“Can you explain to me why the job was not completed?”
“I’m sorry?”
Jenkins leaned forward. “The old bugger’s still hanging on. He’s likely to die soon, but Zoe Harrison already managed to get into the hospital to see him. God only knows what he told her. Bloody hell, Simpson! You’ve messed up good and proper on this one.”
“Sorry, sir. I took his pulse and I was convinced he was dead.”
Jenkins drummed his fingers on the desk. “I’m warning you, one more slip-up like that and you’re out. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.” Ian’s woolly head was spinning. He wondered if he might pass out.
“Send Warburton in. And damn well get your act together, do you hear?”
“Yes, sir. Sorry again, sir.” Ian stood up and walked as carefully as he could to the door.
“You all right, mate? You look green!” Simon was sitting in a chair outside.
“I feel it. I have to dash. You’re in.”
As he watched Ian run for the toilets, Simon stood up and knocked on the door.
“Come.”
Jenkins smiled at Simon. “Sit down, will you, Warburton?”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Firstly, I want to ask you, without compromising any loyalty and friendship you may have struck up, whether you think Simpson is feeling the pressure, whether he could do with a . . . break.”
“It was his fortieth birthday yesterday, sir.”
“Hardly an excuse, but still . . . I’ve told him to shape up. Keep an eye out, will you? He’s a good member of the team, but I’ve seen others go in a similar direction. Anyway, enough of Simpson. You’re due upstairs in ten minutes for a meeting.”
“Really, sir? Why?” Simon knew that “upstairs” in Thames House was reserved for the highest ranks.
“I have personally recommended you for the assignment. It’s of the utmost delicacy, Warburton. Don’t let me down, will you?”
“I’ll do my best not to, sir.”
“Good.” Jenkins nodded. “That’s all.”
Having left the office, Simon took the elevator up and was then ushered along the thickly carpeted corridor of the upper floor, where an elderly receptionist sat in state alone at the end of it.
“Mr. Warburton?” she asked.
“Yes.”
The woman pressed a button on her desk, then stood up. “Follow me.”
She led him along another corridor and finally tapped on a thick oak-paneled door.
“Come!” barked a voice from inside. She pushed the door open.
“Warburton to see you, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Simon walked toward the desk, noting the huge chandelier that lit the vast room, the heavy velvet curtains that hung at either side of the tall windows. The grand setting was in stark contrast to the diminutive, ancient figure sitting behind the desk in a wheelchair. Yet his presence dominated the space.
“Sit down, Warburton.”
Simon did so, in a high-backed leather chair.
The piercing eyes surveyed him. “Jenkins tells me good things about you.”
“That’s gratifying to hear, sir.”
“I’ve read your file and I was impressed. Like to sit where I’m sitting one day, Warburton?”
Simon presumed he meant this in the context of the room, rather than in the wheelchair. “I would, sir, of course.”
“Do a good job for me and I can guarantee immediate promotion. We’re putting you on the Royalty Protection Branch permanently from tomorrow.”
Simon’s heart sank in disappointment. He’d been imagining a much more challenging assignment. “May I ask why, sir?”
“We think you are the most suited for the task. I believe you’ve already met Zoe Harrison. As I’m sure you have gathered, she and His Royal Highness are ‘involved.’ You will be assigned to her as her full-time personal security officer. You will be briefed by one of their officers this afternoon.”
“I see. Sir, may I ask why you feel it necessary to place an MI5 agent such as myself as a bodyguard? Not wishing to sound churlish, but the position is hardly what I’ve been trained for.”
A glimmer of a smile hovered on his lips. “As it happens, I rather think it is.” He pushed a file toward Simon. “I must leave for a meeting now. You will stay here, read this dossier, and have it memorized by the time I return. You will be locked in while you read it.”
“Right, sir.”
“Once you have read it, you will understand exactly why I want you to be close to Miss Harrison. The situation suits our purposes well.”
“Yes, sir.” Simon took the thick file.
“Do not make any written notes. You will be searched on the way out.” The old man wheeled himself round his desk and across the carpet. “We can discuss things further when you’ve absorbed the information.”
Simon stood up, walked to the door, and opened it to allow the wheelchair to pass through. The door closed behind him and he heard the key turn in the lock on the outside. He went back to sit in a chair and studied the file. The red stamp on the front told him he was about to read the highest category of classified information. Few pairs of eyes would have glanced at it previously. He opened the dossier and began to read.
An hour later, the door was unlocked and opened.
“Have you read and understood, Warburton?”
“Yes, sir.” Simon was still reeling from shock.
“Are you aware of why we think you would be suitable to act as Zoe Harrison’s bodyguard for the foreseeable future?”
“I believe so, sir.”
