[MaC] At the Fitzroys: Hodges and Braham

[Tara Kunkel]

At 03:14 PM 12/20/2004, you wrote:
>Hodges surveyed his hands, noting the dark under his cuticles.  It would 
>have to be good enough.  At least he had the time to don clean pants, 
>starched shirt and jacket. He straightened his tie in the oval mirror 
>above the dresser before heading to the Fitzroys.  Hearing the groan of 
>the lift, Hodges winced.  If guests were arriving already, he was 
>late.  An Englishman was nothing if not punctual.
>
>The gentleman climbed the stairs.  Given the current condition of the 
>lift, no doubt he would reach the Fitzroys apartment first.  When he did, 
>he firmly knocked on the door and announced himself. "Its Hodges, 
>sir  Sorry about the time."
>
>Marty Fitroy himself came out into the hall and directed a glower at him 
>that put Hodges in mind of a swelling toad.
>
>"So, you're 'ere at last, are?" he said.  "Well, you'd better 'op to it - 
>the guests will be arriving any minute."  As if in confirmation of his 
>words, the doorbell rang.  Frowning, he turned to attend to it himself, 
>waving Hodges towards the stairs that led to the upper level of the 
>penthouse, where the lounge was located (OOC - see 
>http://www.amberpbem.net/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/~MurderAtChristmas/Main/PenthouseUpperLevel).
>
>There in the larger room, the picture windows hung with heavy blackout 
>curtains, Hodges found a long table set with bottles of gin, tonic, 
>bitters, vermouth, scotch, lime juice and a few liqueurs - as well as 
>Malvern water for the faint of heart.  Also present was Esme Fitzroy who 
>looked at Hodges nervously, before standing and walking towards him, hand 
>extended.
>
>"So good of you to help out," she said colourlessly.  "You can mix 
>cocktails, can't you?"
>
>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
>
>Braham picked up a notebook, thought for a moment and set it promptly back
>down again. No, it was best to not take notes at the party. Some people
>might find the behavior distinctly odd. He knew he would if he had
>witnessed someone doing the same just a few years ago. Whatever happened,
>he would simply have to mark it in his memory and record it later. That
>would be the easiest way. With that decided he headed for the door without
>further hesitation.
>
>Once free of the confines of his flat, he bounded towards the staircase. He
>nearly flew up them, taking the steps two at a time. The exertion did not
>steal his breath but it was still enough to get his blood flowing. Feeling
>much more like his normally easy going self, he knocked gently on the
>Fitzroy's door. I am probably first to arrive, he thought to himself.
>Mother would be horrified. An impish grin met his lips as he awaited an 
>answer.
>
>
>The door was opened by the larger than life figure of Marty Fitzroy, 
>resplendent in his black tie.  For a fleeting second, Braham had the 
>impression that Fitzroy was disappointed - perhaps because he had been 
>expecting someone else.  But then he beamed and took Braham's extended 
>hand in his own meaty clasp, almost jerking the slighter American into the 
>penthouse flat bodily.
>
>"Welcome!" he said heartily.  "Welcome!  Come and have a Christmas drink!"

"Thank you," Braham said sincerely, his amusement at his hosts behavior 
masked in his cheerful expression.

>Braham again noticed that Fitzroy looked over his shoulder, as though 
>checking to see if anyone else was coming before he turned and ushered him 
>towards the steps that led to the upper level.

The amusement rose slightly. Perhaps the man simply did not wish to be 
alone with me, he thought to himself. Immediately he put the thought to 
rest. The man more then likely had no clue who he was. If he had, something 
would have been said.

>"I'll stay here," his host told him.  "Let our guests in, you know.  Just 
>go up and say your 'ow do's to Esme.  Just turn left at the top.  It's a 
>bit dark, and when you come to the wall you've gone too far."
>
>He laughed, expecting his guest to see the joke.

Smartly Braham followed suit with a bit of laughter of his own. "I will 
remember that," he responded before departing.

>In fact, it proved fairly logical for Braham to find his way to the 
>lounge, and when he arrived, the woman in grey mauve crepe de chine 
>greeted him.
>
>"Good evening, Mr ... ?"

"Davis. Braham Davis," he said quickly. "And you must be Mrs. Fitzroy." He 
took her hand gently and gave a slight bow. "Thank you for the invitation. 
It is a pleasure to finally meet you." From his accent he was most 
certainly American; a handsome, young, charismatic American. How he had 
been managing to blend into the shadows was a bit of a mystery.