His contact in Paris was still looking for confirmation of who the letter writer said she was. But in a way, it didn’t matter. Darbishire had just reinterviewed Rita Gollanz, who corroborated the story about Ginette’s real identity. The fact was that Gina Fonteyn, known to Rita as Ginette Fleury, claimed Marianne was killed by the Gestapo, and he had proof that this was true. And the killer – as good as dammit – was indeed the man who was found beside Ginette that night. She told Rita she was fifteen at the time Marianne was captured, so that would make her twenty-eight now, which Deedar agreed was about right for the body he examined. So far, everything suggested by the letter writer fitted. It was a story of revenge.
Darbishire didn’t mention the letter in his report. He referred to ‘new information’ and smoothly progressed to the work that he and Woolgar had done to verify it. They were responsible for finding the evidence, and that’s what mattered.
It still wasn’t clear what happened after Ginette Fleury and Jean-Pierre Minot met up in Cresswell Place. Woolgar’s theory about a jealous lover was obviously pure hokum, but now that they were on the right track, getting to the truth was only a question of time. The momentum was back in the investigation, which made this tired policeman very happy.
The only fly in the ointment – apart from Woolgar’s puppyish and unjustified self-congratulation – was the look that Chief Inspector Venables gave them both this morning, when Darbishire was being congratulated on cracking the true identities of the victims. There was a gleam in his eye that Darbishire didn’t like at all. It was something he would need to keep a careful eye on.
At Windsor for the weekend, Philip was in high spirits. They’d be off on their next royal tour in a fortnight. He loved Canada and was fascinated by America. His personal library was piled high with books about both nations and he was eagerly consulting friends who knew them well. They had even eaten hot dogs for supper one night. The Queen was not convinced, but Anne, who’d had them in the nursery, pleaded for them to be on the menu daily and tried to persuade the nanny to post one to Charles at boarding school.
Philip had persuaded the BBC to lend him an old television camera, so she could practise the speech she was going to give before she opened parliament in Ottawa. He’d set the contraption up in her study there without consulting her – the dogs hated it and one had pissed all over it, which said a lot – and it dominated the room like an alien creature. However, she had to admit, the more one got used to it, the easier it was to imagine talking into it ‘like a friend’, as everyone told her to. Philip said she still looked like a plank of wood, but willow now, rather than oak.
They were taking a short break between rehearsals.
‘I’ve been meaning to ask you something,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you once belong to something called the Empire Club?’
‘Hmm? D’you mean the Empire Society?’ he asked, unscrewing the camera lens and peering inside.
‘Possibly. The one run by the Duke of Maidstone.’
‘“Bonkers Bunny”. Yes. I joined for about ten minutes. Bunny invited me to shoot with them out at Enfield. The bag was good, but the guns were ghastly.’
He meant the people, not the weapons. ‘Who?’ she asked. ‘Stephen Seymour wasn’t one of them, was he?’
‘No, not that day. It’s men like old Robbie Suffolk and Quentin Fanshaw at the Bank of East India.’
‘Do you know why it’s called the Empire Society?’
‘Ha!’ he said. ‘I thought it was a joke, but they seem to have this idea that we still run the empire. Not sure where they’ve been the last thirty years. They like to bang on about the old days when their grandparents rode about on elephants. Might as well be back in the 1850s. They’re “frightfully grand, you know”,’ he said, mocking the upper-class accent of an older generation. One that hadn’t arrived as a family of refugees in a boat. ‘Grovellingly polite and hideously rude. They call me a Greek and you a Hun, when they think we’re not listening. Can’t abide ’em.’
‘Didn’t you say Bunny had interests in Borneo?’
Philip had been tinkering with the camera and now held two rods in his hand that looked rather important. He tried to fit them back in as he spoke. ‘Yes, huge ones. Teak and rubber. How d’you think he can afford to keep that shoot going? Why?’
‘No particular reason. I wonder what the society will do now there’s no empire. He wasn’t thinking of changing it to the Commonwealth Society, was he?’
‘God, no! He thinks we backed down. Shouldn’t be giving places like Malaya their independence.’
‘He doesn’t appreciate the peaceful handover of power?’ the Queen asked.
‘Absolutely not! Robbie Suffolk called us bloody cowards.’
‘They never said anything to me.’
‘They wouldn’t, Lilibet. You’re the Queen. They want to be invited to the next coronation. Right, are you ready? I’ve got the lens back on. Let’s try again.’
