The rain fell steadily outside, but the room was warmed by a small electric fire. One of the corgis made herself at home at Joan’s feet, and the Queen took this as a good sign. Corgis were an excellent judge of character. They tended to nip the ankles of people they didn’t approve of.
Joan brushed off the Queen’s solicitous enquiries about her wrist, just as she brushed off Joan’s thanks for the soup and flowers. The Queen had wanted to discuss her theories about Ginette Fleury first but, looking at Joan’s bright face, she decided it could wait. There was something different about her APS today. It wasn’t the fading bruise under her right eye. Was it her new hairstyle or her recent adventures? Whatever it was, it suited her.
‘I can see you have news,’ she said. She was glad she had decided not to wait any longer. ‘Tell me everything.’
‘First of all,’ Joan said, ‘there’s something I wanted to tell you last month, but I felt I had to do it face to face. I didn’t trust it to a letter, even in code.’
This was alarming. ‘What?’
Joan took a deep breath. ‘I think the press secretary might be working with your uncle.’
The Queen had been fearing all sorts of developments, but not this.
‘The Duke of Windsor?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Impossible. He has no role here any more. He knows that.’
Joan held her ground. ‘I saw a letter. The contents included the words “plan” and “delay” and “Washington”. The letterhead was his. There were two sheets of paper, handwritten, and Jeremy didn’t want me to see them. I don’t think he knows I
‘That certainly puts things in a new light,’ the Queen said, stiffening.
Her uncle meant trouble, and had done all his adult life. He was a very self-indulgent man, who had chosen his love life over the Crown. It was difficult to forgive the burden he had placed on her father as a result of his decision not to remain as king. Although, given the warmth Uncle David and his wife had showed to Hitler before the war, she had to admit the abdication wasn’t altogether a bad thing. She would deal with that thought later.
‘Was there anything else?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Joan said readily. ‘Tony Radnor-Milne is working with the Duke of Maidstone. I saw them together at the Artemis Club. That’s why I was run over.’
The revelations were coming thick and fast.
The Queen remembered the glee with which he’d told her about the girls at the Raffles agency. She’d been thinking about him in vague relation to the murders, and here he was again . . . but in the context of the plot against her.
‘You look surprised, ma’am.’
The Queen sighed. ‘Not entirely. Nothing Maidstone does will ever surprise me. He once “hid” a hundred sheep in Canterbury Cathedral for a bet. I’m quite surprised that someone like Tony Radnor-Milne would be interested in him, though. They have shooting in common, I suppose.’
‘I don’t think they were talking about shooting.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Could it be something to do with industry, or trade, or finance?’ Joan suggested. ‘I know Tony’s a big investor in rubber. And plastics and aviation.’
‘I can’t see the duke taking an interest in aviation. But rubber . . . Thank you. I’ll think about it.’ Joan had obviously had a very educational time at the Artemis. But that wasn’t why one had sent her there. Hesitantly, the Queen asked, ‘Did you find out anything else at the club?’
She hoped Joan didn’t think she had been hinting at anything more than simply
‘I did, ma’am.’ Joan shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘On the night of the murders, the um . . . the person in question . . . left with a friend after dinner and lost his security detail. His whereabouts are unclear after that. That’s all I know for sure. But I should add, quite a lot of people know about it.’
The Queen’s heart sank. She knew Philip’s alibi for that night couldn’t be
‘I see,’ she said. ‘And when you say, “lost his security detail” . . . ?’
‘He did it deliberately, ma’am.’
‘Ah. And you don’t know where he went?’
‘Actually, I think I do,’ Joan said.
She explained about her visit to Cresswell Place and her subsequent chat with Hector Ross. Yet again, this came out of the blue. The Queen knew of Major Ross through the papers in her boxes, the ones marked ‘Top Secret’. He was responsible for several of them. Thanks to Sir Hugh’s well-meaning interference – possibly at the suggestion of Tony Radnor-Milne – he had become Joan’s landlord. Given his solicitousness with the provisions from the palace, the Queen was alarmed to infer that they seemed to be sharing a flat. Not because of any prudishness, but because it could be extremely awkward if news of it ever leaked to the sorts of people who liked to stir up trouble.
