Her Royal Spyness (23 page)

“It’s lovely,” I said, “but didn’t you say you were borrowing it?”

“Absolutely. I can’t afford this kind of place. It belongs to a distant cousin of mine who chooses to spend his summers on the Med in his yacht. Fortunately I have cousins all over Europe, thanks to the Catholics’ view on birth control. Stay here and I’ll bring out the wine and whatever food I can rustle up.”

Soon we were sitting on deck chairs in that little garden with cold white wine, ripe cheeses, crusty bread, and grapes. It was a warm evening and the setting sun glowed on the old brick of the walls. For a while I ate and drank in silence.

“This is heaven,” I said. “Hooray for all your cousins.”

“Speaking of cousins,” Darcy said, “I gather that poor old Hubert Anstruther is not expected to last much longer. In a coma, so they say.”

“Do you know him?”

“Went climbing a couple of times with him in the Alps. Didn’t strike me as the kind of fellow that would let himself be swept away by an avalanche.”

“Tristram is devastated,” I said. “Sir Hubert was his guardian, you know.”

“Hmph,” was all he said to this.

“And neither Sir Hubert nor Tristram is my relative,” I added. “My mother was married to Sir Hubert many husbands ago, which made Tristram and me almost related once, that’s all.”

“I see.” There was a long pause while Darcy poured us another glass of wine. “So are you seeing much of that blighter Hautbois?”

“Darcy, I do believe you’re jealous.”

“Just keeping a protective eye on you, that’s all.”

I decided to strike back. “So I gather you were at a party with Belinda last night.”

“Belinda? Yes, she was at the party. What a grand girl she is—heaps of fun. Not an inhibition in sight.”

“She told me you might be too wild for me.” I paused. “I wondered how she knew that.”

“Did you, now? That would be telling.”

He grinned at my obvious discomfort, then he leaned closer to me. “Are you going to let me kiss you tonight? Even though I’m wild?”

“You did promise to behave like a gentleman, remember.”

“So I did. Here, let me fill that wineglass for you.”

“Are you attempting to get me drunk so that you can have your way with me?” I asked, my own inhibitions miraculously melting with the first glasses of wine.

“I don’t believe in that approach myself. I like my women to be fully aware of what they are doing so that they get the maximum enjoyment from it.” His eyes, over his raised wineglass, were flirting with me. I was very conscious of those melting inhibitions.

I made an attempt to stand up. “It’s getting rather cold out here, isn’t it? Don’t you think we should go inside?”

“Good idea.” He picked up our glasses and the wine bottle, which was now miraculously empty, and went ahead of me into the house. I followed with the remains of the food. I was just setting it down in the kitchen when his arms came around my waist.

“Darcy!”

“I always think it’s better to take ’em by surprise,” he whispered, and started kissing the side of my neck in a way that made me go weak at the knees. I turned to face him and his lips moved to meet mine. I had been kissed plenty of times before, behind the potted palms at deb balls, in the backseats of taxies on the way home. There had even been a bit of groping thrown in, but nothing had made me feel like this. My arms came around his neck and I was kissing him back. Somehow my body seemed to know how to respond. I felt giddy with desire.

“Ow,” I said as I was somehow backed into a cooker knob.

“Kitchens are damned uncomfortable places, aren’t they?” He was laughing. “Come on, let’s go and take in the sunset from upstairs. It’s the most glorious view across the Thames.”

He took my hand and started to lead me up the stairs. I floated behind him, half in a dream. The bedroom was bathed in a glorious rosy sunset and the waters of the Thames below sparkled like magic. Swans were swimming past, their white feathers tinged with pink.

“This is heavenly,” I said again.

“I promise you it will be even more heavenly,” he said and started kissing me again. Somehow we seemed to be sitting on the bed. But that was when the little alarm bells started going off in my head. I hardly knew him, after all. And it was just possible that he had spent last night with Belinda. Was that what I wanted for myself—a man who flitted from girl to girl, from one encounter to the next? And another thought alarmed me even more. Was I following in my mother’s footsteps? Would I be starting down that long road that she took, moving from one man to the next with no home, no stability?

I sat up and took hold of Darcy’s hands. “No, Darcy. I’m not ready for this,” I said. “I’m not another Belinda.”

