,” he said in slurred tones, wagging a finger at me. “Don’t drink any more tonight. You’ve already had enough. Trust me I know.” Then he staggered past me up the stairs.

I collected myself and smoothed down my skirt and my hair before I went through into the club itself. It was dimly lit, with candles on small tables and the only real light came from the stage where a girl was dancing.

“Can I help you, miss?” A swarthy man in dinner jacket appeared at my side. He didn’t seem to possess a razor.

“I’m meeting someone here,” I said. “A mister Crump.”

“Ah. I see.” He gave me something between a grin and a leer. “He’s expecting you. At that table on the far right.”

The man looked up as I approached him and he rose to his feet.

“Mr. Crump?” I said, holding out my hand to him. “My agency sent me. Coronet Escorts?”

He was a ruddy, bloated sort of fellow with what he probably thought was a jaunty moustache which looked more like a hedgehog perched on his upper lip. What’s more, he was wearing an ordinary day suit and a rather loud tie. I saw him giving me a long once over.

“You’re younger than I expected,” he said. “And you’re wearing more clothes too.”

“I assure you I’m old enough to be a perfect companion for you,” I said. “I’m educated and well traveled.”

He smirked. “I’m not planning to quiz you on your knowledge of geography.”

Then he became aware that we were both still standing. “I suppose you’d like a drink before we go?” he said.

“That would be nice. I’d like champagne if they have it.”  I took a seat at the table.

“Bloody ‘ell,” he muttered. “You London girls certainly have expensive tastes.” I noticed that he had a beer in front of him.  He beckoned to a waiter and a bottle of champagne was brought to the table.

“I hope you’ll join me,” I said, feeling embarrassed now that he’d had to buy a whole bottle when all I’d wanted was a glass.

“Why not. Help us both to loosen up, won’t it?” he said and gave me a wink.

The bottle was opened with a satisfying pop. Two glasses were poured. I took a sip then held up my glass to him. “Cheers,” I said. “He’s to a lovely evening for both of us.”

I noticed he swallowed hard. In fact it almost looked as if he was sweating. “So I expect you want paying up front, do you?”

“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary,” I said. “But I shall expect cash at the end of the evening.”

  “So what’s the plan then? Do we go back to my hotel, or do you have a place where you take clients nearby? I know I should have asked on the telephone but this was all rather last minute, wasn’t it? In fact I’d never have thought of it if I hadn’t seen your advert this morning. I don’t usually do this sort of thing.”

I was just trying to digest what he had said when the music picked up in tempo. There were whoops and cat calls coming from the front of the room. I looked up at the stage. The girl was still dancing, but I was suddenly aware that she wore almost no clothing. As I stared in fascinated horror she opened an ostrich feather fan which she held in front of her, then to a final drum roll, she produced her brassiere and tossed it into the front rows of the audience.

Suddenly the penny dropped. My hotel or your place?

“Wait,” I said. “What were you expecting from me?”

“Only the usual, darling,” he said. “Same as you do with all the men. Nothing too kinky.”

“I think there must be some mistake,” I said. “We are a respectable escort service. We provide girls as dinner companions, theater companions, not the sort of thing you obviously have in mind.”

“Don’t play coy with me, sweetheart,” he said. The words were slurred enough to tell me that he had been drinking for some time. He reached across and grabbed my arm.  “What are you trying to do, push up the price? I wasn’t born yesterday, you know. Come on, drink up your bubbly and we’ll go back to my hotel or you’ll be charging me by the hour.”

I attempted to stand up. “I’m afraid there’s been a horrible misunderstanding here. I think I’d better go.”

His grip on my arm tightened. “What’s the matter, girlie, don’t you fancy me, or what? Isn’t my brass good enough for you?” The good natured smile had disappeared from his face. He was blowing beery breath in my face. “Now you come with me like a good girl or you know what I’ll do? I’ll have you arrested for soliciting.”

He stood up and attempted to drag me with him.

“Let go of me, please,” I said. I sensed people at tables around us were watching. “Just let me go and we’ll forget the whole thing.”

“No we bloody won’t,” he said. “I’ve had to pay for a bottle of champagne. And we made an agreement, me and your agency. We struck a bargain and Harold Crump doesn’t take kindly to people who try to back out of business deals. Now stop playing the prissy little miss and get moving.”

“Didn’t you hear the young lady? She will not be coming with you,” said a voice behind me.

I recognized that voice and spun around to see Darcy O’Mara standing there, .looking amazingly dashing in a white dinner jacket and bow tie, his unruly black hair now combed into submission apart from a wayward curl that fell onto his forehead. It was all I could do not to throw myself into his arms.

“And who are you, butting in like this?” Mr. Crump demanded, blustering up to Darcy only to find he was several inches shorter.

“Let’s just say that I’m her manager,” Darcy said.

“Her pimp, you mean.”

  “Call it what you like,” Darcy said, “But there’s been a mistake. She should never have been sent out tonight. Our agency only deals with clients of the highest social echelon. We have a new girl answering the telephone and she omitted to put you through our normal vetting process. And now I’ve seen your behavior I am afraid there is no way I could allow one of our girls to go anywhere with you. You simply don’t pass muster sir. You are, to put it bluntly, too common.”

“Well, I never did,” Mr. Crump said.

“And you’re not going to now,” Darcy replied.