The Blood Royal(65)

She glanced in puzzlement at the conductor. Slim and elegant in his evening dress, pink scalp shining through the slicked-back hair, he stood, maintaining his customary half-turn to the dance floor. But his well-known smile was frozen on his face, his eyes fixed uneasily on the middle distance. He waggled his baton with less than his usual enthusiasm. ‘Nervous? Look – he can hardly keep the beat going. He seems to have sensed something’s wrong. Perhaps he saw something untoward. Up there on the stand, he’s more likely than most to have spotted trouble. Have you spoken to him?’

Rupert shook his head angrily, his anxiety increasing.

‘Then I think you should try … No, hang on …’ Lily winced and looked again at the band. She frowned and stared. She grabbed the Branch man’s arm and held him back. ‘Rupert – all’s well. You can stand down. It’s the head to the left … it’s a dead give-away. Will you excuse me for a moment?’

She set off for the bandstand.



‘Gotcher!’ Lily spoke in a parody of a police voice straight into the ear of the Prince of Wales. ‘Caught red handed. Clear case of impersonation. Are you going to come quietly?’

He stopped his drumming abruptly, wrong footing several couples on the dance floor. They trailed to a puzzled halt and turned to stare at Cecil, wondering whether the dance was over.

‘Oh, I say – it’s a fair cop! A moment, please. I’ll surrender when I’ve done the flourish.’ He caught the panicking eye of the band leader, nodded and went into a swirling flurry of beats that announced that the dance was indeed over. Moving back into the sides, he peeled off the band uniform coat he was wearing and exchanged it for his evening tails, taking them from the wide-eyed and embarrassed drummer who’d been put to wait in the wings. ‘Thank you so much, Tommy,’ said the prince. ‘I really enjoyed that. Quite got the evening going!’

Edward, pink faced with exertion, turned to Lily and held out a hand. ‘I say – you must be my dancing policeman.’ He peered closely at her. ‘Can I possibly have that right?’

Lily shook his hand, unable to think of any other response. ‘Lily Wentworth, sir.’

‘You may call me sir if you prefer, Lily, but my close friends call me by my last name which is David,’ he said lightly. ‘And I think, for this evening, you’re meant to be a friend and staying close. How did you spot me?’ He laughed. ‘I’ve been watching the heavy brigade tooling about the room searching for me. They never once looked up at the bandstand! And then Sandilands came in and started charging about the place like a bull let loose in Harrods. No attention from him either. You saw me straight away. How come?’

‘I have an ear for rhythm – you were half a beat out. And you were the only one of a well-drilled line-up that had his head permanently set like this – to the left. I’ve noticed it in photographs.’ Lily demonstrated, putting her head on one side and staring soulfully into the middle distance. ‘When you know what to look for in a group photograph it stands out a mile.’

The prince was entertained by her impersonation. ‘I see it! Me and Alexander the Great!’ he chortled. ‘I always knew we must have something in common. Now that Cecil’s recovered his beat … what’s that he’s giving us now? Ah – a slow waltz to allow his heart rate a chance to recover … shall we take the floor?’

The moment they swirled off into the waltz, the whole room seemed to exhale a breath of relief and the floor was invaded by every couple in the room intent on being seen dancing in the company of the heir to the throne. After a few moments, he confided: ‘So glad they’ve sent me a policeman who can really dance – I feared the worst. I’ve seen your mob on parade. Better equipped for tossing the caber than tripping the light fantastic!’

‘Some of us can do both, sir.’ Lily smiled and leaned into a reverse turn, relishing Sandilands’ astonished face as they swooped by. A discreet and distant flash told her that Cyril was recording the moment.

HRH, as Sandilands called him, had the reputation of being a charming man. Lily had always thought that if she ever met a so-called charming man she’d be sick on his dancing shoes. But after two or three circuits of the floor, she reluctantly had to admit that she was charmed, if by that she meant amused, intrigued and flattered. He had much to say and spoke with feeling and humour. And there was some other quality – a deprecating self-awareness that drew one in. He seemed to have an unending stream of stories, some told against himself, that kept Lily laughing. His relaxed view of events, however, began to alarm her. So unflurried was her partner, he surely could not have been made fully aware of the seriousness of the threat against him.