“But I promise you’d like it,” he said. The way he was looking at me almost melted my resolve again. I rather thought I might like it myself.

“I’m sure I would, but I’d regret it afterward. And with all that’s going on in my life right now, this would not be the right time. Besides, I want to wait for a man who really loves me.”

“How do you know I don’t love you?”

“Today, maybe, but can you guarantee tomorrow?”

“Oh, come on, Georgie. Let go of that awful royal training. Life’s for having fun. And who knows how it might turn out.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should never have led you on. You did promise to behave like a gentleman.”

“As for that”—he had a such wicked grin—“your relative King Edward was a perfect gentleman but by God he bedded half the females in his kingdom.”

He took a look at my face and stood up with a sigh. “All right, then. Come on. I’ll call a cab to take you home.”

Chapter 20

Belinda Warburton-Stoke’s sofa yet again
Monday, May 2, 1932

When I arrived back at Belinda’s place that night, with more than a modicum of regret, I found a note from Binky, instructing me to meet him at our solicitors’ office at ten o’clock. This could prove to be awkward if it went on too long, as I had arranged to meet my grandfather at lunchtime. To be on the safe side, I went into Rannoch House early in the morning to pick up the maid’s uniform. This was a wise move as there was no sign of either police or journalists outside at that hour. The house felt very strange and horribly cold, although all traces of the body had been removed from the bath. But I found myself tiptoeing past the bathroom door under the watchful eye of that avenging statue.

As I took the maid’s uniform out of my wardrobe, I heard something chink. I put my hand into the apron pocket and there was the figurine I had broken at the Featherstonehaughs’. So much had happened since, that I had completely forgotten about it. Oh, dear. Now I’d have to think of a way to have it mended and sneak it back. I just hoped they hadn’t noticed it was missing among all those swords and gods and whatnots. I shoved it into the top drawer of my dressing table and put the maid’s uniform into a carrier bag. I’d have to find a loo to change in somewhere along the way.

I was just leaving the house when the telephone rang.

“Georgie?” a male voice asked.

For a second I thought it was Binky, but before I could answer he went on to say, “It’s Tristram. Sorry to ring you at this hour. Did I wake you?”

“Wake me? Tristram, I’ve been up for hours. Actually I’m staying with a friend and I just stopped at Rannoch House to pick up some things before I have to meet my brother at the solicitors’. You’ve heard the news presumably?”

“I saw it in the papers. I couldn’t believe my eyes. What a rum do. Your brother’s not the sort who goes around bumping off people, is he?”

“Absolutely not.”

“So who could it have been? I was talking to Whiffy on the phone last night and we just couldn’t imagine why someone would leave a body at Rannoch House. Do you think it was a poor sort of joke?”

“I’ve no idea, Tristram,” I said.

“Rotten luck on you, anyway.”

“Yes. It has been pretty rotten.”

“And Whiffy tells me that you had a nasty accident yesterday. Fell off a boat and nearly drowned, so he says.”

“Yes, things don’t seem to be going too swimmingly at the moment,” I said, trying to think how I could end this conversation politely.

“And Whiffy said you went off with that O’Mara fellow.”

“Yes, Darcy was kind enough to escort me home,” I said.

“I ballywell hope he behaved like a gentleman,” Tristram said.

A smile twitched across my lips. “Tristram, I believe you’re jealous of Darcy.”

“Jealous. Good Lord, no. I’m just worried about you, old thing. And I make no bones about it: I don’t trust that O’Mara. Nothing good ever came out of Ireland.”

“Whiskey,” I said, “and Guinness.”

“What? Oh, rather. But you know what I mean.”

“Tristram, Darcy is a peer of the realm and he behaved like one,” I said firmly, thinking of the extraordinary ways I had known peers to behave. Before he could answer this I said briskly, “But I really have to run. I’m going to be late.”

“Oh, right. I just wanted to offer my services, you know. See if there’s anything I can do.”

“It’s sweet of you, but there’s nothing, really.”

“I suppose your brother is taking good care of you.”

“My brother is at his club.”

“Weally? If you wanted me to come and stand guard at night, I’d be happy to.”

I had to chuckle at the thought of Tristram standing guard. “Thank you, but I’ll probably continue to stay with my friend for a while.”

