But Miranda waved for her to put it away, heading for the door.
The night was chilly, the road empty but for a few young men at the entrance to the alleyway, far away from the lone streetlight. They watched her as she walked past, one of them giving a wolf whistle, another jeering, ‘Looking for business, darlin’?’
Miranda ignored them. She’d been an investigative journalist in New York far too long to be intimidated by such things. A handgun and a few karate moves had provided a good means of repelling trouble, and she’d become adept at using threats and bribes, too. Once, she’d convinced a drug dealer in Queens that she’d print his name and a sketch of him all over the New York press, so he decided it best to step down.
But tonight she opted not to take the alleyway, especially since they hadn’t let her take her gun on the plane.
The red telephone box stood empty on the second corner, and sheslipped inside, slotting in some coins and listening as O’Hara picked up the phone.
‘Have you met the queen yet?’ he demanded.
‘Well, it’s only my first day, and the palace is vast. But don’t worry, I’ll find a way to get to her soon. In any case, I’ve already dug up something juicy, an article on Edward, Elizabeth’s evil uncle.’
‘Go on.’
She told him what she’d overheard, plus a few more of the details from Hilda.
‘But is he a serious threat to the queen’s reign?’ O’Hara lit a cigarette.
‘Give me a chance to poke around,’ Miranda said. ‘I knew it wouldn’t be long before I discovered some man or another trying to undermine a weak new queen.’ Even as she said it, Miranda felt stung by what she was intimating, that a young woman didn’t have as much force as a man.
And that an article she might write could further undermine the queen – women on the whole, in fact.
But she’d do whatever it took to get her story, wouldn’t she?
Wouldn’t she?
‘Well, get a move on! We need that first article here by next week. Everyone’s talking about the gown. I need that photograph. And what about the security? I want a map and a list of all possible threats.’
‘I’ll be onto it, sir.’
‘Don’t let me down again, Miranda.’ His voice was gruff and threatening as he hung up the phone.
Grimacing at these last words, she let her hand linger on the receiver as she thought through what she had to do to get to the gown – it was the one thing she’d always promised him. But getting closer to those in charge of the coronation was risky in itself, let alone getting a photograph of the gown. It could expose her undercover position.
And whatever happened, Miranda couldn’t throw her bigger plan into jeopardy.
LUCY
LUCY HURRIED OVER THE THICK RED CARPET.AFTER ONLYa few weeks at the job, she was exhausted. The five o’clock rises would be the death of her – at the very least they’d put an end to evening singing events.
Not that there had been many of those.
Finding a stage job in London was harder than it had been in Cornwall. After following a few advertisements, she’d only found a place in the chorus for a one-off charity production ofThe Mikado.It wasn’t even in a proper theatre, nor with proper pay.
What’s more, Shirley had promised to go with her to auditions, but she always bowed out because she had to spend time with Vernon. Lucy felt let down and somehow put down, too, as if her dreams of stardom weren’t as important or obtainable as Shirley’s imminent engagement to her beau.
Today she’d been told to collect laundry from Guest Room 33, and she knocked quietly and entered.
The space was large yet cosy. The thick grey-blue curtains were half closed, the lamps shedding cones of golden light from the corners. A vague scent of men’s cologne hung in the air, heady and warm.
As the room appeared to be empty, she walked further inside.
In the corner, a television set was on, the crisp BBC pronunciation of the male presenter conveying the day’s events. ‘This morning, the queen and her mother will be meeting with the archbishop in preparation for the coronation. At its heart, the coronation is a spiritual service, the crown bestowed upon the new monarch by God.’
Lucy stood mesmerized. It wasn’t often that she saw a television, and this was one of the large ones, a sixteen-inch screen inside a polished oak cabinet. They were advertised in the newspapers, far outside her budget. Some newspapers announced that there’d be a television in every other home by the end of the decade, but Lucy couldn’t see that happening.
With a sigh, Lucy switched it off and looked around for the laundry, but there didn’t seem to be any there.
