It took every ounce of will to summon the spirit of her grandmother. It wasn’t about her, it was about the job. As a mother, she couldn’t do it; as monarch, she must.
By the time Philip came to find her, she was ready.
‘Are you all right, Cabbage? Somebody said you had a fainting fit.’
‘I didn’t. Perfectly all right, thank you. D’you know where to go?’
The opening of the Canadian parliament went without mishap. The Queen felt exhausted, but tried not to let it show. On their return, and before the evening banquet, Sir Hugh managed to update her with the whereabouts of the conspirators.
‘I’m afraid we let the ball drop a bit there, ma’am. It was important not to let our hand show. In the meantime, I think Tony Radnor-Milne might have got a whiff of something. He’s gone to South Africa, of all places. The second he sets foot on British soil, he’ll be arrested for treason.’
‘Let him stay there. What about the Marquess of Suffolk?’
‘In prison in India. Not quite the yoga retreat he had in mind. The others know we know, if you know what I mean. The PM doesn’t want everyone arrested, or it will look as if there was some sort of coup. It might spook the markets.’
‘And Maidstone?’
‘Ah.’ Sir Hugh adjusted his spectacles. ‘He, too, seemed to have got wind of something. He was last seen on a jet to Chicago.’
‘America!’
‘Ironically, he has friends there. I doubt it’ll take long to track him down. Meanwhile, there’s the question of Jeremy, ma’am.’
‘Yes, there is,’ the Queen said.
‘We’ve been letting him work in a room without a telephone. He knows something’s up, but doesn’t know what. I thought you might like to deal with him yourself, ma’am.’
The Queen looked up. ‘That’s very kind of you, Hugh,’ she said warmly. It was a thoughtful gesture from a busy man. ‘I would.’
Jeremy Radnor-Milne could feel in his bones that the game was up.
He had suspected for a week, now, that Sir Hugh knew something. There had been conversations in the North Wing that he was no longer included in. Editors who seemed to be re-briefed after he briefed them. Little conversations with his one or two allies among the household staff that were interrupted before he could give useful instructions. Nothing obvious . . . but then, Jeremy liked to think of himself as the master of ‘nothing obvious’. So he was sensitive to it happening to him.
He had got his wife to warn his brother, using a code word they’d agreed. If he was right, they were probably tapping his phone. But all he could do was carry on, meanwhile. Where else could he go?
When the Queen asked to see him in the private sitting room she had been allocated in Government House, he knew he was right. She looked tired, and low. Usually, she was energised by visits like this; she’d display more energy than all of them put together. But today, she was deflated.
She was sitting in a chair with the light behind her, and he was forced to stoop a little to see her properly.
Looking at her pale face and the dark circles under her eyes, he suddenly realised what he had done. He’d always assumed that she’d carry on regardless, even if her uncle took on some of the trickier visits. He was really very fond of her. A huge fan. That wasn’t an act. But recent events seemed to have changed her, which wasn’t the plan at all.
‘Ma’am? You asked to see me?’
Her voice had an unaccustomed edge.
‘Sir Hugh and I have agreed that you’ve served us enough in your present capacity.’
‘I . . . I thought so, ma’am. I realise that I . . . If I can just explain.’
‘I think you’ve earned a very particular next assignment. Sir Hugh has arranged for you to act as our liaison with the local authorities on Ascension Island. It’s a one-year posting, but we’ve extended it to three.’
‘Ascension Island, ma’am?’ Jeremy tried to sound polite and conversational. ‘I don’t think I . . .’
‘It’s a refuelling post in the middle of the Atlantic. There’s a small RAF squadron and the navy come and go. It has plentiful sea life, I understand. The birdwatching is also excellent.’
‘Did you say the Atlantic? Not the Pacific?’
‘No. And if that works out well, there’s a position in the Falkland Islands that might suit you.’
‘Where are they, ma’am?’
‘Near Antarctica.’
‘I have to say, I’m not a birdwatcher,’ he said, with a nervous chuckle.
‘You will be.’
He had always thought of Her Majesty as soft and feminine. There was that impressive bust, that smooth, clear skin. But today she was implacable. She reminded him a bit of Queen Elizabeth I, as he imagined her. Queen Elizabeth I, dealing with one of the traitors against her, he realised. Except,
