The royally brilliant fourth book in the Her Majesty the Queen Investigates mystery series!1957 – Young Queen Elizabeth II is finding her way in a challenging world as the United Kingdom must adjust to having neither an empire nor a set place in post-war Europe. As she travels the world to try and build bridges, the Queen is advised by the 'men in moustaches', as Philip calls them – her father's old courtiers, who may or may not have her best interests at heart. One of them is trying to sabotage her: that much she is sure of.And then two bodies turn up, horribly murdered, in Chelsea, and the Queen finds herself unwillingly used as the alibi for somebody very close to her. Elizabeth knows she can't face these challenges alone. She needs support from someone clever, discreet and loyal, someone she can trust. Then she meets ex-Bletchley Park code breaker, Joan McGraw, and their investigation into the murders begins in earnest...
PARIS, APRIL 1957
The Queen knew instantly that she had made a fatal mistake, figuratively speaking.
‘
During the candlelit dinner at the Louvre to celebrate her second night in France on this, her first state visit, she had merely mentioned, perhaps a shade too wistfully, that she had never seen the
Now, after a brief consultation among the luminaries of the museum, two porters were carrying the Leonardo into the room, resplendent in its ornate gilt frame. They leaned it against a chair for her to look at, and it was the most extra-ordinary moment: those two famous eyes, staring impenetrably back at her from under their heavy lids. One knew the image so well as an illustration that it was astonishing to come face to face with the real thing. The Queen felt for an instant how so many people must feel, perhaps, coming face to face with
The portrait carried a huge weight of expectation, but was remarkably human in scale, close to, in the flickering light. Behind the eyes, the Queen saw a young woman, beautifully composed and a little bit self-conscious in the act being scrutinised.
‘
Shortly afterwards, when they were joined by yet more of the great and good in yet another lavish salon, the spotlight on the Queen herself was even more intense. Hundreds of people jostled together, eager to greet her, and sharp elbows dug into nipped-in waists as they jockeyed for a better view. At one point the crowd surged forward in a wave and the Queen felt the press of the throng. She was quite hemmed in and there was no room to breathe. For a moment she was almost frightened. It was gratifying to be so popular, but right now, she would be grateful to get out of the evening with her clothes and person intact.
Thinking of what her grandmother, Queen Mary, would say, she steadied herself and put on a brave face. But as she looked out over the sea of eager faces, two stood out. One was not looking in her direction exactly, but at someone in the crowd behind her. His face was briefly twisted into an unguarded scowl and there was a look of savage hatred in his eyes. The Queen had seen that look only a few times before, as a teenager at Windsor, when officers or their families had described some of the worst atrocities of the war. She knew who he was, understood his history, and guessed who he might be staring at.
The other face was scanning the room with undisguised disdain, the mouth crimped in frustration. At last, the eyes found hers, and instantly the face went blank. But the Queen had seen enough. This was someone she knew very well.
She had work to do when she got home, because it was clear that someone from inside her closest circle had been trying to sabotage this visit. Her response would be delicate and difficult, and she wasn’t sure who she could trust.
In the car on the way back to the British Embassy, she said to Philip, ‘Did you notice, they served us oysters tonight?’
