A Death in Diamonds полностью

‘Not yet, ma’am. But after yesterday’s events, your trip to America is more pressing than ever.’

‘Yesterday’s events?’

‘The Russian launch of a satellite, ma’am. Called Sputnik.’

‘Ah yes, I heard about that. My husband was very excited. They’ve successfully launched a transmitter into space. He was looking for it with his telescope.’

The foreign secretary leaned forward with an anxious look. ‘It’s all very well, ma’am. The trouble is, the Americans have realised it’s much bigger than they thought. A more impressive object all round. And their own launch isn’t for a few weeks, and will be smaller. We mustn’t let the Russians get ahead, ma’am. We must all pull together. Sometimes the Americans forget how much expertise we have to give . . . How much we’ve given them already . . .’

‘You think they need a little reminder, Foreign Secretary,’ the Queen said, raising an eyebrow.

‘If you wouldn’t mind, ma’am. Of course, Lord Seymour will try and do his bit too . . .’

‘Stephen Seymour?’ she checked. ‘That’s very surprising. Is he still going on this trip? He hasn’t been excluded from the murder investigation, has he?’

‘No, ma’am. He offered to stay behind, but he’ll be very useful to the delegation in Washington and New York. He’s been rather diligent about getting to know our leading scientists in terms of space technology and so on.’

‘Oh, I see.’

The foreign secretary threw a superior glance at the director general. ‘And we need all the help we can get with the Americans, after the catastrophe with Burgess and Maclean. They assume we simply feed all their secrets to the Russians now.’

The director general’s lips formed a thin, hard line. ‘That’s all water under the bridge, ma’am. We’re establishing new lines of communication . . .’

‘Is it, though?’ the foreign secretary asked, at which the director general gave him a filthy look. ‘What about . . . ?’

‘William Pinder’s clean as a whistle. We’re winding that operation down,’ the director general said through gritted teeth. ‘He’ll be back at his desk after a little rest cure. The file is being archived.’ He threw the Queen a brief, meaningful glance.

She felt sorry for William Pinder. The poor man had been closely observed for months, and now it seemed he was expected to carry on with life as normal. It couldn’t be easy for him. No wonder he needed a ‘rest cure’.

‘I hope it’s being buried,’ the foreign secretary said, referring to the file. ‘The last thing the Yanks need is more ammunition that we’re a breeding ground for communist spies.’

The Queen thought of Inspector Darbishire again. Would he ever be allowed access to those few, crucial pages? She would have to try and find some other way of letting him know what he didn’t know about that night in Cresswell Place. But it would have to wait. What with rogue dukes and Russian satellites, they all had enough to worry about for now.

The Queen Mother moved into the royal apartments in Buckingham Palace to help look after the children while their parents were away. Except that most of the time it would only be Anne, because Charles was safely at boarding school, having – his mother assumed – heaps of fun.

‘Don’t worry about us,’ her mother assured her. ‘We’ll have a lovely time without you. I’m going to set up a little cinema in the Ball Supper Room, so that we can watch you on the news.’

Margaret insisted on a little fashion show, so she could see all the finished frocks from Hardy Amies and Norman Hartnell. Both designers had surpassed themselves this time, knowing how important the visits were. And, the Queen had to admit, she had mentioned to both of them that her sister thought she should look more ‘modern’. The resulting shapes were fluid and more simple, making use of new materials and techniques. This femme de trente-et-un ans was determined not to seem too last-century. It was time to stop dressing like her mother – even if her mother looked very good in what she wore.

The results pleased even Margaret, and gave the Queen a boost of confidence she felt she really rather needed. She had never had to give a live, bilingual televised speech and counter the effects of an unwise invasion and a spy scandal before. With more riding on the next ten days than she would ideally have liked, she and Philip set off by plane for Ottawa.

Jeremy Radnor-Milne informed the waiting press that Her Majesty was ‘very excited’ about this trip.

At the Moulin de la Tuilerie, his country home just outside Paris, Edward, the Duke of Windsor, came in from a game of golf with friends and called out to his wife. There was no answer. She was probably out shopping. She shopped a lot, poor darling, because there was little else to amuse her in the countryside. He loved his little garden here, but she was more of a city girl.