A Death in Diamonds полностью

Bunny didn’t want to think about what Tony had just told him about the man from MI5. He’d had no clue about that, or he’d have factored it in.

‘I’m pulling out of Raffles,’ Tony said abruptly. ‘And the club in Tangier. Thought I’d let you know. The less we have to do with each other, the better.’

At this moment, Bunny agreed. ‘Fine. Do it. We have a queue of investors.’

‘And that business next week. Call it off. We can’t do it with MI5 breathing down our necks.’

Bunny was haughty. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘See what you can do?’ Tony jeered. ‘Call it off, man. That’s an order.’

‘It’s not that simple. I put Robbie Suffolk in charge. He has contacts who can do that sort of business and, frankly, I didn’t want to get my hands dirty.’

‘So? Call Suffolk off.’

‘He’s in India. With some sort of yoga wallah.’

‘What the hell? Contact him in India then! They have the telegraph.’

‘I’m not exactly sure which state. Don’t worry! I’ll look into it. I’ll talk to him when I—’

They were interrupted by one of the ghillies, who had somehow walked up behind them without either of them noticing.

‘Can I help, Your Grace?’ he asked. ‘I saw you’d fallen back a bit. I think you’re needed at the next drive.’

‘I can manage perfectly well,’ Bunny said stiffly. ‘Take my guns. I can walk faster without them.’

‘And mine,’ Tony said, handing over the eye-wateringly expensive pair of shotguns he had been showing off last night.

Bunny was quite glad to see him stride off without them. Given the look in Tony’s eye, he wasn’t sure he’d have trained them on the grouse.

Lord Seymour paced up and down the deck of the Queen Mary. The weather over the Atlantic was dire, and this was a brief break in the rolling seas. Another three days of this. Government ministers didn’t usually have time to potter across the ocean when a fleet of jet planes was available, but his wife had insisted. She liked the luxury of the liner and it was actually easier to travel this way than to transport her inordinate amount of luggage by air.

He didn’t know how much longer this life would last. Already, he was being treated as a pariah in the party, by men who had done everything he had done, and much worse. There were meetings he wasn’t invited to, statements that were made without his approval. Once this trip was over, he wasn’t sure what would happen next.

What would his wife make of Scotland? he wondered. She used to love it, once.

Lady Seymour was several yards ahead of him, standing stock-still at a railing, looking out impassively over the endless waves. Even now, he couldn’t help but admire her profile, and the couture cut of the slacks she wore. His wife was the best-dressed woman on the ship, he was pleased to note. She usually was, wherever she went, but the competition on the Queen Mary was fierce.

He strode up to her. ‘You look lovely, darling.’

She didn’t turn to him or say a word. She had hardly spoken to him for days.

In fact, she had hardly spoken to him since April. It was as if a veil had descended over her – and not the bridal sort. She fulfilled her duties, she remained as exquisite to look at as the day he met her, but there was something robotic about her now. He didn’t know what he could do to get her back.

They hadn’t spoken about the tiara. Not exchanged a single word. He’d got it back from the police now, but she wouldn’t wear it. She’d arranged to borrow something from Bentley’s for the ball in New York. Her dress was by Givenchy and had cost him an arm and a leg. As he’d told that police inspector, she would look magnificent. But he doubted she would talk to him that night, either.

Seymour went back below deck to change for dinner. Last night, he had got hammered and that had felt a little better. Tonight, he intended to get hammered again.

The good thing about a royal tour, if one was worried about something, was that there was almost no time to think about it at all. The Queen’s first day in Canada was typical of her schedule: meeting, travelling, paying respects to the war dead, endless waving . . . And then there was her live speech to the nation, which she only managed because Philip got her to laugh a minute before, and relaxed her enough to be able to speak.

The following morning, the men in moustaches were lined up as usual, to tell her how well it had gone yesterday, and how pleased everybody was. Sir Hugh was fulsome in his praise, but nobody was more enthusiastic about applauding her than Jeremy Radnor-Milne.

‘What a historic day, ma’am. You’ve mastered the new medium as if to the manner born. And in French! Tellement impressionant, madame. Épouvantable!’

The Queen was about to cut him off herself when they were interrupted by a footman announcing that the private secretary was needed on the phone.

‘Can’t it wait?’ Sir Hugh asked irritably. ‘Can’t you see we’re in the middle of—?’

‘It’s the Assistant Private Secretary from London, sir. She says there’s news.’