‘Well then, there we go. Love has us make the most reckless – and often misguided – decisions, as you have already seen.’
‘Yes.’
Rose stood up and laid a gentle hand on Joanna’s shoulder. ‘I leave it to your conscience. And to fate. Goodbye, my dear. If you survive to tell the tale, you’ll leave your mark on the world one way or another, of that there’s no doubt. See yourself out, will you?’ Rose walked towards the bedroom and closed the door behind her.
Endgame
The stage of the game when few pieces remain on the board
40
‘Hi, Simon,’ Zoe said as he appeared the following lunchtime in the Welbeck Street kitchen.
‘Hi. Everything okay?’
‘Yes.’ Zoe thought Simon looked tense and strained. ‘Has Miss Burrows gone now you’re back?’
‘Yes, she left as I arrived. I somehow didn’t fancy sharing quarters with her.’
‘Right.’ Zoe dipped her finger into the sauce she was stirring on the hob. ‘She’s an attractive girl.’
‘Not my type, I’m afraid,’ Simon answered shortly, as he filled a cup with instant coffee granules and hot water. ‘What are you cooking?’
‘What do you cook for a prince?’ she sighed. ‘I’m going for my dinner party staple of stroganoff. Not exactly lobster thermidor, but it’ll have to do.’
‘Oh God, of course! Your supper’s tonight! I’d forgotten all about it.’
‘Art called me last night. He said he was expecting you down at Sandringham late afternoon to bring him here. I left a message asking Joanna to arrive at eight, so that should time nicely. Sadly, two of my friends have cried off, so it will just be the three of us.’
Simon’s heart missed a beat. ‘Joanna’s coming?’
‘Yes, but even she hasn’t replied to my message. We’ve become really close and I’d love to know what she thinks of Art.’
‘Do you think you should call her again to find out?’
‘Yes, I suppose I should.’ She wiped her hands on her apron. ‘Keep stirring, will you?’
Zoe was back a few minutes later. ‘Straight to answer-phone,’ she said, as she watched Simon search her cupboards. He turned around with a bottle in his hand. ‘Add some Tabasco, it gives the sauce that extra zing.’
Later that day, Simon’s mobile rang. ‘We’ve located O’Farrell. Knew he couldn’t stay without whisky too long. He signed a credit-card slip to buy supplies at an off-licence in the Docklands.’
‘Right.’
‘We ran a check on his acquaintances and it seems he has a journalist pal in the States who owns a flat near the off-licence. My men have checked, and there are signs of life in the apartment. They have it under heavy surveillance at the moment. We’ve got hold of the telephone number of the place. If he’s going online to send the story, we can stop it instantly.’
‘And Haslam?’
‘Not a sniff.’
‘Haslam’s been invited here to supper tonight, although I doubt she’ll turn up. It would be rather like walking into the lion’s den. Do I continue as usual for the present?’
‘Yes. If nothing comes to light, collect HRH from Norfolk as planned. Burrows will be in situ whilst you do so. Just make sure you’re both armed, Warburton. I’ll be in touch.’
Just before five o’clock that afternoon, Simon arrived outside the beautiful secluded house on the Sandringham estate and pulled the car to a halt. He opened the door, got out and saw the butler was already opening the front door.
‘His Royal Highness will be slightly delayed, I’m afraid. As he might be some time, he suggested you might wish to wait inside and take some tea.’
‘Thank you.’ Simon followed the butler into the house, along the hall and into a small but richly furnished sitting room.
