Read Online Night of Triumph by Peter Bradshaw - Free Book Online

word
‘whiskies’ in the direction of the bar.
    ‘Jolly good work you’re doing in the ARP, Ware,’ Brook now said thoughtfully. ‘Jolly
hard
work, too, come to that.’
    ‘Well, it was difficult work, but somebody had to do it,’ said Ware. Colin remained silent, although Ware’s observation could as well have applied to him.
    ‘Really thankless stuff,’ continued Brook, as if the subject was so extraordinary, so riveting, he simply couldn’t leave it alone. ‘Badly paid. Unpaid, actually. And of
course as there are still bombsites and unsafe areas ...?’
    Mr Ware’s eyes, as he now looked at Group Captain Brook, had the shuttered, opaque quality of a guard dog at heel. He was silent in a way that made Colin squirm with discomfiture, but
Brook remained entirely open, candid and cheerful.
    ‘Ginnie’s been telling me all about the hard work you’ve been doing – and the
risks
you’ve been taking.’
    Both Ware and Colin, entirely independently, turned around to see where Ginnie was. But she had evidently disappeared.
    ‘Because it’s a risky business. Unlike my business. Did Ginnie tell you what my business is?’
    Mr Ware turned back to Brook and neither nodded nor shook his head.
    ‘It’s antiques. Furniture. And jewellery,’ Brook prattled on. ‘I deal with all sorts of valuables. Large and small. Commonplace and rare. I buy and I sell. And I can act
as an agent. I can handle a lot of material and I can place it with buyers who are not burdened with – how shall I say? – a neurotic insistence on knowing the provenance of each piece.
Do you understand what I mean?’
    Ginnie chose this moment to reappear with the whiskies. She set the tray down, and just as Group Captain Brook was reaching into his pocket, Mr Ware forestalled him with a downward-palm gesture,
and produced a ten-shilling note himself. He was smiling.

Six
    Running had been, on this second occasion, easier but less fun; the novelty had dwindled and Elizabeth had been relieved when they all decided they had eluded the pursuer, who
was probably not in the slightest bit serious about the chase. The four were now much further up, in the crowds near Trafalgar Square.
    In her heart, Elizabeth considered that it was high time they returned to the Palace. This had, surely, been quite enough. She was secretly amazed at the extraordinary things that they had done
– that she had done! Not only stealing a policeman’s helmet – well, Margaret had done that – but wearing it and leading an impromptu sing-song. Incredible! Elizabeth was
almost overcome with euphoria thinking about this wonderful
coup
, but knew that it would not entirely overwhelm her until she was back inside, safe, chattering about it with her sister, with
Bobo, even with her father!
    There were two people that she knew she couldn’t regale with these stories. One was the Queen who, although by no means humourless, could never countenance these shenanigans. The other was
Philip. With absolute clarity, Elizabeth foresaw in detail the puzzlement and irritated resentment with which he would react. A piece of mannish daring and high-jinks in which he had not been
present – which, indeed, could never have happened had he been present? Oh dear, no. He would not laugh and clap his hands delightedly, as Elizabeth imagined the King doing. On the contrary.
He would be furious. It might well colour the vital first months of their married life together. And this was not even taking into account the presence of two unmarried young Guards officers,
squiring the Princesses around. There was of course no question of impropriety, but shrewdly, anxiously, Elizabeth assessed this as a matter of status and
amour propre
. She wondered if
Philip would take offence, and refuse to forgive these two officers for giving his fiancée such an unforgettable night on the tiles. Should she refuse to give their names, if he pressed her?
Should she claim that she and Margaret had been