‘It looks like Sinclair’s keen to get your attention,’ Caroline whispered.
Miranda gave him a limp smile back, an unusual self-consciousness mixed with a kind of relief.
Soon, the procession stopped for a break, and the queen stood alone for a moment, glaring at the floor in a trance, as if trying to reconnect with who she was, the incredible job that she was there to do.
How extraordinary it must feel.
But then, as if sensing her unrest, Philip strode down from the door, putting a hand on her elbow as he said a few words to make her laugh. She replied to him, and their heads seemed to lock together in intimacy as she let him draw her away from the others.
And Miranda found herself wondering what it might feel like to be so very close to someone, to depend on someone.
‘Why don’t you talk to Sinclair?’ Caroline whispered. ‘It’ll be easy once you’ve broken the ice.’
With a huff, Miranda made her way over, and he pulled away from the others.
‘It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?’ His tone was polite. ‘I didn’t think you’d have time to be here.’
‘Villiers isn’t around, and I convinced the minister’s men that someone from the procession needed to be here in case of any hiccoughs.’
‘You’re good at that, aren’t you, working undercover behind the scenes’ – he made a small laugh – ‘like a spy, using every channel to get your information.’
Her eyes shot to his, but she saw that he was joking.
He laughed. ‘You don’t have to look so alarmed.’
And quickly, she laughed, too, stepping haphazardly away. ‘I’m sorry about the other week. I was... well, let’s just say I can fly off the handle a little too easily sometimes.’
He looked into her eyes. ‘I know, but I don’t mean any harm, Miranda. Sometimes it feels like we’re both on the same side, and then you just veer away from me.’
‘No, not at all.’ She glanced around to avoid his eyes. ‘It’s complicated, but you have to understand that it doesn’t need to stop us from being friends.’
‘Well, if that’s the case, then I’d like to invite you to see my narrow boat on Saturday evening. I’ve just repainted Nessy’s stern, so she’d be delighted to have visitors.’
‘That would be lovely,’ she said, adding, ‘as friends, of course.’
He nodded. ‘I think we’re both agreed on that after the other day.’
Her relief was only minutely tainted by the fact that he’d made a point of adding that it was he, too, who wanted to be just friends. Had her reactions been so off-putting? Or had he simply decided she was too much work? Next time a more appropriate response would be to smile and explain that she wasn’t interested.
Because she wasn’t, was she?
Together, they watched as the queen retook her place on the throne, the maids of honour at her side.
Miranda mused, ‘Who got to choose those lucky young ladies?’
‘I gather the Queen Mother picked most of them. They come from aristocratic families.’ He looked over at them. ‘Lady Anne Glenconner is a friend from Sandringham, and Lady Mary Russell’s father is a childhood friend of the Queen Mother. The others are ladies whose families have garnered special favours, like Henrietta Villiers.’
‘Villiers?’ Miranda smirked. ‘Any relation to my boss?’
To Miranda’s great surprise, Sinclair replied, ‘He’s her husband.’
‘I forgot he was married! He’s still after every good-looking woman in the building.’
‘Not to mention the girls he organizes for the Thursday Lunch Club and so forth. Quite the party man, in more ways than one.’
‘That poor woman, married to that vile man.’ Miranda thought of the way he took every opportunity to brush her arm, her waist and, more than once, her behind.
Sinclair nodded. ‘Henrietta dotes on him, apparently, ignoring the rumours, or pretending to, at least. It’s always “Richard this and Richard that.”’ But Sinclair stopped as he saw Miranda’s face. ‘What is it?’
