‘The house we’d tracked her down to was deserted. Gone away on a long holiday, the neighbours said. Either it’s a coincidence, or she’s on the move. We’re doing our best to locate her, but even these days, the world is a big place.’
‘I see,’ Simon answered, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice.
‘Haslam’s on to something, I know she is, Warburton. We’d better bloody well find out what it is.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The phone went dead.
Joanna put the menu down and glanced at her watch. The string quartet in the Palm Court tea room began to play the first dance. From the tables around her, elderly ladies and gentlemen, dressed in finery reminiscent of a more graceful age, stood up and took to the floor.
‘Would madam like to order?’
‘Yes. Afternoon tea for two, please.’
‘Very good, madam.’
Joanna fiddled nervously with the locket round her neck, feeling uncomfortable in the summer dress she had bought with cash that morning in order to be allowed into the Waldorf’s famous tea room. She had positioned herself so she had a perfect uninterrupted view of the entrance. It was twenty past three. With every minute that ticked by, her confidence was waning, her heartbeat growing ever faster.
Half an hour later, the Earl Grey tea had grown cool in the shiny silver teapot. The edges of the cucumber-and-cream-cheese sandwiches, untouched on the fine bone-china plate, began to curl. At half past four, nerves and the fact that she’d drunk numerous cups of tea were making a trip to the lavatory an urgent necessity. The tea dance finished in half an hour. She had to hold out until then, just in case.
At five o’clock, after rousing applause for the musicians, the guests began to disperse. Joanna paid the bill, picked up her handbag and headed for the ladies’. She straightened her hair, which she had rather inexpertly piled on top of her head with combs, and reapplied some lipstick.
Of course, she admitted to herself, it had been a ridiculous long shot. Grace Harrison was probably long dead and buried. And even if she wasn’t, the chances of her seeing the advertisement,orresponding to it, were minuscule.
She was suddenly aware of a face behind her staring into the mirror. A face that, despite its age, still showed traces of a noble lineage. Grey hair immaculately coifed, make-up carefully applied.
‘I hear tell the Knight once stayed at the Waldorf?’ the woman said.
Joanna turned round slowly, gazed into the faded but intelligent green eyes, and nodded.
‘And his Lady in White came with him.’
The woman led her up several staircases and down a thickly carpeted corridor, until they reached the door to her suite. Joanna unlocked the door with the key the woman offered her, then ushered her through the door, and closed and locked it behind them. She immediately went to the window, with its view of the busy London street below, full of theatregoers and tourists, and shut the curtains.
‘Please, do sit down,’ the woman said.
‘Thank you . . . Er, may I call you Grace?’
‘You may, my dear, of course, if it pleases you to do so.’ The woman gave a short chuckle, then eased herself into one of the comfortable armchairs in the ornate sitting room.
Joanna sat down opposite her. ‘YouareGrace Harrison, née White? Wife of Sir James Harrison, who died in France over sixty years ago?’
‘No.’
‘Then who are you?’
The old lady smiled at her. ‘I think, if we are to be friends, which I’m sure we are, you should just call me Rose.’
As soon as Simon arrived with Zoe in London, he ran upstairs to his bedroom, shut the door and checked his mobile. Seeing he had four missed calls, he dialled the number back.
‘I’ve just spoken to the editor of Haslam’s paper,’ Jenkins snapped. ‘It seems it’s not only her that’s missing. It’s the news-desk editor as well – one Alec O’Farrell. He told his boss he had something big and needed a couple of days to follow it up. They’re on to us, Warburton.’
Simon could hear the barely disguised panic in his boss’s voice.
‘I’m putting every available man on this as of now,’ Jenkins continued. ‘If we can find O’Farrell, we’ll make sure he tells us where Haslam has gone.’
‘Surely they won’t be able to break the story, sir? You can control that?’