“I’ve chosen you because your discretion and capabilities are highly regarded by Jenkins and your colleagues. You are a personable young man who is quite capable of befriending a female such as Miss Harrison. She will be informed by the palace that you are to move into her house from the weekend and accompany her wherever she goes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“This should give you ample opportunity to discover what she knows. Her phone lines in Dorset and London have already been tapped. You will also be given the appropriate hardware to place around the house. You will understand now it is of the utmost urgency that we find the letter we need. Sadly, it seems Sir James has decided to play games with us from beyond the grave. The letter you brought to us was a decoy. Your directive is to find and retrieve the letter.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Warburton, I need hardly tell you that what I have entrusted you with is of the utmost delicacy. Others, such as Simpson, have been briefed on a need-to-know basis only. The subject matter must not under any circumstances be discussed outside this room. If there are leaks, it will be you whom I will blame. However, if the situation is brought to a satisfying conclusion, I can guarantee you’ll be very well rewarded.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“When you leave here, you will be issued with a mobile phone which contains one telephone number. You will use it only to report directly to me at four o’clock each afternoon. Otherwise, in your role as personal security officer to Miss Harrison, you will report to the palace security office.” He gestured to an envelope on the table, which Simon picked up. “Your orders are in there. HRH wishes to see you in his rooms at the palace in one hour. I’m relying on you, Warburton. Good luck.”
Simon stood up, shook the proffered hand, and walked toward the door. Then he turned in afterthought. “Just one thing, sir. Haslam told me that the name of the old lady who sent her the letter was ‘Rose.’ ”
The man in the wheelchair gave a cold smile and his eyes glinted. “As you know, that situation has been dealt with. Suffice to say, ‘Rose’ was not quite who she seemed.”
“Right, sir. Goodbye.”
* * *
Zoe gazed out of the window, admiring the Queen Victoria Memorial, which stood in front of the palace, from a different and very privileged angle.
“Come away, darling. You never know who’s hovering
up a tree with a telephoto lens these days.” Art closed the thick damask curtain tightly and led her back to the sofa.
They were in Art’s sitting room, and adjoining this were his bedroom, bathroom, and study. Zoe snuggled into Art’s arms and he handed her a glass of wine.
“Here’s to us, darling,” he toasted.
“Yes.” She raised her glass to his.
“By the way, did you find your mobile phone?”
“Yes. Marcus called to say I’d left it on the table when I had a cup of tea with him earlier. Why? Did you speak to him?”
“No. As soon as I realized, I hung up. I was only calling to ask you to bring a nice snapshot of yourself, so I could put it in a frame and admire you when you’re not here.”
“Christ, I hope Marcus didn’t recognize your voice,” Zoe breathed, panic suffusing her.
“I doubt it. I only said three words.”
“Well, he didn’t mention you’d called me. Hopefully he’s forgotten all about it.”
“Zoe, we need to talk. You do realize, if we continue to see each other, it would be naive to assume that close family won’t put two and two together about Jamie?”
“Don’t say it, Art, please! Think of the scandal if anyone found out the truth and the effect it would have on him!” Zoe broke away from his grasp and paced the room in agitation. “Maybe we should just forget it. Maybe I—”
“No.” He caught her hand as she passed him. “We’ve already wasted so much time. Please. I swear I will do everything I can to make sure we remain a secret, even though it kills me to do so. I want you with me everywhere. I’d marry you tomorrow if I could.”
“Oh, Art, I hardly think a single mother is an acceptable consort—let alone a wife—for a prince of England now, any more than she was ten years ago.” Zoe gave a harsh chuckle at his naivety.
“If you’re referring to the little meeting you had with the suits that took place while I was suddenly whisked off on a tour of Canada ten years ago, before returning to find your ‘Dear John’ letter, I know all about that.”
“Do you?” Zoe was amazed.
“I always suspected you were put under pressure to write it, to tell me it was over. I had a showdown yesterday morning with my parents’ senior advisers. They finally admitted that they’d called you in and told you the relationship had to end.”
“Yes, they did.” Zoe put her head in her hands. “I can hardly bear to think about it, even after all this time.”
“Well, I didn’t help matters by telling the family I’d met the girl I wanted to marry. At twenty-one, just finishing at university, and you being only eighteen, I insisted I wanted our engagement announced as soon as possible.” Art shook his head. “I was so stupid—I panicked them into taking action, just like any ordinary parent would. Except, of course, my situation was magnified tenfold.”
“I had no idea you’d told them that,” Zoe said, stunned at his revelation.
“I’ve regretted what I did every day since. I feel completely responsible for what subsequently happened. If I hadn’t rushed in like a bull at a gate, but instead calmly courted you for another few years, things could have been very different. And it put you through hell.”
“Yes, it did,” Zoe agreed, remembering the pain of writing the letter, then refusing to acknowledge Art’s frantic letters and telephone calls in return. “Of course, I didn’t tell them about the baby. But even if I had, I knew they’d suggest I got rid of it. I’ve often wondered whether they heard about Jamie’s birth. I was scared every day that they might come and steal him away. I never left him alone for a second when he was tiny.” Zoe let out a breath, remembering her terror and how she’d clung to Haycroft House and anonymity for the sake of her baby.
“When I came back from Canada, I was sent abroad on my naval training and didn’t know anything that was happening at home for months. If only I had known at the time.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference, would it? They’d never have let us marry.”
