A Royal Affair Page 10

  “Yes. They sent me here for senior officer war training. I ended up as an instructor after that. I had one last command—the Carysfort in twenty-seven, then they kept me land-bound with the Reserve Fleet in Devonport. After that, it’s all been lecturing and making up lost time with the missus.”

  “Who has the Calypso now?” asked Sparks.

  “The crabs and the little fishies,” said Buchanan-Wollaston. “She took an Italian torpedo amidships in 1940. The captain and thirty-eight men went down with her. The rest of the crew were picked up at sea.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Bainbridge.

  “It’s the risk one takes in joining the navy,” said Buchanan-Wollaston. “I should have been out there this time, too. They didn’t want me. Did what I could with training and bureaucracy and all that, but it’s a younger man’s navy now.”

  “Well, this has been fascinating,” said Mrs. Bainbridge as she and Sparks rose to their feet. “We shall be in touch…”

  “But you haven’t heard about the Battle of the Falklands. I was the exec on the Cornwall. Captain was Walter Ellerton, good man, but without much imagination. Now, we were chasing the Jerries south along with the Kent and the Glasgow…”

  Slowly, Mrs. Bainbridge sank back into her seat. Sparks gave her a rueful smile, then turned her gaze towards the handsome young cadets in the distance.

  * * *

  “It was a good story,” admitted Gwen as they walked back to the station. “I never knew how complicated the mathematics were in launching shells from one moving ship to another. It almost made me want to learn to use a slide rule. Thankfully, that feeling has passed.”

  “If he told us how he was mentioned in the dispatches one more time, I was going to dispatch him,” said Iris. “But we are getting somewhere. There was something left behind in Corfu, and that upset Princess Alice.”

  “And our Mr. Talbot knew about it,” added Gwen. “Do you know if she ever went back to Mon Repos?”

  “Nothing in my research so far says she did,” said Iris. “She was in Athens when Greece was occupied.”

  “I wonder if Talbot went back on her behalf.”

  “I wonder why he would. What could be so important that a British Intelligence operative would turn errand boy for an impoverished princess?”

  “She inspired chivalry in his buttoned-down soul,” proposed Gwen. “We know what a gallant he must have been, coming to the rescue of that French war widow. How could he resist the plight of a beautiful, distraught mother with an uncaring husband?”

  “If he did go back,” said Iris.

  “You know, I feel badly about giving the admiral false hope about preening before a group of upper-class biddies for an afternoon. Perhaps I should start a ladies club just for the occasion.”

  “Think your mother-in-law will join?”

  “No. Oh well. We should at least send him copies of those photos that you took.”

  “What a nice idea,” said Iris. “Too bad there wasn’t any film in the camera.”

  CHAPTER 6

  “Two lady’s maids,” said Gwen on the return train. “One nanny, one governess, one valet. A small group to take along.”

  “You consider that small?” asked Iris.

  “For a royal family of that size, yes. They left the butler behind. And the chauffeur.”

  “They left the cars and the villa behind, too,” pointed out Iris. “If they could have loaded them on the ship, I’m sure they would have.”

  “So they only took who they needed,” said Gwen. “One lady’s maid for the princess, one to manage all of those girls…”

  “How I managed to dress myself without one growing up, I’ll never know,” Iris said. “Do you button your own buttons now?”

  “I do. Did you find out the names of any of their servants in your research?”

  “Not yet,” said Iris. “That’s not the sort of information that makes it into a news story.”

  “We’d have to find people who knew them then,” said Gwen. “I wonder if the butler stayed with the villa while they were in exile.”

  “They settled in Paris after they fled Greece,” said Iris. “If Talbot’s widow is there, we could kill two birds. Maybe Lady M would approve that particular trip. Which reminds me, we should call her in the morning and let her know what we’ve found so far.”

  “I can do that,” said Gwen. “Which one am I again?”

  “Catherine Prescott.”

  “Right, you’re Oona. And while we’re speaking of clandestine contacts, there is a call you should make in the morning as well.”

  Iris looked out the train window as they descended into a tunnel, biting her lower lip in chagrin.

  “I will call him,” she said. “I’m not happy about it, but I’ll do it. It could speed things up, and we’ve already been at it for three days.”

  “Two full ones, to be fair,” said Gwen. “Thank you, Iris. I know how much this pains you.”

  “I’ll be late coming in tomorrow, then,” said Iris. “You can run the shop without me?”

  “Of course.”

  * * *

  She had bad dreams that night. The one where her parachute didn’t open. The one where she trudged through a muddy fen and dead women’s hands reached up to pull her inexorably down as she flailed and screamed. The one about Carlos …

  Iris woke in a cold sweat, her chest heaving, arms thrashing about the bed, checking for dead men.

  He’s not here, she thought as she regained control of herself. He can’t do anything to you.

  You bloody well made sure of that.

  Her eyes came to rest on a comforting sight. The bottle of whisky Archie had thoughtfully left for future colds. Or future visits.

  Or future visitations.

