“Probably not,” she said. “Maybe it will be on television. We’ll have to buy a set.”
“‘Buy’?” replied Archie. “Not familiar with the concept.”
“I’ll explain it later. Gwen, are you ready?”
“I am,” said Gwen, coming to join them. “You got kissed, I noticed.”
“You got kissed yesterday.”
“Not by anyone worth kissing.”
“I’ve got a friend,” offered Archie.
“So I’ve heard. Thanks, but no. Let’s get out of here.”
“Pubs are still open,” commented Archie as they went into the lot. “We should celebrate.”
“Sparks, a word with you,” called the Brigadier, standing outside his car.
“He can see your face,” Gwen said to Archie in alarm.
“It’s all right,” said Archie. “’E knows it already. I was the one who brought ’im ’ere.”
“Yes, sir?” said Iris as the Brigadier came up to them.
“How did you know?” asked the Brigadier. “You had the photographer waiting. You knew something was up before the call came. What gave it away?”
“Why should I tell you? So you’ll be better at deceiving the next one?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “Which I do for the greater good.”
“Where the hell were your men?” she snapped. “When the two of us walked into that warehouse with who knows what lying in wait? Well? Your messenger boy can’t have been the only one watching.”
“Men were in place,” he said. “When Stallings came out, he was followed. We assumed he was our target. When it turned out he was merely a run-of-the-mill thief and murderer, we dropped the surveillance.”
“You didn’t turn him over to Parham, though.”
“That would have compromised the operation. We didn’t know Magoulias was dead until after the police rolled up. Finding out who he was was useful. Your connecting him with Mrs. Fisher was even more so.”
“What if this scheme you set up put Mrs. Bainbridge and me in a dark spot with a murderer?”
“I was confident that you could handle it, Sparks.”
“And if those letters ended up destroying a young couple’s happiness?” asked Gwen.
“Any ruler worth his salt knows that sacrifices must be made for the good of his subjects.”
“Did you ask her so she could make that determination?” asked Gwen.
“She’s not a ruler,” said the Brigadier. “Not yet. How did you know, Sparks?”
“Because you were too damn easy,” said Iris. “Getting anything out of you normally is like chipping through a thousand-foot stone wall to get at one moldy apple, yet there you were, showing up in the park for your prodigal daughter, practically dripping with information. Laying out just enough to point me in a particular direction, cutting off the wrong forks along the way. Like I was a cow in the chute to the slaughterhouse. You were the one who recommended us to Lady Matheson, weren’t you?”
“Is that what she told you?”
“I don’t care what she told me. Those letters were meant for her, but they were also meant for me. You recommended us to her because you knew I would recognise Talbot’s name and go chasing down the trail you laid. Was Buchanan-Wollaston part of it?”
“He knew where his duty lay,” said the Brigadier. “I only wish you did as well.”
“Then you should have told me up front what you were doing,” said Sparks. “If you needed my help exposing a Leftist Greek spy network with tentacles inside the Palace, you should have asked me directly.”
“You refused to join this fight when I asked you before,” said the Brigadier.
“Yes, I did. Do you know why, sir?”
“Tell me, Sparks.”
Iris glanced back at Gwen, who was watching, enraptured, then turned back to the Brigadier. “Because what I’m doing now is more important,” she said. “Goodbye, sir. We’re done, you and I, until it’s time for flowers.”
Archie held open the door to his car, and Gwen and Iris climbed in.
As they drove away, Gwen glanced back to see the Brigadier staring after them, his mouth pressed into a grim, angry line.
“He’s going to ask again,” said Gwen. “Not soon, maybe. But he will ask.”
“I know,” said Iris.
“What will you do?”
“Spit in his face. Or maybe say yes. We’ll see. In the meantime, let’s go have that drink.”
CODA
Gwen stared glumly down at their bank statement.
“We should have charged Patience extra,” she grumbled. “Hid it under some line item in the inventory. ‘Miscellaneous nefarious activities,’ or the like.”
“Moral compass bothering you this morning?” asked Iris, her nose buried in a letter she was proofreading. “What does that feel like? Does it itch?”
“We are so close to getting that office,” said Gwen. “So many clients getting attached, Iris, but no one wants to get married in July. Or August. We may not see another bounty until the autumn.”
“We’ll just have to keep recruiting new clients and try for that loan,” said Iris. “Did you talk to the woman who typed up Sally’s play?”
“We can’t afford her,” said Gwen. “She’s too experienced.”
“Any luck with the advert?”
“Someone’s coming in to interview for the position. The trouble is where to put a secretary if we hire one when we don’t have the space? If a client came in, we’d have to send her to the lavatory to type.”
“She could sit in the stairwell.”
“She might get vacuumed up by Mr. MacPherson.”
“Does he vacuum? Do you know, I’ve never seen him do any actual work the entire time we’ve been here.”
“Excuse me, is this a good time?” said a young woman at the door.
“Be right with you,” said Iris, who had just caught an error. “If it’s about the secretarial position, you’re hired immediately. If it’s for our regular business—”
“Iris, stand up,” said Gwen softly while rising to her feet.
“What?”
“Stand up. Immediately.”
Iris glanced over the top of her letter, then jumped to her feet, knocking her chair back into the wall.
She was just like her magazine covers, thought Iris distractedly. Lovely, fresh-faced. She must have the best Millie in the country working for her. A team of the best Millies, standing ever at the ready—if one faints, then another steps in immediately, powder puff in hand …
“I’m afraid my typing is arduously slow and my shorthand is nonexistent,” she said as she came into the office. “I’m a good driver, though, and a dab hand with an engine, if that’s of any use.”
