A Death in Diamonds полностью

In the sunny morning room at Clarence House, the Queen Mother was not happy as news emerged of Chief Inspector Venables’s fascinating new discoveries.

‘But, darling! They’re saying Lady Seymour might be the murderer! She was the victim’s sister! And Philip tells me you were alone with her for half an hour!’

‘I was perfectly safe,’ the Queen assured her. ‘Philip was next door, and Bobo was just around the corner.’

Her mother was slightly mollified. ‘Bobo would never let anything happen to you. But did you have any idea?’

‘None at all. Why would I?’

‘What were you talking about?’

This was tricky. Philip could easily be put off by the notion of ‘women’s business’, but her mother would only be more intrigued.

‘Lady Seymour heard rumours about a spy ring,’ the Queen improvised. ‘Nothing concrete, but she didn’t trust anyone and she was desperate for me to know. I said I’d sort it out with MI5. The poor woman . . .’

‘A spy ring? How exciting!’

‘But it was all in her head,’ the Queen insisted.

‘And did this have anything to do with the murders?’

‘Did what?’ Margaret asked, walking in with a couple of frisky little dachshunds at her feet.

‘A spy ring, darling!’ the Queen Mother said.

‘No, it absolutely didn’t,’ the Queen said firmly.

‘I told you it wasn’t Clement,’ her mother remarked happily, changing the subject.

‘Who’s Clement?’ Margaret asked.

‘The Dean of Bath – you remember, darling. He saw some terrible things in the war, but we talked about it once and we agreed you can’t keep fighting on forever. You only end up wounding yourself. That poor woman, the one on the bed, I mean. She wanted revenge, I gather. I can see that, but murder is never the way. Especially if you’re not very good at it. How did she end up with the diamonds again?’

The Queen hesitated and Margaret sighed audibly as she inserted a cigarette into her holder. This obviously wasn’t the first time since the news broke that she had been called upon to explain.

‘Lord Seymour gave them to his wife, Mummy. She gave them to her sister. Then, she must have realised her sister was in danger and followed her to Clement’s house.’

The Queen didn’t correct her about the gift of the tiara. Without Lucie around to explain what really happened, nobody had the full story. What they knew was close enough.

‘Such a nice tiara,’ the Queen Mother said sadly. ‘Nobody will want to wear it now.’

‘I certainly don’t,’ Margaret assured her.

‘I’ll buy one for you one day, darling.’

‘D’you know what?’ Margaret said, through a plume of cigarette smoke. ‘It’s the twentieth century, for God’s sake. I think I might just buy one for myself.’

The deputy private secretary had become very grand. Now that Joan no longer did secretarial duties, she had been moved to a much smaller office of her own, so Urquhart could share his with Sarah, the typist, who could help him out properly. He also had a dog: a black Labrador puppy called Nelson, who ate everything in sight and was adored by everyone in the office. He had given up on the hope of Fiona’s return, so this was the best replacement he could find.

Sarah was good, but she often came to Joan for advice. One day she brought in a large, square box that had come all the way from America, marked ‘FRAGILE’.

‘It says, “For the Queen’s eyes only”, but it can’t really mean that, can it? I mean, it’s not from the CIA or anything. That’s not how they write things.’

‘I’ll take a look, if you like,’ Joan offered.

‘Would you? Thanks ever so.’

Inside, buried in excessive layers of packaging, was a single vinyl record in a cellophane-covered presentation box. Its label read ‘The Queen’s Suite’. There was a note with it, which Joan read with growing amazement. She took it to Her Majesty that afternoon.

‘It’s from Duke Ellington, ma’am. He said he met you in the spring, and he wanted to write something for you.’

The Queen smiled brightly. ‘Yes, he did.’

‘Well, he wrote this piece, and he got his orchestra to record it. But they only made one pressing, ma’am.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘This is the only record. And he’s paid Columbia Records for the copyright so no one else can make one. He wanted it to be a gift for you, personally.’

At this, the Queen’s face lit up in a whole new way. ‘Did he really? May I see the note?’ She stood up. ‘Let’s go to the Ball Supper Room. There’s a gramophone there.’

The music was quite beautiful. The Queen announced it was one of the nicest pieces of jazz she’d ever heard. So did Philip, when he wondered what all the fuss was about and came in to listen.

‘Dance with me!’ he instructed.

‘What? Here?’

‘Where else!’

He took her in his arms and the staff left them to it as they twirled around the room.