It was a day later that he took off his new coat and got inside, safe from the chilly and misty morning air. A bell boy welcomed him in. Harry walked down the gleaming marble entrance of the hotel. He made his way to the room number he'd been informed was Mr Tomlinson's.
He ascended the curved staircase leading him to the third floor and hurried down another marbled hallway, stopping when he reached the assigned number.
Harry knocked twice, and the door was opened by a grim face he didn't recognize.
"Is Mr Tomlinson here?" Harry asked the elderly man.
"Mr Styles?"
"Yes."
"I'm Alvin MacCarron."
The private detective.
MacCarron let him inside.
Voices were heard from the parlor; Marge's emotional one and Mr Tomlinson's calm one.
"I don't know, I don't know, I just know."
"Marge, there's female intuition, and then there are facts."
When Harry entered, he saw that they were sitting on the couch together. Marge's hair was pulled back, eyes full of desperation. She blanched when she saw him, and so did he when he noticed the rings glistening on the coffee table, terrified she'd been able to convince Mr Tomlinson about everything.
However, Mr Tomlinson simply got up to shake his hand.
"Harry."
"Sir," Harry nodded. Then he smiled thinly at Marge. "Marge, you should've waited. Didn't Peter say I'd come by and pick you up?"
She settled her eyes on him and shot him a dirty look.
"Marge has been telling us about the rings." Mr Tomlinson sat back down.
"Yes, I feel ridiculous I didn't mention them yesterday, I clean forgot. Ridiculous," Harry covered his face as if embarrassed.
Mr Tomlinson took the ring with the green rock and rolled it between two fingers. "Perhaps you didn't mention them because there's only one conclusion to be drawn. I'm going to take Marge for a walk. Harry, Mr MacCarron needs to talk to you."
"Oh, there's no need. We could go to the bar. There's no need," Harry said politely, but Mr Tomlinson had already gotten up. He'd rather not talk to Mr MacCarron alone.
"No, no," Mr Tomlinson shook his head and helped Marge to her feet, too. "I think you should stay here."
They walked past him. Harry waited for the door to shut before aimlessly walking out on the terrace to a staggering view of Venice's blue canals. He just stood there and busied himself by pretending to admire it until MacCarron would come out and join him.
"I could probably see my room from here," Harry smiled, hearing MacCarron come out too. "I can see my house. When you see where you live from a distance, it's like a dream, isn't it?"
"I don't care for B.S. I don't care to hear it, i don't care to speak it."
"Okay."
"Did you know that at Princeton, Louis Tomlinson half-killed a boy?"
Harry turned around, genuinely shocked.
"At a party over some girl. Kicked the kid several times in the head, put him in the hospital. Boy had a wire fixed in his jaw, lost some hearing," MacCarron gestured with his hands and sat down at the small table. "Why do you think Louis' father sent him to Europe in the first place? The Rome police didn't think to ask Mr Tomlinson. Nor did they think to check on whether a Harry Styles had ever been a student at Princeton University. Oh, I turned up a Harry Styles who had been a piano tuner in the music department."
YOU ARE READING
The Talented Harry Styles | L.S
Fanfiction"I suppose... I always thought that it was better, to be a fake somebody... than a real nobody." Orphaned and raised by his cruel Aunt Dottie, life wasn't always as smooth as Harry Styles would've liked it to be. He always felt like a nobody; a mere...
