Once Tussio had left, Harriet had locked her office door and she had ignored the incessant stream of knocks that had rattled against it. She had no intention of being seen in this state and trusted that Daphne would be able to take care of any emergencies that could arise. Once the club had closed, the crowd had dispersed and the employees had left Harriet had scurried out of the club and had taken the stairs that led to her home.
Knowing that any attempt at sleeping would be futile, Harriet picked a bottle from her late husband's personal reserve and filled a glass to the brim. Sitting in the study rather than the sitting room, her mind drifted towards the many nights she and her husband had spent going over the club's books. It had been where their first kiss had occurred, their first fight as well as their last. While they had never lived extravagantly, they had eventually made enough money to live comfortably.
Their status could easily be surmised when one stepped inside their home. High ceilings, rich wooden panels on the walls, paintings of up and coming local artists, even the upholstered chairs was a hint of their success. Since her husband had passed, Harriet had become a tad more modest in her decor; choosing to invest in finer pleasures than art.
Having lost track of time and her thoughts, Harriet was surprised to realize that someone was knocking on her door. Cautiously, she made her way out of the study and into the hallway, she pressed her ear against the door, almost expecting to hear Tussio Accorsi's dreadful laugh. As she was greeted with silence, she chose to open the door, but not before she quickly tied a satin scarf around her bruised neck.
She opened the door slowly and greeted her guest with a rather somber expression and the smell of incense mixed with a wif of strong liquor.