‘That’s odd.’
‘Very odd, Adelaide. You don’t mind my asking these questions, do you?’
‘Go on.’
‘In the office, all appeared normal. I wasn’t close to Ed, as you know, but we got on pretty well. He didn’t say he’d moved out of the house. The key he gave to the Master of the Household was the same as the one you gave Colonel ffrench-Blake – but it wouldn’t work. What I’m asking, Adelaide, is where had Ed been for the past three months?’
‘Another woman?’ suggested Adelaide, with a wan smile. ‘But, Guy, I don’t think so. You know who he was sweet on.’
‘Oh, you’d heard that.’
‘He never talked about anybody else. HM this and HM that – I won’t say it was an obsession . . . though maybe it was.’ She shook her head.
‘Still doesn’t solve where he’s been for the past three months.’
Adelaide thought for a moment. ‘There is one thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘We spoke on the telephone, oh, once or twice a week – he’s not a great letter-writer. He was very upset not getting that job.’
‘Which job? He didn’t tell me.’
‘Private secretary to Harry Gloucester.’
Guy raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh? I didn’t know there was a vacancy.’
‘There was. But the powers that be said under the circs they couldn’t allow his name to go forward.’
‘What circs?’
‘Him and the Queen.’
Guy laughed. ‘There’s nothing in that!’
‘Isn’t there?’
‘Oh, Adelaide, he was just a devoted courtier. If she was sweet on him it’ll be because he does – did – his job efficiently and they would sit around and talk about her brother. His regiment, the Black Watch, all that. Nothing more.’
‘Sure?’
‘She’s the Queen, Adelaide!’
‘Mm.’ She looked away. ‘Anyway, he was upset, he thought he could straighten Harry Gloucester out. The man’s a complete chump, you know.’
‘He is the King’s brother. You don’t “straighten out” a royal duke.’
‘You don’t know the half of it. And just think, Guy, if anything happens to the King, Harry Gloucester will be Regent – he will sit on the throne.’
‘That’s not going to happen.’
‘Well, he seems to think it might. It’s astonishing how much he needs protecting from himself.’
‘And Ed was going to do that?’
‘He talked a lot about it. How the King has got the Duke of Windsor wishing he was back on the throne – still trying to throw his weight about even though he’s thousands of miles away. The Queen is always complaining about it.’
Guy nodded. ‘I know.’
‘And then his younger brother just as eager to see if the throne will fit his big fat bottom. I shouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t sneak into the Throne Room sometimes and just sit there, trying it out for size!’
‘All this backstabbing,’ said Guy, shaking his head, ‘when there’s a war on. Unbelievable.’
‘Tip of the iceberg. Remember, Ed had been in the Palace since the Abdication. You’ve only been there . . . ?’
‘Six weeks. Had to get away from . . .’
‘Tangier. I know. There was quite a lot of talk when you first turned up. What went wrong out there? How did you end up in the Palace? You’re a painter, not a courtier!’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘Well, you can tell me over dinner.’ Adelaide poured more tea, then walked over to the window to call her children in from the lawn.
‘There’s something very odd about all this,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘The Gloucester job was pretty much guaranteed. Then, suddenly, it wasn’t. The Lord Chamberlain’s office . . . they told me he’d had an accident with his pistol.’
‘That’s right.’
‘You’re sure about that?’
‘Yes, as certain as I can be. I didn’t actually see the . . .’
‘It’s very strange, Guy.’
‘Because?’
‘Because he didn’t have a pistol. After he retired from the army, he handed it in. Guy, he didn’t have a pistol.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘So you see, Rupe, it’s a bit tricky.’
‘Why don’t you get the police to do it?’
They were sitting in the flat they shared above Victoria bus station. At the best of times the place was dreary, but once the sunlight had gone it became almost oppressive. The mood was lightened by a few small canvases Guy had managed to salvage in his flight from the ghastly Tangier business. His sunset over the Gates of Hercules was particularly fine – and hung, slightly crooked, over the leaky gas fire.
The rooms were damp and so were the sofas they sat on, but in wartime you do not choose your accommodation; it chooses you. Similarly, you do not choose your flatmates, especially when you’ve been parachuted back into London with your tail between your legs.
Rupert Hardacre claimed to be a postman, but even at first glance it was easy to see he was more than that. The clothes in his wardrobe, the people he met, the unexplained absences all pointed to something else, and yet, each morning, he put on the uniform and peaked cap supplied by the General Post Office and disappeared at dawn.
Conversationally, much of their individual lives was off limits. Occasionally they would discuss a problem on the tacit understanding that it would be immediately forgotten. In general, their common ground was a discussion of the whisky they were drinking, and how to get more.
‘So,’ prompted Rupe, ‘the police?’
‘Can’t involve them because Edgar’s death simply cannot become a police matter. A tragic accident, no call for Scotland Yard to be poking their noses in.’
‘So what you’re saying is . . .’
‘What I’m saying is my people, the powers that be, want the option of being able to plant Edgar’s body back in his house in Markham Street so he can be “found” there. My job this morning was to make sure there was nothing in the house which would compromise that – but I couldn’t get in. Somebody’s changed the locks.’
‘Why would they do that?’
‘I have no idea, and I don’t care – maybe the lock just got jammed, I don’t know. All I know is – I can’t get in the house, and by tomorrow morning they may well want to plant Edgar’s body there. They can’t leave it too long, after all. Anything rather than it being found on palace premises.’
Rupert stretched his long legs and looked at the ceiling. ‘You’re asking my advice?’
‘Of course.’
‘There’s only one solution I can think of at short notice. But you won’t like it.’
‘Anything.’
‘Rodie Carr.’
‘I don’t . . . really . . . I couldn’t possibly . . .’ Guy spluttered. He could not summon the words to express his horror.
‘She’s the only person I know, and certainly the only one you know, who can get through a locked door just by looking at it. Take what she did getting into your office, and there were police and armed guards all over the place.’