A Death in Diamonds полностью

Darbishire had interviewed Miss White once more since their last encounter – or rather, got DS Willis to do it, since he realised he personally had put the wind up her too much when he brought her in, and Woolgar seemed to scare the bejesus out of her with his mere presence. But Willis didn’t come up trumps either. Gina Fonteyn’s fellow tart either really did know nothing about the reasons for luring Rodriguez to Cresswell Place that night, or she was too terrified of the consequences of telling. Willis was known for getting results out of these women, so if he couldn’t do it, no one could.

Darbishire’s reports had neglected to include his clandestine conversation with Jimmy Broad of the Billy Hill gang. As with the man in the mackintosh, Darbishire was hardly going to take the word of a violent, hardened criminal like Jimmy effectively saying, ‘my boss didn’t do it’. But the trouble was that Jimmy’s argument was, if not compelling, then at least plausible. The killers of Cresswell Place might have got away with it so far, but those murders were messy. They had the police crawling all over the place and, as Jimmy said, that wasn’t Billy’s style. He liked to keep them at arm’s length if he could.

Darbishire had continued to investigate him anyway, and this was in this report. But in the updates he was forced to admit that there was no suggestion among the gang’s known fences that they had been asked to offload the contents of Lord Seymour’s safe, where the stolen diamond tiara was supposed to have been residing. No hint of a need for revenge against Rodriguez – a deal gone wrong, money missing, goods not delivered. And they still hadn’t made any progress on those damned companies that owned the escort and letting agencies and the nightclub in Tangier where Rodriguez liked to gamble. Whoever owned them had excellent lawyers and accountants. Darbishire tipped his hat to them.

The typescript in his hands stressed that the investigation was still highly active. He had men out everywhere, carrying out interviews in their thousands. Privately, though, he was stuck.

And so, his report was full of travel itineraries and casino anecdotes and speculation about Lord Seymour’s holiday haunts and the contents of Rodriguez’s luggage. The text was correctly spelled, contained several subtle but telling instances of the subjunctive and was beautifully typed on the latest Corona. The next draft would be free of thumbprints by tomorrow afternoon. But it was also free of real progress.

In practical terms, Darbishire was no closer to discovering who placed the tiara on Gina Fonteyn’s pretty head, or how two men, at least, came into the house unnoticed – or why they would want to – than he had been in April when he started. Her Majesty might admire his grammar, but she wasn’t going to admire that.

For several days, they didn’t openly talk about Lord Altrincham’s article.

The royal family were reunited on Britannia for a gentle cruise of the Western Isles. It was the one time of the year when they were truly alone (apart from two hundred very diplomatic sailors, who left them to it) and the Queen could just be Lilibet.

Philip was keen to pick up the outrage where he had left off, but she said, just once, ‘Not now, if you don’t mind. We’re on holiday,’ and he talked instead, with equal passion, about the new yacht race he had just launched in Cowes.

The scenery was mesmerically beautiful – purple islands on the horizon and silver sand beaches for family picnics. Charles and Anne competed to spot seals and basking sharks, but the Queen trumped them both when she caught a playful pod of dolphins in her binoculars. She was reminded of her mother’s comments at the races: the west coast of Scotland was very close to heaven. She knew various Englishmen and Canadians who’d fallen in love with Arisaig and Mallaig. It wasn’t so very difficult to imagine someone wanting to retire here after all.

Meanwhile, the members of the royal household muttered the name of the National and English Review in low, indignant voices. Everyone who’d travelled to Scotland consulted friends and developed their own thoughts, while back in London, Miles Urquhart visited the editors of all the major newspapers to assure them that the palace was both taking the article seriously, and not bothered by it at all.

The Queen waited until she got back to Balmoral, after a soul-restoring week at sea. The children were delighted to be reunited with their favourite cows and ponies. Philip went walking in the hills to view the work done on the estate since last year. She spent one day riding by the river and standing under the stars at midnight, tracing the constellations in the sky, the way her father had taught her. But she couldn’t put it off any longer. She called a meeting in her study with Sir Hugh, Jeremy Radnor-Milne and Joan. It was time to decide what to do.

‘What’s the verdict, Hugh?’ she asked.