A Death in Diamonds

He planted his fork in a buttered spear of asparagus. ‘Yes. Wroxham Abbey. Our country place. Goes back to the twelfth century but it’s only been in the family since the sixteenth. You should come and see it. Do you ride? There are some excellent hacks in the park.’

‘No, I don’t ride,’ Joan admitted.

‘Shoot?’

‘Yes. That I can do.’

‘Excellent. We must have you down for the weekend. I’m sure Topsy would love to meet you.’

Courses came and went, along with a series of different wines. Joan could at least make sense of their French descriptions, but had never encountered them before. She noticed that the glamorous companions picked at their food, but seemed at home in the general surroundings. If anything, they looked bored. To her surprise, Tony didn’t mind her own lack of familiarity with the complicated silverware. In fact, he was kind at explaining which of the vast array of knives and forks to use when. He asked who’d designed her ‘delectable’ dress, and gave her his full attention when she told him about Auntie Eva.

‘Lucky you,’ he said. ‘We’re going to have to take you out more often so we can see what else she can do.’

After the third course, his attention turned to the man sitting on Joan’s left, and the chance of trade opening up with China. Joan had come across various Government background papers on the subject in the course of her work, and was at least as well informed on the latest developments as they were, but it was clear her opinion wasn’t wanted. She caught mousy Patricia Radnor-Milne’s eye, and shared a brief moment of solidarity. Both were used to being ignored when conversation moved to ‘serious’ things.

Joan didn’t really mind. It gave her time to study the two beauties at the table. One wasn’t speaking at all, but staring at her plate as if trying to memorise it for an exam. The other was laughing a little too loudly at her date’s jokes and occasionally just about stifling a yawn. By the fifth course, Joan had worked out that she had only very recently met her partner, whose name she mispronounced. It took until the sixth course for her to realise what they were, and why they were there. Oh my God, she thought. I’m dining with courtesans.

She instinctively caught Patricia’s eye again. The other woman’s quiet resignation seemed to make sense. Joan wondered if this was something she was going to have to adjust to if she wanted to dine in high society. Did men do this on a regular basis? Did they do it so openly? Were such gorgeous women readily available? Joan had always assumed there was something grubby about a tart. Those she knew from Bow were poor and plump and ‘obvious’, as Auntie Eva would have put it. These two could easily hold their own at a royal reception, as long as they weren’t asked to speak.

Tony turned to her and said, ‘I’m so sorry, my dear, we were talking shop. Are you having a good time?’

‘It’s . . . educational,’ she said.

‘Oh Lord! I never want to be educational! Tell me a bit more about you.’

He was full of questions about her job, and what Her Majesty was like when alone with another woman. ‘Does she kick her shoes off? I’ve always pictured her that way. Does she share tips on hair and lipstick?’ Joan sensed the Queen probably did such things with her ladies-in-waiting, but certainly not with her. And she wouldn’t have talked about it anyway. She was surprised he even asked.

Leaning back in his chair, Tony was approached by a couple of other diners, keen to press his hand with promises of meetings soon. His younger brother, by contrast, attracted only brief, distant nods, despite his key palace role. Joan realised that if the Radnor-Milnes were responsible for anything going on there, Tony, not Jeremy, would be the instigator of it. She would need to find an excuse to see him again, and soon.

Dessert came, and then coffee. Both the escorts looked bored out of their minds by now. Had life been like this for the dead woman in diamonds? Joan wondered. There was a ripple round the table and she realised that Jeremy was signalling to his wife, who nodded. He stood up and so did she.

‘You must forgive us. Very busy day tomorrow, and a babysitter to get back to. Tony, don’t give Joan the third degree. She’s here to enjoy herself.’

Tony grinned.

‘She’s the soul of discretion. In such a pretty package. I tried and tried and she wouldn’t tell me a thing.’

Without warning, Joan suddenly felt the warmth and weight of his hand on her thigh. At first, she thought it was a mistake. She moved her leg, but his hand moved with it. She felt herself go rigid, unable to speak. In theory, she knew what to do – stab him with the nearest fork – but this was the Ritz. Duchesses might be watching. Surely it would be overreacting to make a scene? For a minute, she couldn’t move. Tony smiled at his brother’s retreating back, as if nothing was going on at all.