“No. But that’s all in the past. We’re grown-up now, not children anymore. My parents know how I feel about you; they could hardly discard the feelings of a thirty-two-year-old man the way they did a twenty-one-year-old, and they’re aware that my intentions are serious.”
“Christ,” Zoe groaned. “And what did they say? Are they going to sling me back into the gutter from whence I crawled?”
“No. I told them that if they weren’t prepared to accept you, I was equally prepared to abdicate my right to the throne.” Art smiled wryly. “I mean, it’s hardly a big deal, is it? I’m the second spare, hardly likely to get a crack of the whip anyway.”
Zoe gazed at Art in amazement. “You’d do that for me?” she whispered.
“Absolutely, yes. My life is a sham. I have no particular role to play, and as I said to my parents, the public have been up in arms about the cushy number the junior royals have got. Of course, they don’t reckon that serving in the navy for ten years was anything like hard work. They’re convinced I got special feather-filled pillows on my bunk and a down duvet with a crest on it, while everyone else was sleeping on rocks under a hair blanket . . . Good God, I probably had it harder than anyone else.” He sighed. “The point is, they can’t have it both ways. If I’m to fulfill the public’s wish for me to be a ‘normal’ person, then equally they must respect the fact that I have fallen in love with a woman who already has a child. Which, in the times we live in, is hardly something unusual.”
“It sounds great in practice, Art, but I just can’t see it happening. How did the meeting end?”
“Well, I think the palace attitude has softened in the past few years, what with all the divorces in the family. We finally agreed that, for now, you and I would continue to see each other as discreetly as possible whenever we wanted. That you could come here to me, and stay as often as you liked. That within the family and among its advisers, you would be an open secret.”
“And if the secret got out?”
Art shrugged. “Nobody quite knows how the public will react. We all suspect a mixture: some saying how outrageous our liaison is, others agreeing with the more modern approach to a royal relationship. And I accept it would have ramifications on Jamie, especially if they found out that I’m his father.”
“There’d be a witch hunt,” Zoe said with a shudder. “Art, we have to keep this a secret. Swear to me no one on the inside will tell. If there’s a whisper, I’m gone with Jamie. I’ll move to LA. I—”
“Zoe.” He came toward her and held her hands. “I really do understand. What can I say? Trust me. I’ll do all I can to protect you and Jamie. And that leads me on to one more thing we need to discuss.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m afraid the one thing the powers that be—and myself to be honest—must insist on is that we install a personal security officer with you at home. Just in case.”
“In case of what?” Zoe was outraged. “In my house?”
“Darling, calm down. You’re the one who says you want this to remain our secret for as long as possible. A personal protection officer—a bodyguard to all intents and purposes—is also responsible for being your forward defense. He can be useful in making sure that there’s no one lurking outside, bugging your house or listening to your calls. You know all too well that the minute you become entangled with a member of the Firm, you become a target.”
“Oh my God, this gets worse . . . What on earth do I tell Jamie? Don’t you think he might find it odd when he comes home from school to find a strange man sleeping in the spare room?”
“If you’re not ready to tell him about us yet, then I’m sure we can concoct some story for him. But at some point, he will need to know.”
“That you’re his father? Or that we’re an item? Do you know what really upsets me about all this?” Zoe wrung her hands in despair. “That if you were anyone else, it would be the most natural and beautiful thing in the world for us all to be together as a fami
ly.”
“Don’t I know it.” Art sighed, looking so miserable that Zoe immediately felt guilty. After all, this was not his fault, just an accident of birth. And he was doing all he could to be with her.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “It’s just all so complicated, when it should be so simple.”
“But not hopeless?” He looked at her with desperation in his eyes.
“No, not hopeless,” she said.
“You’ve already met the man we’ve chosen: Simon Warburton, the driver who took you to and collected you from Sandringham. I’ve spoken to him at length this morning, and he’s a nice chap, very highly trained. Please, Zoe, let’s at least try it. Take one day at a time. And I promise, I’ll completely understand if you find it all too much and make the decision to end it.”
Zoe leaned on his shoulder as he stroked her hair.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Art said. “Is he really worth it?”
“I guess I am.”
“And am I?”
“God help me,” Zoe groaned. “I know you are.”
21
Joanna stared at her computer screen, then flicked through her thesaurus to try to find new and inspiring ways of describing the bliss on a particular spaniel’s face as he noisily ate his way through the bowl of dog food he was testing. She also had a toothache. After her lunch break, it had become grim enough for her to ask Alice for the number of a dentist where she could get an emergency appointment.
Her extension rang and she picked up the phone. “Joanna Haslam.”
“It’s me, darling.”
“Oh, hi,” she said to Marcus, lowering her voice so nobody could hear her.
“Are you ready to forgive me yet? I’m virtually bankrupting myself with all these flowers I’ve sent you.”
Joanna glanced at the three vases full of roses that had arrived over the past couple of days and suppressed a smile. The truth was, she’d missed him. In fact, more than missed him . . . “I might be, yes.”
“Good, because I have some information for you, something that Zoe told me.”
The Royal Secret Page 21