‘Are you leaving?’ Betty looked into her niece’s eyes. ‘Whatever happened, it can’t be that bad!’
‘You wouldn’t understand.’ This was the last thing Miranda needed.
Lowering herself onto the bed, Betty patted the space beside her. ‘You never know, maybe I can help.’
But Miranda turned back to the suitcase. ‘I have to go back to New York. The airline said I can get a flight this afternoon.’
‘But I thought you liked it here – thatthiswas your new home, dear.’ Betty reached a hand out to Miranda’s. ‘Why don’t you tell me what happened?’
‘You wouldn’t want me here if you knew.’
‘You’re my niece, Miranda. I want to help you, no matter what you’ve done.’
Miranda threw off her aunt’s hand. ‘Leave me alone! I have to go.’
Silently, Betty headed to her own bedroom, returning as Miranda was pulling the suitcase to the door. In Betty’s hand was a battered old envelope, and she handed it to Miranda.
Without looking inside, Miranda knew what it contained. She could feel the bundle of notes in the thin paper.
Shoving it back to Betty, she muttered, ‘I couldn’t possibly take this from you. You don’t know what I’ve done!’ She felt a sob in her throat.
‘I just want you to be safe, dear. If this is what you need to get back, you take it.’
‘But...’ Tears overwhelmed her. ‘But I’m leaving because I betrayed all of you. I’m’ – she couldn’t help just coming out with it – ‘I’m J. Marshall, the infiltrator, a journalist collecting material for a palace exposé. Sinclair found my notes, and now he’ll tell the minister. I’ll be fired and probably thrown in jail for treason, knowing this crazy country.’
‘Sit down, dear. I’m sure it’s not all that bad.’ Betty was eerily calm, as if the information wasn’t entirely a surprise. ‘You wouldn’t be sent to jail, but you would find yourself out of a job – although if you’re a journalist, you probably have other plans, don’t you?’
Miranda nodded, unsure why her aunt was being so reasonable. ‘I needed something new to keep my job, and when Dad told me aboutyour offer, I grabbed it like a lifeline.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘I shouldn’t have stayed so late at Sinclair’s – then no one would have found out.’
‘The truth always comes out eventually.’ Betty gave her a handkerchief. ‘I take it you still have enough to write your articles, so why are you so unhappy about it, if you’re as ruthless as you say you are?’
As she blew her nose, Miranda felt herself wither. ‘Maybe I’m not all that ruthless,’ she muttered. ‘It’s not easy being a widow. You get put down and overlooked unless you can show them you’re twice as tough as any man.’
Betty pulled her in closer. ‘You’re only a widow as long as you choose that title. You could be single, or even married again if you wanted. You could also be happy in a job where you don’t have to lie and cheat just to stay in the game.’
‘But I’ve always wanted to be a journalist – it’s who I am – and this is how the profession works.’
‘There has to be another way, doesn’t there? I know it’s hard for a woman to get ahead these days, but, Miranda, you can’t pretend it costs you nothing. You’re putting Sinclair’s job on the line, as well as ours. Caroline’s position relies on the strictest of confidences, and she’d almost certainly be fired if anyone knew she’d let you see the gown.’
‘I didn’t think.’ Miranda felt her heart tumble with the reality of what she could have caused.
‘I expected more from you, Miranda.’ Betty’s voice was calm, but it was obvious that she was hurt. ‘You’re clever, efficient and witty, but you’re so busy making sure the world knows it, that you don’t notice the people you’re knocking down along the way.’
‘But can’t you see, this is the way I do things – it’s how I work.’
‘You’ve faced massive grief in your life, dear. Just because you needed to do whatever it took then, it doesn’t mean it still holds true today. Nothing is worth that. Don’t let these newspapermen dictate what you do. Don’t ever give up on your friends and family, on what and who you hold dear. Because giving up other people means you lost.’ Her mouth clenched. ‘You have to take the darkness from your life and turn it into light.’
Her head spinning, Miranda frowned at Betty. ‘You have no ideawhat it’s like to be me.’ She thrust the envelope back at her aunt. ‘I don’t need your money. Just stay out of my business.’
And with that, she picked up her suitcase and darted down the stairs, slamming the front door behind her.
LONDON AIRPORT WAS BUSTLING. Uniformed pilots and chic airline stewardesses filed past, interspersed with wealthy travellers and businessmen. A group of men in white Middle Eastern attire had arrived, presumably for the coronation, and were hurried into a waiting limousine.
Sullenly, Miranda joined the queue at the airline desk.
All she wanted was to be back in New York, put the palace, Betty and Sinclair out of her mind.
The woman behind the desk took her ticket. ‘As the flight is leaving in a few hours, I’ll have to check with the ground crew.’ She pointed to a group of chairs. ‘Take a seat, and I’ll call you back to the desk when I have a confirmation.’
