The penny dropped. ‘Oh,’ Joan said.
‘There was a big demand for rubber in the army. It set him up for life. Now Tony has fingers in pies all over the place. He’s very good at anticipating the next big thing. He’s expanded into oil and plastics. Something to do with aviation – jet planes, I think. They need materials that can withstand high temperatures.’
‘He told you about this? You know him well?’ Joan asked.
‘Not very well, but he was trying to get me to invest in one of his new ventures. However, I prefer the land. More reliable. Give me a decent farm and some tenancies any day.’
This was a side of the DPS that Joan hadn’t anticipated. She had no idea that he was rich enough to mull over his investments. He never normally talked about money. Or indeed much with her at all, of course.
‘And there’s another thing,’ he added. ‘While we’re on the subject.’
‘Major Ross. Jeremy said you’re staying at his place.’
‘Did he?’ Jeremy was being very loose-lipped this morning.
‘Yes. You know about Ross, I suppose. Damn sad story. Wife ran off with the family doctor.’
‘No, I didn’t know.’
Urquhart regarded her grimly. He was clearly trying to tell her something.
‘Happened after the war. Ross was busy clearing up a lot of difficult situations in Europe. Away a lot, as he had been during the fighting, of course. His wife volunteered at the local cottage hospital. Fell for the sawbones. Wouldn’t leave Ross, wouldn’t exactly stay. Dashed awkward for all concerned.’
‘I’m sure it is.’
‘He was a bit of a hero. Perhaps you know. Various missions one doesn’t talk about. More medals than he can easily account for. Dashed unfair. Awful for the man.’
‘It sounds it.’
‘As I say, she didn’t exactly leave him in the end. Other people’s marriages – none of our business.’
‘I so agree.’
‘Good. Yes, um. Good.’
Joan watched him go back to his papers, as if they had just had a robust conversation. She couldn’t exactly tell whether he had been encouraging her to console the poor, sad war hero, or firmly warning her against going near him. She suspected the latter, which might explain Urquhart’s decision to talk to her. It was good advice. Remaining unattached was by far the safest, most sensible thing to do.
She would have to abandon the flat at some point soon. It was such a shame. She would really miss the cocoa.
On the 18th of May, the Queen and her entourage left for Hull, and from there to Denmark on the Royal Yacht
For a week, Joan had the run of the North Wing corridor to herself. The palace took on a different character when the royal couple were away. The pressure to provide perfect service to the family and hospitality for guests was replaced by a more methodical work rate, as each department used the time to take stock and prepare for more busy times ahead.
From her desk, she obsessively scanned all of the newspapers and the embassy updates for the slightest sign of anything going wrong. Ingrid Kern, she was relieved to see, had stayed in London. Joan knew how tiring the itinerary was, but in all the newsreels, the Queen looked cheerful and relaxed. The Duke of Edinburgh was busy, dutiful and happy enough to follow his wife around porcelain workshops and bottling factories.
Joan viewed these visits in an entirely different light now. Before, it had always looked easy enough to sit and wave, or stand and wave, or walk around and shake a few hands and nod at a piece of machinery. But knowing as she did that every ten-minute slot was accounted for, and each half-hour included a hundred people who could be inadvertently insulted if they weren’t smiled at or asked the right question, and twenty pressmen who would be happy to capture the moment on celluloid if it happened, Joan saw each day as an endurance test.
The Queen insisted, even in private, that she loved it. ‘People are so interesting, don’t you think?’ Joan still thought it was a strange gift, bordering on madness, to enjoy being in a goldfish bowl. No wonder the Queen enjoyed solitary dog walks when she got home.
This time, the royal yacht sailed back without incident and the men in moustaches crawled into the office a day later, somewhat grey after a choppy North Sea crossing. Not all of them enjoyed travel as much as Her Majesty.
After several cups of coffee and talk of minor triumphs, Miles Urquhart was forced to admit that Joan’s assistance in setting up this visit ‘hadn’t been as bad as I feared’.
‘Did everything go to plan?’ she asked.
‘More or less.’ He digressed for several minutes about the set-up of the bottling factory, and the difficulty of declaring all the beer they were presented with at customs.
‘There was nothing embarrassing? No slip-ups?’
‘No, of course not!’ he said. ‘What do you take us for? We manage these visits with military precision. You’ll see for yourself one day. Possibly.’
‘I hope so.’
