Read Online The Corpse of St James's by Jeanne M. Dams - Free Book Online

judgement. I’ve never deliberately done anything you specifically asked me not to do.’ At least I couldn’t think of any instances, and I prayed he couldn’t either. He’s not the sort of man to give orders unless he thinks I’m putting myself in jeopardy. I admit, once or twice I’ve not told him what I planned to do, in case he objected, but that’s justified.
    â€˜You’re very good at misdirection, however. You should have been a conjuror, or perhaps a con artist. All right, my dear. You know I don’t
want
to stand in your way. It’s just that . . .’
    â€˜I know, love, I know. And I promise I’ll be discreet.’
    The guffaw that followed that remark made him choke on his coffee.
    Now that I felt like eating again, I made us a modest cereal-and-fruit breakfast. Alan tries hard to keep fit, and I watch my weight when I can. Usually I watch it inch up.
    â€˜Once you get the picture,’ Alan asked over a third cup of coffee, ‘what are you going to do with it? Take it to Jemima?’
    â€˜Good heavens, no! I wouldn’t have a clue how to go about visiting someone at the palace. No, I’ll give it to Jonathan, and he can take it from there. By the way, did you think to get a phone number for Aunt Letty? I don’t even know her last name.’
    â€˜I did. Shall I tell him your plans? I’d planned to phone him this morning anyway, to see how Aunt Letty was feeling.’
    â€˜And how he’s feeling himself. Good heavens, Alan, that boy has been through way too much these past few days! Not to mention his physical pain.’
    â€˜I suspect he’s trying to do too much, physically. Needs to prove something to himself. So am I to tell him, or not?’
    â€˜Tell him, by all means. Maybe not the details, on the principle that what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, but tell him I’ll try to get him a photo in the next day or two. And Alan, would you call Mr Carstairs and tell him to expect me?’
    â€˜That conversation will tax all my powers of diplomacy. When shall I say?’
    â€˜This afternoon, if it works for him. I can catch the next train.’ And
diplomacy
, I thought with an inner smile, was just another word for stretching the truth. Men and semantics!
    I made a quick call myself, to Lynn Anderson. ‘Are you going to be home in a couple of hours? I’m making a quick trip to Town, and I want an invitation to lunch. There’s lots I’m dying to tell you!’
    Alan came into the room just as I was clicking off my mobile. ‘And dare I ask just what you’re going to tell whom?’
    â€˜Fear not. I told you I’d be discreet. I just begged lunch with Tom and Lynn, and I’m going to tell them about the Investiture. I don’t think they’ve ever been to one, and as much as they try to be blasé about the royals, I know they’ll eat it up.’
    â€˜Just as long as . . . No. I won’t tell you what to say. I may protest a good deal, my dear, but in the end I trust to your good judgement.’
    That earned him a kiss, and what with one thing and another, I very nearly missed my train.
    Tom and Lynn live in a delectable Georgian house in Belgravia, a stone’s throw from Victoria Station. They’re American expats like me, have pots of money, and are very dear friends from way back. They’ve also been of great help in several of my forays into criminal investigation, and it was going to take all my fortitude not to tell them what I was up to in London.
    We made it through lunch safely enough on the Investiture. They wanted to know all the details, and were amused at my confusing the Yeomen of the Guard with the Yeomen Warders. ‘But of
course
, my dear!’ said Lynn in the Philadelphia accent she’s never quite managed to lose. ‘Everyone does exactly the same thing. And it’s all Gilbert and Sullivan’s