  It wouldn’t be the first time she had taken a small dram of courage to get her through the morning. And she might need it to face Him again. And then it would be back to the office, and it would be just another Thursday—

  Thursday. She was meeting that psychiatrist this afternoon. If she admitted that she had started her morning with the help of a whisky bottle, it would not make for a promising beginning.

  She decided she’d save Archie’s gift for special occasions. Like visits from him. Or her next cold.

  Or Friday.

  She got up, put the kettle on, washed her face, then dressed and applied her makeup, except for her lipstick. She poured herself a cup of tea and had it with a single piece of toast. Then came time for her most important decision. She pulled out her small collection of lipsticks and considered.

  She normally wore a bright red to face the world with confidence, but this was an older man and prone to take umbrage at any attempts to flirt. She settled on a darker red, one that gave her a more subdued look.

  When approaching the gods, one must do so with humility.

  She popped the bright red one into her bag for afterwards.

  She walked down the stairs from her flat to the end of the street where there was an available telephone box. She stepped in, popped a coin into the slot, took a deep breath, and dialed.

  “Hello,” said a woman’s voice at the other end.

  “Mr. Petheridge, please,” said Iris.

  “I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.”

  “Isn’t this Welbeck four-five-three-eight?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “I’m terribly sorry,” said Iris.

  She hung up, then walked briskly down the block.

  Five minutes, she thought, looking at her watch.

  She turned right at the next corner, then walked towards the intersection. There was another telephone box at the corner. She stepped inside and checked her watch. It was four minutes and thirty-six seconds after her previous call. She pulled the door shut and waited. Twenty-four seconds later, the telephone rang. She picked up the receiver.

  “Hello, Sparks,” said a man.

  “Hello, Brigadier,” she replied.


  * * *

  Gwen reviewed her notes, then dialed Patience’s number.

  “Lady Matheson’s office. Mrs. Fisher speaking,” came a sharp, no-nonsense voice on the other end.

  “Catherine—”

  Gwen blanked for a moment.

  “Prescott, Catherine Prescott here,” she finished hurriedly. “I would like to speak to Lady Matheson, if she’s available.”

  “One moment, Miss Prescott.”

  She was connected immediately.

  “Miss Prescott, good of you to call,” said Patience.

  “Is this a convenient time?” asked Gwen. “Are we able to speak freely?”

  “We are. It’s been four days. I was hoping to hear from you earlier.”

  “Three days, actually. We’ve been time-traveling,” said Gwen. “Twenty-four years.”

  “Oh?”

  “We know who Talbot is. Or was. He was a member of the British Secret Service, or some equivalent post. He was involved in spiriting Prince Andrea and his family out of Greece in twenty-two. I’m assuming you knew that already.”

  “As I said, I could not reveal any information directly to you.”

  “Well, it might have saved some time. In any case, we also spoke with the captain of the HMS Calypso, which transported the family, including Prince Philip as a baby. He told us that Princess Alice was distraught over leaving something behind at Mon Repos. And that Talbot knew about it, whatever it was.”

  “Whatever it was,” repeated Patience. “So, there could have been something. And Talbot could have recovered it.”

  “Could have been and could have done,” said Gwen. “It’s still all very speculative. We’re following up a lead on Talbot, and we’re going to try and track down the members of Prince Andrea’s staff to see if they knew anything. We don’t have any of their names, unfortunately. Do you?”

  “I can barely keep track of my own servants,” said Patience. “I have no idea who the prince and his family employed.”

  “I didn’t think so, but it was worth asking. I know some people who know some people. I’ll see if any of them know the right people. Have there been any other developments at your end?”

  “None,” said Patience. “Is there any way of speeding up this process?”

  “Grant us clairvoyance and a team of researchers,” said Gwen. “But that would create a higher risk of leaks. You’re trading speed for confidentiality. We’re working as fast as we can, but there are only two of us.”

  “True, very true,” Patience sighed. “All right. Do keep me posted. Call the moment you learn anything new.”

  “How shall we reach you over the weekend?”

  “Weekends do not exist for us until we sort this affair out,” said Patience. “Mrs. Fisher will be at this number and will know how to reach me. And I have your number in Kensington if there is any emergency. Do you have Miss Travis’s number?”

  “I do,” said Gwen, feeling pleased that she recognised Iris’s cover name without hesitation. “She doesn’t like me to give it out. Call me rather than her.”

  “Very well,” said Patience. “Keep in touch. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye.”

  She hung up.

  Paris in the early twenties, thought Gwen. Someone well-connected in society, now in her mid to late forties, with children of the same age so they might remember an expatriate set of royals.

  She thought of three possibilities. She pulled out her address book and began making calls.

  * * *

  Sparks sat on a bench in Paddington Street Gardens, reading the Guardian. It was hot, but a leafy chestnut tree gave her protection from the sun. After some time, an older man walked by. He stopped to watch a group of children playing in the distance, then noted the empty space next to her on the bench.

  “May I?” he asked.

  “Suit yourself,” said Sparks, not looking up from her paper.

  He sat with a sigh of contentment, but his back never touched the back of the bench.

  “Nice to have all this shade,” he commented.

  “We live in the shadows,” said Sparks. “Speaking of which, where’s your bodyguard?”

