A Death in Diamonds полностью

‘Mixed, ma’am,’ he told her. ‘There are columnists in Australia who think Altrincham should be sent to the Tower, and hacks in Canada who say he has a point. Down in London, as you may have seen in the papers, the editors are united against him. I pity the man if he dares show his face on the streets right now. They’re enjoying this little opportunity to rally the nation. On the whole, the public is on your side. But not mine, I fear. I’m a “tweedy courtier” who makes you sound “prissy” against your better nature.’

‘It’s very easy to criticise the people who work hard in the background,’ the Queen said, sympathetically.

‘We’re only here to serve you, ma’am,’ her press secretary interjected. His upper lip wiggled with affronted loyalty. ‘We’re men of steel, we can take it.’

‘Ah, but it’s fair to say that my Scottish wardrobe is tweedier than yours,’ the Queen pointed out. ‘And I approve the speeches. Surely I’m responsible for what I say too?’

‘Mmm. In a way, ma’am, but on the other hand . . . I think what one should properly consider . . .’

Radnor-Milne was caught between the disloyalty of agreeing that she should share the blame, and the rudeness of suggesting she was their puppet. He couldn’t find a way around it.

‘What do you think, Joan?’ the Queen asked, while he fumbled for a reply.

‘I don’t always trust the papers,’ Joan said, as the private and press secretaries turned in alarm at the sound of ‘the typist’ expressing an opinion. ‘I think the public reaction’s a bit more complicated than that.’

‘Oh, and what might that be?’ Sir Hugh asked, sceptically. ‘The man on the Clapham Omnibus – your father, for example – what does he think?’

Joan was not impressed that the private secretary seemed to think of her father as a spokesman for the working classes. And anyway, his opinion wouldn’t help.

‘He’s a little bit in love with you, ma’am,’ she admitted. ‘In his eyes, you can do no wrong. But my aunt . . .’

‘Your aunt!’ Radnor-Milne said, with a curl of his lip. ‘I really don’t think we all need to know what Joan’s aunt in Bow thinks about Her Majesty.’

‘No, I very much want to know,’ the Queen said with a frown.

Joan wasn’t sure Auntie Eva would want to be a spokeswoman for the working classes either, but she did have strong opinions, which she had been happy to share in a letter that Joan had received just yesterday.

‘She agreed that the article was incredibly rude, but it made her wistful.’

Radnor-Milne was dismissive. ‘Wistful, I tell you!’

‘In what way?’ the Queen asked.

‘She said you’re a working woman, and a mother,’ Joan said. ‘She works, and she’s got three children herself. But she doesn’t feel the same connection with you. Not like she did when . . .’ Joan hesitated.

‘When what?’

‘When you were a young bride, ma’am.’

‘One can’t be a young bride forever,’ the Queen muttered.

‘Nobody could age more gracefully than . . .’

‘Oh, do be quiet, Jeremy.’

Joan carried on. ‘She said everyone was very low last winter, with fuel rationing and everything so expensive, and a new prime minister . . . but your speech was all about the Commonwealth. Which was all well and good, but . . .’

‘It wasn’t about home,’ the Queen said thoughtfully.

‘Not really. She wants peace between nations, obviously but . . .’

‘I see,’ the Queen said. I was missing my husband, who was far away in the South Atlantic, and I ignored what was happening at home because . . .

She wasn’t sure exactly why she’d ignored what was happening at home. But she knew she had intended to inspire women such as Joan’s aunt in Bow, and if that hadn’t happened, she should do something about it.

From then, the conversation took an interesting turn. They all contemplated the possibility of presenting her as someone of flesh and blood, like her subjects, thinking and feeling with them – which she did – and not simply trying to pat them on the head with pleasant generalities and noble aspirations. The press secretary thought it was a dreadful idea: her noble aspirations were what made her so . . . (‘Not now, Jeremy’). Sir Hugh sensed the new direction had possibilities, but had no practical solutions to suggest, beyond perhaps lending her name to a new cake.

‘What about the “Elizabeth sponge”, ma’am? A variation on the Victoria variety, but with a different jam, perhaps? We could hold a competition. It would highlight your interest in the domestic sphere. The curried chicken recipe at your coronation was a great success.’

The Queen bit her lip. Thinking back to the article, she had a vision of Margaret, aged eleven, standing hands on hips, yelling, ‘You’re such a prig, Lilibet.’ At the time, she’d lifted her chin and walked off with great dignity. But she had been a bit of a prig, looking back. Perhaps her sister wasn’t the only one to notice.

‘I’m not sure a cake is the answer, Hugh.’

After their meeting, she asked Joan to stay behind.