The Blood Royal(139)

He launched with clerical confidence into a soothing address to the crowd. ‘Officer … everyone … no harm done, as you see. A touch of the hysterics but sound in wind and limb, I think we can say. But the mind? Ah, the mind! And the soul?’ He shook his handsome head in sorrow.

‘She’s lucky you were passing, Padré,’ someone commented.

‘Indeed! I thank God for the guidance He has given me. I had intended to take the Tube this morning. But now I shall need to have a quiet word with this poor young thing and explain to her the Almighty’s views on her impulse to self-destruction. Do feel free to stay and hear His words …’

An invitation guaranteed to start the crowd moving off. But the beat bobby knew his job. Suicide was more than a sin in the Metropolitan district – it was a crime. He advanced officiously on Lily, notebook in hand.

The vicar produced a small bible from his pocket. He took a card from it and passed it to the officer. At the sight of it, the custodian of law and order began energetically to move the remaining spectators on and then, after a certain amount of huffing and puffing and saluting, marched off himself, back down the bridge to the southern bank.

The crowd had gone, leaving Lily eyeing her saviour with suspicion. ‘Cor blimey, sir! In that suit and dog collar, you’re almost unrecognizable. If you were following me, why did it take you so long to step in?’

‘I was following you. You seemed to be on such good terms with our friend I thought I’d let you finish your conversation. And, at the moment critique, I was mobbed by a crowd of tourists wanting to know how to get to St Paul’s. Quite took me by surprise – you were there one second and gone the next! It’s some time since I did basic training in shadowing … I clearly need a refresher. Should have sent Fanshawe … No – perhaps not. I say – you didn’t really try to jump, did you?’

‘I was going to be her next victim. Murdering, vindictive cow!’

‘Mind your language, constable, and stop fussing. All’s well, isn’t it? I don’t think I see you swimming for shore exactly.’

‘You were never likely to. Sir, I can’t swim!’

The confession was the trigger. Lily could not suppress her body’s reaction any longer. She began to shake. After an injudicious exclamation of dismay, Joe tightened his hold on her and began to mutter encouraging formulae into her ear. Lily thought she heard: ‘Brace up! Worse things happen at sea. You’re quite all right, you know.’

‘You saw who she was?’ Lily mumbled when she could stop her teeth from rattling together.

He nodded. ‘Hard to believe what I saw. Red hair … face of an imp … Not the girl either of us was expecting. When you’ve calmed down, perhaps you’ll confirm my awful suspicions.’ He looked about him swiftly and murmured, ‘A corpse dancing? Did we conjure it up? We weren’t both hallucinating, I suppose?’

‘No. That was the second daughter. But you let her get away.’

He rolled his eyes in disbelief. ‘Next time, then, I’ll chase after Her Imperious Haughtiness and let you drop,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Now, if that’s enough excitement for one day, I could do with a cup of tea. Joe Lyons Corner House suit you? Come on. I think we’d better get our story straight before we report back to the Commissioner.’

Lily stuck out her legs and wiggled her shoeless toes.

Joe groaned. ‘Piggy back, then. I’ll have to carry you. And just hope the man from the Mirror isn’t rushing here, camera in hand, attracted by a telephone call from the police box at the other end of the bridge. Botched suicide plunge. Young woman flees scene in arms of knight-errant vicar. It wouldn’t do either of us any good.’

‘No need for heroics, sir. Strong feet. I can get as far as the nearest taxi stand.’





Chapter Forty




Cherbourg, the Hirondelle, Friday



He had his introductory speech off pat but he nervously rehearsed it again as he unpacked his luggage. He could hardly present himself at the door of her state room – no, that wouldn’t do at all. It would never be his plan to impose himself on her. He thought it best to come across her by chance, standing at the rail staring out to sea perhaps. Yes, that’s how it would happen. He wouldn’t rush it. He’d time his appearance for dawn on the first morning out from Southampton. Always glad to come through the dark hours, she loved to watch the sun rise, he remembered. She’d be there at the stern. ‘I say, miss, for a moment I thought I knew you. Great heavens! I do know you!’ he’d say in surprise. If she didn’t instantly deny it he’d carry on: ‘We met quite some time ago, I believe … What would you say to taking a turn around the deck and remembering old times?’ Or some such rubbish. He acknowledged that he was not honey tongued with women.