Death and the Princess

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Authors: Robert Barnard
Parliamentary Commission on the British film industry. I think we’re meant to find out if it still exists. That’s why I was there.’
    ‘I see. But that wasn’t quite my question. I asked you where you had been accustomed to meet.’
    He floundered visibly. ‘Well . . . we’ve met at parties, that kind of thing . . . been to the theatre, though frankly that’s a bit too public for me . . . met in my flat.’
    ‘Ah yes, that would be at — ?’
    ‘I live in Dolphin Square.’
    ‘Yes, I know that. But according to our information the flat you took the Princess to was in — ’
    ‘So you’ve been following us?’ He flung open his arms in an angry gesture. ‘I’ve half a mind to ask a question of the Home Secretary about that.’
    ‘I doubt whether, on thinking it over, you will want to, sir.’
    He was not dim. That thought had struck him even as he said it. He gave in with bad grace.
    ‘Oh, all right then. The fact is, some of us here have a place — a sort of pied- à -terre — where we can go to, to — you know. My wife lives in the constituency, but she’s taken to coming up to London unexpectedly. She caught me once, and — well, I don’t have to spell it out to you, I suppose. So there’s this little flat down river — it used to be Price-Feverel’s, before he married — and we club togetherto pay the rent, and . . .’
    Well, well, I thought. Price-Feverel was a Conservative, a Junior Treasury Minister, one of the rigid monetarist types the PM seemed to get on best with. An inter-party knocking shop, then! Well, well, as I said. Good to see that some things transcend party barriers.
    ‘There’s really no cause for embarrassment, sir,’ I said, reapplying the suavity. ‘That sort of thing is no concern of mine, so long as you keep within the law. It’s only a question of knowing where the Princess might be if she is with you. Of course, one would like to be sure that the IRA knows nothing about this flat.’
    ‘Oh, come on, Inspector, you don’t really think they trail us when we slip out for a quick naughty, do you?’
    ‘That is exactly what I do think, sir. They might very well enjoy catching you with, so to speak, your trousers down. They are probably not without a sense of humour.’
    ‘I’d say that is exactly what they are without, and I’m sure I know them better than you, Inspector. I had something to do with them while I was at Oxford.’
    Of course. He was in student politics at the time when young left-wingers would express solidarity with anyone provided they threw bombs. But I refrained from following him up the garden path after my own red herring. I did not think the IRA had anything to do with this.
    ‘What I came to ask you, sir, was this,’ I said. ‘You can see that if there is a threat of any kind to the Princess, it presents the police with special problems.’
    ‘I’m not really very interested in the police’s problems.’
    ‘But perhaps you might be a mite interested in the young lady’s safety?’ He pursed his lips. It wasn’t quite on to say he didn’t give a bugger. ‘It’s particularly difficult because we’re anxious not to let the Princess know we’re especially worried. What I’d like you to do is this: if you’re going out with the Princess, could you phone this numberand leave a message telling me where you both are? Just “Bayle, 35 Cheyne Walk”, that kind of thing.’
    I handed him a card with a Scotland Yard number on it, but he took it only with reluctance, and stuffed it in with his papers.
    ‘Really, I don’t know . . . This does seem like an intolerable invasion of privacy.’
    ‘Even though the Princess’s life may be at stake?’ I asked. And as he seemed so little concerned, I added: ‘And yours too.’
    ‘Oh, very well.’ He looked at his watch, scowled, and began stuffing his papers into his briefcase. ‘You’ve made me late for the boilermakers. But I’ll co-operate as far as I can.’
    A

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