  “Shame on you, Sparks,” he said. “You’re slipping.”

  “Right,” said Sparks, pulling her compact out of her bag and reapplying her powder while shifting the mirror about. “Ah. There’s the Bentley, and there he is.”

  “So, what are we doing here, Sparks?” asked the Brigadier. “Have you reconsidered my offer?”

  “No, sir. Sorry. I wanted to ask about an old colleague of yours.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re vetting a prospective bachelor, and this man’s name came up.”

  The Brigadier was not known for showing reaction to situations, so the twitching of one eyebrow spoke volumes.

  “Do you mean to say that you went through security protocols and dragged me away from fighting the secret wars so you could arrange a marriage?” he said.

  “We don’t arrange marriages,” said Sparks. “We arrange introductions. The marriages happen or they don’t.”

  “You were infuriating when you were young, Sparks, but this is another level.”

  “I still think of myself as young,” said Sparks.

  “You’re making me feel older by the second. Well, I’m already here. Speak your piece, but make it quick.”

  “Gerald Talbot,” said Sparks. “Old Greek hand.”

  “Died a year ago,” said the Brigadier. “Therefore, not good marriage material. Anything else?”

  “You weren’t at the funeral.”

  “We sent flowers. Anonymously.”

  “Even though he’d been out of the Service since the early twenties?”

  “Once in the Service, always in the Service. We’ll send flowers to your funeral someday.”

  “Cheerful thought,” said Sparks. “What intrigued me about Talbot’s last guest list was the large number of Greeks on it. Unusual for a director of the London and North Eastern Railway Company, unless there is a national enthusiasm for trains in Greece of which I was previously unaware.”

  “He had worked in Greece.”

  “For us. For the Crown’s interests, presumably. And not for decades. What had he done for Greece lately that so many of them showed up?”

  “What does this have to do with some poor blighter’s marriage prospects?”

  “When was the last time Talbot went to Greece on behalf of the Service? His cover was blown after he rescued Prince Andrea and family. After that, his life was mostly tied to choo-choo trains. You brought him in for training the new boys and girls, but that was as a guest lecturer, not as an operative.”

  “It was all hands on deck then, Sparks. You know that. You still haven’t given me any reason why I should divulge anything to you. You’re an outsider now.”

  “Once in the Service, always in the Service. You said so yourself. Just now. I was listening.”

  “No,” said the Brigadier. “Information does not travel on two-way streets. Not unless you tell me what this is all about.”

  “I’ve been sworn to secrecy,” said Sparks.

  “You were sworn to loyalty as well,” said the Brigadier. “I assume that still means something to you.”

  “It does. But this involves the prospective happiness of someone.”

  “Yes, yes, some petulant young bride needs to know if her fiancé has a dark past as an agent, and the happiness of their marriage depends on her knowing the truth. What of it? I have the Crown to worry about.”

  “Well, this petulant young bride will be wearing that crown someday,” said Sparks.

  This prompted the twitching of both eyebrows. He may as well have shouted obscenities in front of the children’s playground.

  “Prince Philip,” he said. “That’s the man you’re vetting.”

  “We may have to vet the whole damn family,” said Sparks. “There may have been a secret, something Talbot found out about, but kept to himself.”<
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  “Then he took it to the grave with him, Sparks. Let it rest.”

  “That’s the problem, sir. He may not have taken it with him.”

  “Who has it now?”

  “By all rights, it should be you. And if it isn’t, I’m wondering why not.”

  “Be careful of what you’re accusing us, Sparks.”

  “I’m not accusing, I’m wondering. Did Talbot tell you of any secrets involving Prince Andrea, Princess Alice, or any of that family?”

  “He did not,” said the Brigadier.

  “Where were you back then?”

  “I was stationed in Rome. When Talbot succeeded in getting Prince Andrea out of custody, I received a cable to arrange for their transportation once they arrived in Brindisi. There was also the matter of obtaining a diplomatic passport for the prince, as the Greeks had seized his when they arrested him. I met the family when they debarked from the Calypso and traveled as extra security with them up to Rome, where they had an audience with the pope, and that was the end of my involvement.”

  “Remember any of their servants’ names, by any chance? Or would there be a report about them I could get at?”

  “No, and absolutely not.”

  “Did Talbot mention anything to you about anything anyone had left behind?”

  “He did not.”

  “Did he ever go back to Corfu after that?”

  “He did, come to think of it,” said the Brigadier, thinking for a moment. “Several years later. Twenty-six, or thereabouts.”

  “Why?”

  “The villa was still in the family’s possession, although Andrea was persona non grata in Greece, unsurprisingly. They leased it to Mountbatten.”

  “Which Mountbatten?”

  “Dickie.”

  “Princess Alice’s brother,” said Sparks. “He’s been a champion of Prince Philip, hasn’t he?”

  “He has,” said the Brigadier. “He arranged for his introduction to the young princess.”

  “Did he spend much time at Mon Repos?”

  “I should doubt it very much. Mountbatten has been an active member of the Royal Navy since the Great War. I don’t know when he would have had the chance to relax anywhere.”