A Death in Diamonds полностью

‘I’m hardly Robin Day,’ she protested.

‘It’s not an interview – just a speech. But a decent speech – not one of those tweedy ones of Hugh’s. Something modern, for the modern man. And his modern wife,’ he added.

So, Philip did agree with Altrincham after all.

‘But if Hugh can’t help me write it, who can?’

‘I can,’ he offered, with a broad smile, before turning his horse to lead them both back towards Balmoral.

‘Yes, of course you can,’ she called after him quickly. ‘But . . . um, I’d need a proper professional, don’t you think?’

He turned round in the saddle. ‘What about if we get Daphne in?’

‘Daphne?’

‘You know Daphne. We’d have to get her up from Menabilly. But I’m sure she’d love it here.’

Daphne? It was certainly a thought. The Queen hadn’t considered working with a woman on something so important. But after all, why not?

Daphne was the wife of Philip’s much-loved head of household, General Sir Frederick Arthur Montague Browning – ‘Boy’ to friends and family – who was a hero of the First World War. In the second, he had helped found the First Airborne Division and led his men through the horrors at Arnhem in ’forty-four. He was sociable, organised, military to his core . . . perhaps the last person one would expect to be married to a sensitive novelist like Daphne. Nevertheless, they made an entertaining couple, both in London, where Boy worked with Philip at the palace, and in Cornwall, where Daphne had her domain.

‘We owe her the hospitality,’ Philip said. ‘We had such a day sailing with them on the Helford, do you remember? You almost fell in, but Daphne rescued you just in time.’

‘I was perfectly safe. Just surprised when you tacked too hard.’

‘I never tack too hard. Anyway, she’s a bloody good writer. Not my sort of thing, but the general public seem to approve. She’s probably deathly bored down in Cornwall. She’d appreciate the company, and do a damned good job.’

She probably would, the Queen agreed. Daphne was sharp, observant, quick-witted – another doer. She would certainly understand the problem, and be honest about what it would take to fix it.

‘Yes, all right. Let’s ask her.’

One had to be brave. If one didn’t take on difficult challenges, and overcome them, how could one possibly ask one’s people to do the same?

The Queen put to one side the rumours she had heard that Daphne was the woman Philip had gone to before proposing. His love was never in doubt, but nobody could deny the sacrifices it would take for a proud, successful young naval officer to marry a future sovereign and play second fiddle to her for the rest of his life. If he had spoken to Daphne at Menabilly, she had presumably advised him to go ahead with the marriage, because he had committed himself ardently and fully, as had Elizabeth herself. Doubts didn’t matter, as long as you stuck to your decision. Marriage was a daily act of faith, she realised.

Balmoral was built for entertaining, and quickly filled with family and friends. The fifteenth of August was Princess Anne’s seventh birthday and one of those glorious, sunny days that the Scottish Highlands do better than anywhere on earth. They marked the day with a picnic in Balmoral’s grounds organised by Philip, and games organised by the Queen Mother, who also participated with great gusto.

She was full of tales about her recent visit to Africa, representing her daughter in Rhodesia and Nyasaland. The Queen had been deeply worried about this trip, given what had happened on her own. She had implored her mother’s officials to take the greatest care of her. And they had done. Nothing had gone wrong.

‘Everyone was absolutely delightful,’ her mother insisted gaily. People usually were, in her company. It was hard not to be, when she was obviously having fun herself.

Had a sabotage plan been tried, and failed? Was it luck that spared the older Elizabeth, or was it only the Queen and Philip who were at threat? The Queen didn’t know.

She was distracted watching her children race around the grounds on a treasure hunt. They were giddy on attention and chocolate cake. Philip tried to calm them down a bit, but they didn’t listen. He came to stand beside her, laughing.

‘We’ll pay for this tomorrow. They’ll be impossible to get to bed, and then irritable in the morning. Charles especially. Anne’s indestructible. Look at her!’

This reminded the Queen of something. It had been nagging at her for a long time, and the latest report from Inspector Darbishire had made it worse. She took advantage of her husband’s good humour.

‘That night in March,’ she said. ‘When you came home late . . .’

‘What night?’ He turned to her sharply.

‘You know the one.’

‘No idea what you’re talking about.’

‘I think you do. I’d find it very difficult to explain . . .’

His jaw was clenching. ‘What’s that got to with anything? Has anyone asked you?’

‘Well, no, but—’