there to watch her drive past on her way to visit the Royal Ballet School. He had been checked out scores of times over the years, without result. I thought it rather to his credit that he hadn’t transferred his hopeless affections to any of the younger royal ladies.
I drove through into the courtyard, and Joplin and I separated, he to take over some of the security jobs at the Palace door, I to go through and check whether the Princess had any personal plans for the day. Once more (I was getting used to it) I was taken through the dark wooden corridors by the fair young footman I’d seen on the first day. He replied in monosyllables to my attempt at relaxed conversation. Well, it wasn’t much of an attempt: relaxed conversation did not flow easily in that rather overcast environment.
Eventually we arrived at the chilly antechamber which had become familiar if hardly welcoming since we had talked to the Princess’s private secretary there on our first visit to the Palace. Once again the typist was busy in the corner — Miss Trimble her name was, I had found out, and a tight-lipped scrap of gentility she was to be sure. I seldom got more out of her than I had done that first day, but I assumed my most ingratiating manner as I went over to her rickety little desk.
‘Ah, Miss Trimble, a cold sort of morning, isn’t it? The Princess is free today, I believe, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she is.’
‘Do you happen to know whether she plans to go out anywhere informally?’
‘She would be unlikely to tell me.’ Lips pursed: and I would be the last to expect it, she seemed to say. ‘Perhaps Mr Brudenell knows, but he has not yet arrived — ’
But at that moment the Princess herself danced in, and you could see she had no engagements: jeans, no less, and a tight-fitting silk blouse that emphasized everything that her official dresses only gave tantalizing hints of. I say jeans, but these jeans were to work denims what a Fabergé Easter egg is to the kids’ chocolate variety. They were svelte, I tell you: they hugged her all the way, and she looked like a Sunday Supplement fashion plate.
‘Oh — hello, Superintendent. How awful we’re not going out together today. Perhaps I could think of something for after lunch. We’ve both been so busy I’ve hardly begun to get to know you. Miss Trimble, tell Mr Brudenell I’m ready to go through the correspondence, will you?’
‘I’m afraid Mr Brudenell hasn’t arrived yet, Your Royal Highness.’
She looked at the desiccated little secretary with arrogant incomprehension.
‘Hasn’t arrived? But I said I’d see him at eleven.’
‘I’m very sorry, Ma’am — ’
‘Hasn’t he sent a message?’ I asked.
‘I haven’t received one. I’ll check again with the Household and see if one has come in.’
‘This is awfully inconvenient,’ pouted the Princess, turning to me. ‘I suppose there’s some silly demonstration or other holding up the traffic.’
‘The traffic was running perfectly normally a few minutes ago, Ma’am. Does Mr Brudenell have far to drive?’
‘Oh no. I’ve been there. South Kensington somewhere. No distance.’ She drummed her fingers on the table as Miss Trimble spoke into the ’phone. She looked like a spoiled debutante whose Delight has stood her up.
‘They’ve had no word through, Ma’am. I’ll ring his flat, shall I?’
But as the ringing went on and on, I began to get more and more uneasy.
‘Has this ever happened before, Ma’am?’
‘Never,’ she said emphatically.
‘I’m going round,’ I said. ‘Miss Trimble, what’s his address?’
‘Whitehaven Mansions, Lichfield Street.’
‘Will there be some kind of caretaker?’
‘Oh yes, it’s a very — ’
‘Ring him and tell him we’re coming. Tell him we may need the key to Brudenell’s flat.’
And I made my way to the door with a near total lack of ceremony. As I went through it, I heard the Princess say: ‘Really, it’s not that
I drove through into the courtyard, and Joplin and I separated, he to take over some of the security jobs at the Palace door, I to go through and check whether the Princess had any personal plans for the day. Once more (I was getting used to it) I was taken through the dark wooden corridors by the fair young footman I’d seen on the first day. He replied in monosyllables to my attempt at relaxed conversation. Well, it wasn’t much of an attempt: relaxed conversation did not flow easily in that rather overcast environment.
Eventually we arrived at the chilly antechamber which had become familiar if hardly welcoming since we had talked to the Princess’s private secretary there on our first visit to the Palace. Once again the typist was busy in the corner — Miss Trimble her name was, I had found out, and a tight-lipped scrap of gentility she was to be sure. I seldom got more out of her than I had done that first day, but I assumed my most ingratiating manner as I went over to her rickety little desk.
‘Ah, Miss Trimble, a cold sort of morning, isn’t it? The Princess is free today, I believe, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she is.’
‘Do you happen to know whether she plans to go out anywhere informally?’
‘She would be unlikely to tell me.’ Lips pursed: and I would be the last to expect it, she seemed to say. ‘Perhaps Mr Brudenell knows, but he has not yet arrived — ’
But at that moment the Princess herself danced in, and you could see she had no engagements: jeans, no less, and a tight-fitting silk blouse that emphasized everything that her official dresses only gave tantalizing hints of. I say jeans, but these jeans were to work denims what a Fabergé Easter egg is to the kids’ chocolate variety. They were svelte, I tell you: they hugged her all the way, and she looked like a Sunday Supplement fashion plate.
‘Oh — hello, Superintendent. How awful we’re not going out together today. Perhaps I could think of something for after lunch. We’ve both been so busy I’ve hardly begun to get to know you. Miss Trimble, tell Mr Brudenell I’m ready to go through the correspondence, will you?’
‘I’m afraid Mr Brudenell hasn’t arrived yet, Your Royal Highness.’
She looked at the desiccated little secretary with arrogant incomprehension.
‘Hasn’t arrived? But I said I’d see him at eleven.’
‘I’m very sorry, Ma’am — ’
‘Hasn’t he sent a message?’ I asked.
‘I haven’t received one. I’ll check again with the Household and see if one has come in.’
‘This is awfully inconvenient,’ pouted the Princess, turning to me. ‘I suppose there’s some silly demonstration or other holding up the traffic.’
‘The traffic was running perfectly normally a few minutes ago, Ma’am. Does Mr Brudenell have far to drive?’
‘Oh no. I’ve been there. South Kensington somewhere. No distance.’ She drummed her fingers on the table as Miss Trimble spoke into the ’phone. She looked like a spoiled debutante whose Delight has stood her up.
‘They’ve had no word through, Ma’am. I’ll ring his flat, shall I?’
But as the ringing went on and on, I began to get more and more uneasy.
‘Has this ever happened before, Ma’am?’
‘Never,’ she said emphatically.
‘I’m going round,’ I said. ‘Miss Trimble, what’s his address?’
‘Whitehaven Mansions, Lichfield Street.’
‘Will there be some kind of caretaker?’
‘Oh yes, it’s a very — ’
‘Ring him and tell him we’re coming. Tell him we may need the key to Brudenell’s flat.’
And I made my way to the door with a near total lack of ceremony. As I went through it, I heard the Princess say: ‘Really, it’s not that
Similar Books