“Forgive me, Your Royal Highness,” said Iris. “We weren’t expecting you.”
“Of course not,” she said, smiling. “Do sit.”
“Not until you do, ma’am,” said Gwen.
“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no one to see us. Let’s be normal.”
“I can’t,” said Gwen. “It’s ingrained in every fibre of my being. Tendons would rupture in protest if I so much as tried.”
She looked at the guest chair. “This will hold me?” she asked doubtfully.
“With honour, ma’am,” said Iris.
“Very well,” she said, sitting. “Now, the two of you. Please.”
Gwen sat while Iris restored her chair to its proper position.
“Forgive the surprise call, but this is not meant for public knowledge,” said their guest. “I received an unexpected visit yesterday from Lady Matheson. She was distraught. She had come to beg my forgiveness. I had no idea that there was anything to forgive, and told her as much. Then she confessed all.”
“Did she?” asked Iris. “All of it?”
“When I say ‘all,’ I mean that she confessed some, and concealed a great deal more, or so I suspect,” she continued. “Am I to gather that there had been some sort of
plot to discredit Prince Philip?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Gwen. “Amongst other things.”
“And that she hired the two of you to investigate it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And that you were successful in thwarting it?”
“We were, ma’am.”
“So there will be no stain on his reputation as a result?”
“No, ma’am,” said Gwen. “His reputation is safe.”
“And well-deserved,” added Iris.
“Thank goodness,” she said in relief, suddenly looking like the twenty-year-old she was. “I don’t know what I would have—I think he’s going to propose, you see. I adore him, and he’s going to propose, and there are difficulties enough. I can’t let anything else get in the way.”
“This will not hinder you, we promise,” said Iris.
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you both.”
“It must have been a shock when Lady Matheson told you,” said Iris.
“Oh, one doesn’t grow up in a palace without acquiring a taste for intrigue,” she said. “I should have known she was screening my mail. I’ve put my foot down with Mother, so one of my ladies has taken over the task. It turns out that I’ve had several proposals already. None that I would ever accept, of course, but it’s good to know one is considered to be marriageable. I suppose you two are the experts on that. Any advice?”
“Marry for love,” said Gwen. “It sounds simple enough, but it isn’t.”
“No, it isn’t,” she agreed. “What do you think of Prince Philip?”
“Handsome, courageous, and intelligent,” said Iris. “You’re very lucky.”
“Assuming he pops the question,” she said.
“He would be a fool not to,” said Gwen.
“You’re very kind. He’s coming with us to Balmoral. I’m hoping it will happen there. If he doesn’t, maybe I’ll come here for a recommendation.”
“Let me give you one of our flyers,” said Iris.
“Iris,” warned Gwen.
“A joke. Although I do have a possibility in mind—”
“Iris! Stop!” protested Gwen.
“Still joking,” said Iris. “We wish you the best of luck and all the happiness in the world, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” she said, digging into her handbag. “I wanted to express my gratitude for what you did in a more substantial way. Lady M mentioned that you were still struggling as a new business. I thought I could help.” She pulled out an envelope.
“Ma’am, we couldn’t possibly—” began Gwen. Then she caught Iris’s look. “I mean to say, thank you, ma’am. It is quite generous of you.”
“It’s not as if I’m granting you a royal charter,” she said as Iris came around to accept the proffered envelope. “Consider it an investment in a promising venture.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Iris.
“And I must go,” she said, rising to shake hands with each of them. “Best of luck. I don’t know if I want to hear the entire story, but what little I gleaned from Lady M was quite exciting. Someone was murdered, I take it.”
“Yes, unfortunately,” said Iris. “But the men responsible were apprehended.”
“Thanks to you,” she said. “It was lovely to meet the pair of you.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Gwen.
She walked out, then turned in the doorway.
“It’s a pleasure to see women running things,” she observed. “It gives one hope.”
Then she left.
The two stared at the doorway for a good long while until the opening and closing of the front door echoed faintly up the stairwell.
“Did that actually happen?” asked Gwen dazedly.
“We have tangible evidence that it did,” said Iris, holding the envelope. “Let’s take a peek.”
She opened it and looked inside. Then a smile spread across her face.
“Let me see!” urged Gwen.
Iris handed it to her, and she looked.
“Hello, Cecil!” she exclaimed, her eyes growing wide.
They collapsed into their respective chairs and stared at each other.
“We should call Mr. Maxwell straightaway and tell him we’re taking the office,” said Gwen, picking up the phone. “Tell me, who were you thinking of fixing her up with?”
“Mr. MacLaren,” said Iris.
“Oh,” said Gwen thoughtfully as she dialed. “Yes. He would have been good.”
Also by Allison Montclair
The Right Sort of Man
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALLISON MONTCLAIR grew up devouring hand-me-down Agatha Christie paperbacks and James Bond movies. As a result of this deplorable upbringing, Montclair became addicted to tales of crime, intrigue, and espionage. Montclair now spends their spare time poking through the corners, nooks, and crannies of history, searching for the odd mysterious bits and transforming them into novels of their own. Montclair is the author of The Right Sort of Man, the first Sparks & Bainbridge mystery. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Coda
Also by Allison Montclair
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
First published in the United States by Minotaur Books, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group
A ROYAL AFFAIR. Copyright © 2020 by Allison Montclair. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein
Cover illustration and handlettering by James McMullan
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-17839-8 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-17840-4 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250178404
Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact your local bookseller or the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at [email protected].
First Edition: 2020
A Royal Affair Page 30