The Blood Royal(20)
Daring and undisciplined. A view contrary to that of the Commissioner himself. That would make her think and wonder.
He gave her a glance across the desk, the calculation in the eyes meant to be offset by the smiling lips. Joe thought grimly that he was probably recreating the effect, in his present state of dark dishevelment, of an ancient Greek reveller he’d seen decorating a vase in the British Museum. Bearded, knowing, conniving and with the same winsome smile, the Attic figure had been leading a garlanded heifer. With one reassuring hand he caressed the silken flank, with the other he tugged on the rope, urging the animal forward up the Sacred Way. If you walked round and inspected the far side of the vase, you could see that they were only steps away from an altar where they were confidently awaited by the priest who stood at the ready, sacrificial knife raised.
‘Your name, Miss Wentworth …’ the smiler with the butcher’s knife administered a further calming pat, leaning confidingly towards her though there was no one else in the room, ‘has come to the top of the dismissals list, as I would imagine you’ve calculated, perceptive girl that you are. And that’s exactly what I ought to be doing this morning – handing you your cards and showing you the door. You were aware of this, of course?’
He waited for her nod before going on. ‘But it’s my opinion that you would be a loss to the force and I’m suggesting a way of circumventing the necessity to terminate your contract. I propose a scheme which, rather than striking your name from the roll, will put it in brackets and move it sideways, so to speak … something on those lines,’ he finished vaguely. A slashing hand mimed the expunging of her name and was followed by a demonstration of the bracketing: two cupped hands moving with the care of a cricketer’s to draw aside and bring to safety.
Lily’s eyes followed them, mesmerized. Large, brown and capable hands. The message they were conveying was easily understood. In the small space between them lay her career. It could be dropped or held firm and she was powerless to decide the outcome.
She made no comment and he pushed on. ‘But further, I think there should be a change in the character of your employment. I’ve chosen you, Miss Wentworth, to help me out. In a rather unusual duty. It’s all a bit hush-hush. Got a dainty summer frock, have you? Well, I want you to mothball that ugly blue outfit you’re wearing, get into mufti and do a bit of undercover work for me.’
‘What? Like a spy, you mean? Like Mata Hari?’
Joe managed not to smile at her innocent remark but his reply was light and teasing: ‘Something like that, perhaps. But I don’t envisage you making an appearance, like that unfortunate lady, before a firing squad. And seducing generals would be an entirely optional activity. No – I simply want you to blend in with the surroundings I’m going to pop you into. I want you to help me sort out a little problem I find I have.’
‘Why me, sir?’
‘Because I’ve seen for myself that you have pluck and initiative. From your file – and from the admiring Stan – I gather that you are utterly reliable. And – a rather essential element in my schemes – you’re a girl who doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty. The task I have in mind is hardly one for a lady …’
Her glare told him he’d made a faux pas. Unaccustomed to making social gaffes, Joe was flustered. ‘Er … don’t misunderstand me. I intended no insult, Wentworth. And you will understand that when you embark on the very particular task I’m about to set you. I was merely trying to convey that I have no use for idle flibbertigibbets who spend their mornings in Asprey and their evenings in Ciro’s.’
‘Horses for courses?’ she suggested.
‘Exactly! You know where you are with horses,’ he said, grinning. ‘You read me right – I’m not looking for a thoroughbred so nervy you have to clap blinkers over its swivelling eyes to stop it dancing sideways.’
‘If you’re seeking a plodding percheron, I can’t help you, sir.’
‘Quite! I’d be looking at you a long time before a cart horse came to mind, miss! No – what I’ve got my sights on is a hunter. Light bay with an intelligent eye. Shows courage over fences. Ideally one that doesn’t bite your hand off down to the arm-pit when you offer it a sugar lump.’
At last she’d smiled at him. He returned her smile and forged on. ‘Now – a further test. The lout you sat upon at Paddington … the Sparrowhawk. Had you been in charge of the case instead of Inspector Proudfoot, how would you have proceeded with him?’