The Blood Royal(116)
‘Exactly, sir. A modern man. A nice change for Cassandra. You forgot to add good looking – if you can accept the Ramon Novarro moustache. But with those heart-melting hazel eyes who’s going to quibble about a ’tache? He’s a bit bashed about but he’s energetic, and I’d say exciting. I bet he’s got the tickets for Venice booked already. Yes, Venice … that’s where he’d take her. Lucky woman. I envy her.’
‘Good Lord!’ Joe said again faintly. ‘Perhaps you should register an interest? Join the hinds? But – seriously – ought I to warn Cassandra of her danger?’
‘I’m sure that’s not necessary. She knows what’s what. And the boys seem very happy with the new arrangements. I’d put quite some store by that. William’s a romantic but John is surprisingly mature for his years. He’s made his calculations and read the small print in the will, I’ll bet. The only point on which the boys are confused is what they perceive to be their mother’s warm attentions to you, sir.’
Joe started to walk on. ‘None of your business, Wentworth, but since you brazenly choose to air it, I’ll tell you – she’s a demonstrative woman who’s been married for donkey’s years to a chap who was mostly absent and when present was not the best at expressing emotion. When a sensitive and concerned fellow – that’s me – shows a little regard she responds with a shade too much warmth, perhaps. Stop sneering! I think I have enough experience of life to know the difference between genuine affection and a show of it.’
He left a pause to allow her to absorb the suggestion of his worldliness, angry with himself that he had even embarked on self-justification.
‘All that hand-clasping, sir?’
‘Yes, that. And the slightly calculated and over-long embraces … the pretence of intimate knowledge …’ Joe shook his head. ‘As a matter of fact, I prefer chocolate cake … No, all a sham … I regret to say,’ he added, to be tormenting.
‘Have you asked yourself why she would bother, sir?’
‘Can’t say I’ve given it much thought with all the other things screaming for my attention. Assassination trumps a languishing look any day.’ He sighed and gave her arm an encouraging squeeze. ‘And, at all events, you can put all this Milady’s Boudoir nonsense out of your head – we have more serious matters to mull over. Cassandra’s news was a bit of a facer, don’t you think?’
‘Glory be, yes! Norfolk! A selection of the royal family gathered together under one doubtless rickety church roof.’
‘And, before you ask – I had no idea. If our Morrigan gets to hear of this – and on the rambling grapevine that is English society, she’s probably had word already – she’ll be forging her invitation, hiding herself behind the arras or planning to blow up the church. Next Saturday. It’s tight, but she must be accounted for well before next Saturday.’
‘Morrigan! Entertaining load of cobblers you were dishing out for the Dedhams! The cabby ruled her out? Oh, yes? And have you investigated a connection between the possible Sinn Fein lady and the possible gent at number thirty-nine?’
‘Mountfitchet? He’s not as white as the driven snow. Bacchus managed to gain access to the gentleman in one of his more wakeful moments. Kicked out of his regiment for naughtiness of various kinds. But he hasn’t two working brain cells to rub together, nor a political bone in his body, which is English to the core. No Irish connections whatsoever. Dead end I’m afraid, Wentworth.’
Taxis seemed to be few and far between on a Sunday afternoon. And, annoyingly, the moment Joe had attracted the attention of one, Wentworth unhooked her arm from his and turned a stricken face to him. ‘Oh, my Gawd!’ she gabbled. ‘Sir! Ever so sorry. I’ve left my shoulder bag by the sofa back at the admiral’s.’ She looked to left and right, calculating distances. ‘I’ll nip back and get it. Straight in and out. Don’t you come – they’d haul you in again and offer us drinks and we’d lose another hour. Look, that taxi’s drawing up … don’t let it go. Hop in and I’ll see you back at the Yard. I can just stay on the doorstep and ask Eva to fetch it out for me.’
She was six steps down the road by the time he called after her. ‘I know what you’re up to, constable! Stay clear of the hazel eyes – and the antlers!’
The taxi was turning in to Victoria Street when he began to curse himself for all kinds of a fool. He’d seen her hang her battered old satchel on the hatstand in his office before they left. Too shabby to take out to tea in Mayfair?