“Good idea. Quite a relief to have someone keep an eye on you. I don’t suppose you’d like to meet me later, so that I can take you for a bite to eat and cheer you up?”

“Thank you. You’re very kind, but I don’t think I’m in the mood for eating and I’ve no idea how long this will take.”

“Right-o, then. I’ll check in from time to time and see how you’re getting along. Whiffy and I both want to help if we can. Toodle-oo, then. Keep your pecker up, old thing.”

I hung up and hurried out to meet Binky. I was rather intrigued to know whether we might see Old Mr. Prendergast today and how he might look, until I was informed that he had been dead for ten years. Young Mr. Prendergast tuttutted and sighed as he sat surveying us. “A bad business, Your Grace. A nasty business indeed.”

“I give you my word my sister and I had nothing to do with it,” Binky said.

“My firm has handled the legal affairs of your family for generations,” the old man said. “Your word is enough for me.”

“But you can see how bad it looks for us.”

“I can indeed. Most unfortunate.”

“We were wondering,” Binky said, “whether you would have to tell the police about the letter—if they haven’t yet found out about it. Because, I mean to say, that would really put the cat among the pigeons, so to speak.”

“That is indeed a difficult ethical decision, Your Grace. Our loyalty to our clients versus withholding information in a criminal case. I should, of course, be obliged to answer any question truthfully, should the police choose to question me. That would include revealing the document. However, as to whether I feel it incumbent upon myself to volunteer information to the police that might incriminate my client—a client who has given me his word that he is innocent—then I think that I feel no such obligation.”

Binky got to his feet and shook the old man’s hand. I could hear the bones creaking.

“I think that went rather well,” Binky exclaimed as we came out. “Care to go for a spot of lunch with me somewhere? Claridge’s, maybe?”

“Claridge’s?” It came out as a squeak. “I’d love to, but unfortunately I’m meeting my grandfather today. Remember he was in the police once. I’m hoping he’ll have some advice for us and maybe still know some men at Scotland Yard.”

“Spiffing. Super idea.”

“And anyway I hear the food’s not up to much at Claridge’s these days,” I added for good measure, just in case he decided he was going to take his luncheon there without me.

“You don’t say? I always thought Claridge’s was the tops,” Binky said. “Oh, well. Might as well eat at the club and save money, then. Where will I find you, Georgie? And how long do you think I’m supposed to hang around down here? It’s costing a fortune to stay at the club, you know. Those whiskey and sodas don’t come cheap.”

“You’ll have to ask the police when it’s all right for you to go home,” I said. “And as to where you can find me, I’m thinking of moving back into the house. I was there this morning and the police have gone. So has the body.”

“That’s dashed brave of you, old bean. I don’t think I could stomach it, somehow. And they do make one so blinking comfortable at the club.”

With that we parted company, he into a taxicab and me down the steps of the underground at Holborn Station. I went one stop, then changed at Tottenham Court Road. I suppose I could have walked to the Strand and Claridge’s, but it had started to rain and I had no wish to appear like a drowned rat.

I had ridden the underground so seldom in my life that I was always somewhat bewildered by the various passages and escalators leading from one line to the next. Tottenham Court Road was a hub of activity, with people running in all directions. Everybody seemed to be in a frightful hurry. I took the escalator down to the Northern Line, getting buffeted by people trying to push past me on the right. At last I found the right platform and stood at the front, waiting for the train. More and more people streamed onto the platform behind me. At last there came the rumbling of an approaching train. A wind came rushing ahead of it from the tunnel. Just as it appeared I was shoved hard from behind in the middle of my back. I lost my footing and went pitching forward toward the electric rails. It all happened so quickly. I hadn’t even time to scream. Hands reached out and grabbed me and I was yanked back onto the platform again, just as the train thundered past me.

“Phew, that was a close one, miss,” a large laborer said, as he stood me on my feet again. “I thought you was a goner then.” He looked positively green.

“So did I,” I said. “Someone pushed me.”

I looked around. People were already streaming past us onto the train as if we didn’t exist.

“They’re always in so much of a bloomin’ hurry, I’m surprised there aren’t more accidents,” my workman friend said. “There’s too many people in London these days. That’s the trouble. And those what’s got motorcars can’t afford to run them no more, what with the price of petrol.”