Theyâd beat anyone to a pulp if they caught it on them. The dining room, one step down through frosted French doors. The aroma of bacon and eggs and toast. The wide staircase with its curved banister. The elegant old elevator with its brass gate. Heâd started as a scullery boy that first summer, worked his way up to janitor. The year before he left to go to college heâd graduated to bellhop and thought he knew everything there was to know about the operation of a hotel.
His father had not been delighted when he informed him heâd be forgoing medical school. âInnkeeper,â heâd said. âProbably better than being a vaudevillian â although not much.â Heâd worked in grander hotels during his apprenticeship, interned at more pretentious resorts, but not until he laid eyes on the Pleasant did he feel the thrill of having rediscovered the Baltimore.
He considered his fatherâs words. Of course, he could have been a vaudevillian. He was almost as good a dancer as Fred Astaire. At least as good as Gene Kelly. Kelly didnât have the body for dance, in his opinion. Always looked like a bull pirouetting about. He shrugged. Great dancers were a dime a dozen. âHow many great innkeepers do you know?â he asked Margaret. She did not respond. He smiled. He knew what she would say: âYouâre the best, Rudley.â Thatâs what she would say.
The fudge was ready. Tim helped himself to a piece. âI saw Officer Owens in town today.â He winked at Gregoire. âHe looked rather dashing.â
Tiffany gave Tim a frosty look. âHow very nice for you.â
Gregoire gave the counter a wipe. âIt is better than having him here, which we do all too frequently.â He paused. âHe is always welcome, of course, in his unofficial capacity.â
Tiffany looked away. âOfficer Owensâ activities are of no concern to me.â
Tim and Gregoire exchanged glances.
After a long pause, Tiffany said, âIâve had second thoughts about Officer Owens. Iâm not sure weâre compatible.â
Gregoire rolled his eyes. âJust last week you were telling us it was refreshing to have an uncomplicated relationship. You said that was the problem with your previous situations. That your beaux were oozing with existential angst and performance anxieties about their iambic pentameters and arpeggios.â
She gave him a defiant look, then relented. âYouâre right. I did say that.â
Tim made a pretence of searching his memory. âLet me see, you said you liked the fact he was transparent, that you didnât feel he was playing games. You said he was easy to be with. Thoughtful. Unlike Officer Semple who, although he could play a musical instrument, was self-involved.â
She folded her arms. âTrue.â
Tim raised his brows. âSo?â
âHeâs not sufficiently challenging.â
Gregoire removed his apron. âI do not understand this business of a challenge.â He balled up his cap, stuffed it into his pocket. âYou are attracted to someone. You do things together you enjoy. You go to fine restaurants. You eat magnificent food, drink excellent wines. Perhaps you prepare gourmet meals together. You go to the theatre. After, you stop at the café for dessert and cappuccino. You travel, sample the local cuisine. What is it with these complications and challenges?â
Tiffany looked at him, bewildered.
Tim straightened his tie. âWhat Gregoire is trying to say is that you donât need to subject your soul to constant nitpicking. You hook up with someone you like and go with the flow.â
Gregoire sniffed. âI think I said it more eloquently.â
Tiffany turned away, turned back, lower lip quivering. âThe truth is Iâve learned something disturbing about Officer Owens. Something unforgivable.â
Gregoireâs eyes blazed. âHe has been unfaithful. I