‘Great heavens, girl! Hold the speech until I have a soap box fetched, will you? And possibly a set of manacles!’ Joe was trying to keep it light but he was aghast. She sat there, looking as innocent as a sugar mouse and uttering views hot enough and red enough to warrant putting her on a charge of subversion. ‘I’ve heard much the same nonsense voiced at Speaker’s Corner. Who’ve you been talking to? Who’s stuffed your head with such dangerous ideas? Are you admitting to Bolshevist sympathies? “Off with their heads!” – would that be your war cry?’
‘Certainly not. I was as horrified as anyone by the slaughter of the Russian imperial family.’
‘Though you do not regret the passing of the institution, evidently. I see. Well, I can only conclude that you must, on your own judgement, ground your musket, pick up your kit bag and take your leave,’ he said with finality. He pushed back his chair and got to his feet, the conversation over. ‘You have every right. And you have those rights because others in their thousands, your father and grandfather among them, doubtless right back to Agincourt were willing to sacrifice their lives to preserve them.’
‘Ouch!’ Lily said. ‘Steady on, sir! I’m not armoured against such sentiments. The taking of life – whoever is in possession of it – is an abhorrence to me. And if you’re saying my presence tonight might help to preserve a life – royal though it be – I shall do my bit. I’d do the same for any poor soul threatened by the murderous forces of anarchy or terrorism that are plaguing us. The Prince of Wales or the conductor on the Clapham omnibus – their lives carry the same weight with me. I just wanted you to be clear about that. Look – wasn’t there talk of a drink at Claridges? I think I shall be earning at least a stimulating glass of champagne before the evening gets under way.’
He wondered if he accepted her volte-face too quickly. ‘Excellent notion! Let’s stop fencing and turn our swords in the same direction, shall we?’ He offered his arm and she rose to her feet and placed a hand on it gracefully. ‘Only the best, I think, should be offered in the circumstances. Will a pre-war Bollinger suit?’
‘I think I might like that. But wait a moment, sir. I’ve just thought of something … someone, rather. If, as you say you fear, it’s a case of “hunt the woman”, there’s a man I know who might be of assistance.’ She took a small leather wallet from her bag and selected a calling card from it. ‘Can you ring the number you see on there and ask for this person? With a bit of luck he’ll be still at his desk. Unless he’s headed for Claridges already. And, believe me, with the particular task we have on our hands tonight, he’ll be more use to us than a squadron of secret servicemen. He owes me a favour sir. Rather a large one. Just mention my name. He’ll come.’
Joe held the card between finger and thumb with mock distaste. ‘Oh, him! He’d be there like a shot if invited. But what on earth do you imagine this scoundrel could add to the party? A man of his profession? Jackals! The whole lot of them are banned from the hotel. I remember giving the order myself.’
‘He has a very particular skill, sir. The man’s a walking Debrett. Duchesses invite him to their shindigs to enjoy his latest gossip. He knows everyone in society. If there’s someone at the dance tonight who ought not to be there … an infiltrator … a female infiltrator, as you say your information specifies … I can think of no one more likely to spot her. He knows all the usual royal dancing partners. He can list every girl whose waist the prince has ever squeezed in public since he left naval college.’
Joe followed her reasoning and saw the advantages at once. His eyes gleamed as he reached for the telephone. ‘Operator, get me an outside line, would you? It’s a Fleet Street number.’ He read it out and then handed the equipment to Lily. ‘Who’s he working for now, your chap? The Daily Dirt? The Fortnightly Filth?’
‘Hello. Is Cyril there? Good. Fetch him to the phone, will you? Tell him his woman policeman wants him and it’s urgent.’
Joe eyed her with amused speculation while they waited. ‘Been moonlighting, have we, Wentworth? Offering special police services to the gentlemen of the press? Sort of thing I’m supposed to be clamping down on.’
‘Don’t ask, sir. Reputations would suffer. Ah, there you are! Lily here. Lily Wentworth. Yes – too long! Now listen. I’m in a position to do you another favour. How’d you like to be given an exclusive invitation to attend, as a reporter, the Russian knees-up at Claridges tonight?’ Lily winced and held the earpiece an inch away until the surge of exclamations and questions receded.