‘Lord!’ Fanshawe exclaimed, recognizing it. ‘Not that again! It’s the God-awful Russian painting. What are you doing with that daub, sir?’
‘It has its part to play in the little show I’m putting on. Hocus pocus, Fanshawe. Never disregard it. The picture belongs to Wentworth. A thoughtful gift from HRH for services rendered. I’ve examined it closely – more closely, I’d guess, than the Russian contingent have. It’s sending us a message. One that I think we can interpret in our own way and call to the attention of the princess and her coterie. Can you take a snap of it in this light with your equipment, Bacchus?’
The Branch man appeared delighted to be challenged and set about putting his camera pieces together, muttering happily of lenses and focal lengths and distances as he worked.
The preliminaries complete, the men looked at each other in satisfaction.
‘Do we have to wait for the constable or shall we set about it now and present her with a fait accompli? She is, after all, just delivering the package,’ Fanshawe wanted to know.
Joe appeared to be choosing his words. ‘The princess will interrogate her – in the most civilized way, of course. And our would-be assassin will most likely be listening in. One would hope so. I would like Wentworth to be familiar with the facts and sufficiently in command of the strategy to be able to improvise if necessary. She has to understand the importance of the offer she is about to extend to the Russians. I want her to be listening when we put it together. Wentworth is not to be regarded as cannon fodder – she’s a well-aimed bullet.’ He looked at the clock. ‘I asked her for nine … though her time-keeping seems to be a bit erratic. So …’
One minute later they heard the tap on the door.
* * *
‘It’s a confidence trick, sir!’
‘You have it, Wentworth. I put my hands up to it. A deceitful piece of chicanery! A dirty bit of business!’
‘The end justifies the means, then, you’d say?’
‘Don’t be tedious!’ Joe responded to her cross face with a flash of impatience. ‘This is not a debating society. This is a police force. And a national protection unit. It will take considerable nerve and a degree of low cunning to pull it off. You, I observe, are not short of either, so stay with the stroke I set, will you? We’re anticipating no less than the removal – the permanent removal, one hopes – of this menace to the lives of the prince and the rest of the royal family. When it’s removed, gone abroad, they’ll be able to go about their daily business once more without the constant fear of assassination.’
‘You say “it”, sir.’ Lily spoke hesitantly. ‘We’re talking about “she” – a strong-minded woman who will object to being manipulated. She may refuse to accept a suggestion that she simply leave the country.’
‘I would expect so. And that’s why we have to make her an offer that is irresistible to her. One that will give more satisfaction than sticking a knife in HRH or whatever she has planned for him next time. We have to thank some ancient Greek for an old military proverb: If you wish to get rid of your enemy, build him a golden bridge to flee across.
‘Aristides’ advice to Themistocles, I believe, sir,’ Bacchus chipped in. ‘Concerning the Persian retreat back across the Dardanelles.’
‘Thank you, Bacchus. I believe you’re right. And we’re going to take it again. It’s exactly what we’re going to do. With the utmost politesse we’re going to show our enemy to the border and offer a passage out. The golden bridge in question is a first-class berth on a luxury liner – the Hirondelle did you say, Bacchus?’
‘Yes, sir. The pride of the French fleet,’ he announced. ‘She starts on Friday from Cherbourg where she takes on board a few chefs de cuisine and a chanteuse or two. Then she nips across to Southampton where she picks up the English contingent and goes in one hop to New York. Dancing and dining and entertainment all the way. From there, first class again on the transcontinental railway … Chicago and the sunset route west to San Francisco.’
They all fell silent, imagining the luxury, the adventure, the wide horizons. Someone sighed.
‘May I ask what Anna Petrovna is supposed to do with herself once she gets to California, sir?’ Lily asked.
‘Ah, yes! The whole point of the exercise! Now – what would constitute an impulse strong enough to counter the urge to kill? I’ll tell you: friendship, a reunion , the promise of a fresh start and a wonderful climate, they tell me, in California. And a thriving Russian colony to welcome her. Got your cutting, Bacchus?’