Free Lord Foxbridge Butts In by Robert Manners Page B

across his mouth before he came up.
    “It was , but I won’t argue with results. Well, I will bid you gentlemen good night, and be about my business.”
    “You don’t really mind me butting in, do you Twister?” I asked him as I walked him out.
    “The results speak for themselves,” he shook his head, “So I shouldn’t mind. But I do, somehow. You’re more intimate with that Count than you said, aren’t you?”
    “Yes. Do you mind that ?”
    “I do, but you’re a free man, I don’t see why I should mind you going with whomever you wish.”
    “Because you like me, of course,” I reasoned.
    “You’re nothing but trouble,” he sighed as we walked down the main stairs together.
    “I’m nothing but a ginger tart, according to at least one prefect,” I laughed at him, “As well as a gormless kid, according to your Chief. But what, may I ask, is a ‘toffee-nosed nob’? I’ve never heard that one before.”
    “Were you listening at the keyhole?”
    “I didn’t have to. I heard you quite clearly across the courtyard without even trying.”
    “Well, I apologize. But a toffee-nosed nob is what you are. ‘Nob’ is short for ‘noble’; I don’t know what ‘toffee-nosed’ means, exactly, but it’s an extension of ‘toff’ and only applied to the aristocracy.”
    “Well, then I shan’t be offended,” I laughed, and wanted so badly to kiss him just then that I actually reached out to touch him, but checked myself in time and turned it into a handshake, “You will tell me how things turn out with de Vienne and Horrocks, won’t you?”
    “I really shouldn’t,” he said, “But I will. You deserve to know. And if it turns out you solved the whole thing without leaving your hotel, I’ll give you dinner; but if it turns out this is all moonshine and I end up looking a priceless ass in front of my Chief, I will break you into five pieces and stomp on the remains in hobnailed boots.”
    “You really know how to talk to a girl, don’t you?” I batted my eyelashes at him comically.
    “Go upstairs and dress for dinner like a good little nob and let me get back to my work. Good night.”
    “Good night.”
    When I returned to my rooms, the Count had gone, but not back to his own room; he’d gone to the manager to demand a different room, and was busily being installed in the larger room next door to his own — I could see him across the courtyard as if he were on stage.
    Pond was still there, though, standing in the middle of the bedroom, glaring balefully at an apricot silk shirt that he held delicately at arm’s length as if afraid it would bite him. He tried to wipe the disgust off his face when he realized I was in the room, but he didn’t quite succeed.
    “Something amiss, Pond?” I put my hands in my pockets and braced for a fight.
    “Where did your lordship purchase these shirts?” he asked in a strangled sort of voice.
    “A place in Savile Row, a few doors from Poole’s, I forget the name. Wasn’t it on the wrapping paper?”
    “No, my lord, it was not.”
    “Do you want me to return them?” I cocked my head at him like a spaniel waiting for him to throw a ball; I knew there were deep anti-silk passions roiling about inside him, and I wanted to goad him into an explosion.
    “It is not my place to say, my lord,” he sounded faintly hopeful that I would take that as a hint.
    “Awfully pretty, isn’t it?” I took the shirt from him and went over to the cheval glass, holding it up under my chin to see how it looked on me. The apricot color really brought out the golden highlights in my hair and eyes.
    “It might appear slightly effeminate to your lordship’s friends,” he managed to grind out. He wanted so badly to yell at me.
    “Go on and say it,” I smiled encouragingly at him.
    “My lord?”
    “Say what’s on your mind.
    “It is not my place...”
    “That’s an order ,” I snapped.
    “Well, all right !” he finally shouted, his whole face animated with his