A Death in Diamonds

Longmeadow Hall in Dorset turned out to be the headquarters of some of the most important intelligence gathering on German forces in France, prior to D-Day. It was staffed by the best and brightest officers from across the Allied forces, working in great secrecy and under extreme pressure. But Yelland struggled with organisation and morale was at rock bottom under his command. Joan was drafted in as his assistant in the hope that a woman’s touch would smooth over any problems, without ruffling the sensitive feathers of the brigadier himself.

As soon as she understood the nature of the D-Day plan, Joan realised how much faith they had put in her. She was honoured to be involved, but Yelland was beyond help and didn’t want it. He was in the grip of a severe drinking problem and incapable of listening. He would make mistakes, blame others, alienate important people and retire to his room with a bottle of gin. She endured this regime for six weeks with a growing sense of dread, knowing how much depended on the work they were doing. In the end, she jeopardised everything, made a secret trip to London, and took the biggest risk of her life.

And paid the price, or so she thought.

She had lost her job at the base, and any hope of a career. When the war ended, nobody in the Admiralty wanted to employ her. She was lucky to get secretarial work where she could find it. The typing pool at Buckingham Palace had been her first full-time job in years.

It would all be in the report sitting in front of the Queen tonight.

‘General Eisenhower was aware something was wrong at Longmeadow,’ the Queen told her, folding the manila cover shut. ‘As I’m sure you know, several staff members had already complained through the proper channels. But you didn’t do that.’

‘No, ma’am.’

‘In fact, you took it upon yourself to go straight to Admiral Butt in Naval Intelligence, who reported what was going on directly to the prime minister. As a result of your trip, Yelland was sacked within forty-eight hours.’

Joan was thrown back to the week of her court martial. Her crime of ‘gross insubordination’ had been thrown in her face by a very supercilious major, extravagantly whiskered, who had ground her reputation into the dust. She had overstepped the mark, broken the rules by taking matters into her own hands, and shared secrets of national importance. She should have used official channels. She wasn’t to be trusted. She was lucky to escape without a dishonourable discharge.

The Queen carried on. ‘As the report states several times, in the armed forces it’s essential to go through the chain of command. You had a duty to report your concerns to your immediate superior.’

Joan bowed her head. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘I tried, ma’am, but—’

‘Who was your immediate superior?’

Joan sighed. ‘Brigadier Yelland, ma’am.’

The supercilious major at the court martial had found no irony in this at all.

‘Mmm. Who else was there, holding a senior position at Longmeadow?’

Joan tried to hide the memory of her frustration. ‘No one, ma’am.’

There was a grim look in her eyes as the Queen glanced back at the file. She seemed to be mulling over what to say.

Joan made a snap decision because she realised she may not have much time.

‘Ma’am?’

The Queen looked up. ‘Yes?’

‘Before I . . . before you . . . I just need you to know that I’ve come across something disturbing in the Private Office. I know you may think this is just sour grapes, given what you’ve just said, but I assure you it isn’t.’

‘Go on.’

‘It was something in the Denmark file a couple of days ago. About your state visit next month. It’s odd, but there was a request for the Duke of Edinburgh to be escorted on his individual excursions – he’s making two of them, as you know – by a particular young lady from the Danish Embassy. I thought it was unusual, because of course she’s based here in London, not Copenhagen, so I double-checked with the duke’s private secretary and he said he knows nothing about it. The request certainly didn’t come from him. He doesn’t know Miss Kern and he’s pretty sure the duke doesn’t either. The thing is . . .’ Joan paused, and noticed the Queen’s blue-eyed gaze gathering a touch of frost.

‘Continue,’ Her Majesty said tightly.

‘The thing is, ma’am, she’s very striking, this woman, Ingrid Kern. She has shining blonde hair, you know the sort, and I understand she stands out on the diplomatic circuit. Her presence would be noticed. People would ask questions, and as things stand, they’d be hard to answer.’