It was unlikely a staff member would race across the grounds and vanish by the woods.How would they get past the security gate?Only members of HMSD knew the code.
An intruder?Michael stiffened with the recall of the attempt on Prince John.If he allowed a second attack on a member of the House of Blue, he’d resign his post.Then his mother would win—which she did not deserve—because what other position could he take to serve the Crown?
He snatched up his phone and dialed Operations.“Did I see a runner on the north side?”
“We’re checking video now, sir,” came Lennox’s voice.He trusted her—sharp, reliable, his backup for the Lady Royal.
“Check with Cranston and Somba about the staff.Maybe it was one of them.”
Ending the call, he scanned the grounds again, then changed into jeans, trainers, a Cross PF Youth Club football jersey, and a hoodie.He might as well check the grounds himself.But first he’d pop into the Operations Room.
As he headed for the servants’ stairs, his phone pinged.Mum.Dare he read it?
Mum: I found this on my phone.Thought you might like it.
Michael stared at a picture of Purnell—the sun in her hair, laughter in her brown eyes, a secret behind her smile.
Michael: I took that picture and sent it to you.Why would I want another one?
Mum: Didn’t you delete all your photos?
Michael: So you send me this in case I changed my mind?
Not that it was her business, but he hadn’t deletedeveryphoto of Purnell.Most, yes.He’d saved a few.This was one of them.
Mum: I thought it might be nice to see her bright, smiling face.She loved you.She’d want you to love again.
Mum was incorrigible.First, she nagged him about his career, now his love life, which, by the by, he’d never discussed with her.
Michael: If you’re hinting at setting me up, move off, Mum.I’m happy enough as I am.Good night.
Mum: I don’t believe you’re happy, but if you insist, what can I do?Denial is a lonely place, Mick.
Michael: Good night, Mum.
Mum: How’s it going with the American?I don’t see any news on her yet.
Michael: How did you know about the American?
Mum: Your father told me.Do you like her?
Dad?Since when did he talk to Mum about life?
Michael: She’s fine.Liking her is not my job, is it?
Mum: Are you coming to Dad and Mum’s anniversary party?
Michael: I’m on duty for the next two months.
Mum: You’re allowed a personal life, surely.It’s your grandparents, Mick.Talk to the queen.Surely she’ll excuse you for Odessa Pratt’s sixty-fifth.
Michael: Good night, Mum.
Ask the queen?Was Mum off her trolley?Surely the chief executive of an international printing company understood chain of command.Gunner Ferguson was his boss, not the Queen of Lauchtenland.
He started toward the Operations Room, but a single glance at his phone stopped him mid-stride.Purnell’s face filled the screen.She was so lovely.In every way.He’d thought himself the luckiest chap alive when she’d agreed to a date.
They’d gone to Pub Clemency, talked without hesitation, laughed easily.He’d snapped this photo—the one Mum sent—the day they signed the lease on their newlywed flat.Oh, how in love he’d been.That afternoon they’d shopped for furniture and tested a hundred sofas.How had he not seen the secret she harbored?When he finally learned, it was too late.
