The Royal Secret Page 24

  “Yes, hasn’t she? Women, eh?” Marcus rolled his eyes conspiratorially.

  “Mumma said the lady she’s gone with is your girlfriend.”

  “She is.”

  “Will you marry her?”

  “Maybe I will.” Marcus smiled. “I really like her.”

  “Then I’ll have an aunt. That’ll be fun. Well, I’ll go back to my room now.”

  “Sure.”

  When Jamie had gone, Marcus took out a piece of paper and wrote down the name of the town Jamie had pointed to.

  * * *

  Zoe and Joanna rolled in at half past five with numerous shopping bags.

  “Had a good couple of hours, ladies?” Marcus asked, irony soaking his voice, as he met them in the hallway.

  “Great, thanks,” said Zoe.

  “So great we thought we’d do it again tomorrow. We didn’t quite finish everything we wanted to do,” Joanna said with a grin.

  “It’s Sunday tomorrow, Jo!” Marcus looked aghast.

  “Yes, and these days all the shops are open, sweetheart.”

  “We’re joking, brother dear,” said Zoe. “Besides, I’ll have to give my credit card a two-week rest at a health spa after the abuse it’s taken today.”

  The door opened again and there was Simon. “Hi, chaps.”

  “Hello. See the sights?” asked Marcus.

  “Yes.”

  “Which sights were those, Simon?” Joanna could not resist.

  “Oh, you know, the Tower, St. Paul’s, Big Ben.” Simon looked squarely back at her. “I’ll see you later.” He nodded at them, then went up the stairs.

  “Where’s Jamie?” asked Zoe.

  “In his room.”

  “Marcus, you’ve not let him sit on that computer all day, have you?” Zoe frowned.

  “Sorry. I did my best, but he’s not exactly social, is he? Come on, Jo, don’t bother taking your coat off. Let’s scoot.”

  Zoe kissed Joanna, then Marcus. “See you guys soon. And thanks for a fun day, Jo.”

  “Not at all. I’ll ring you during the week,” she replied.

  They exchanged a small, conspiratorial smile as Marcus ushered Joanna out of the door.

  Zoe went upstairs to see Jamie and discover whether supper should be sausages and mash or cottage pie. Jamie went for the former and followed his mother downstairs to chat to her while she cooked.

  “You know, I don’t think Uncle Marcus likes me all that much,” he said.

  “Jamie, of course he does! He’s just not used to children, that’s all. Did he say anything to you today when he was here, darling?”

  “No, nothing. He just drank a lot of beer. Maybe his new girlfriend will make him feel better. He said he might like to marry her.”

  “Really? That would be wonderful. Jo is lovely.”

  “Have you got a boyfriend, Mumma?”

  “I . . . there’s a man I really like, yes.”

  “Is it Simon?”

  “Lord, no!”

  “I like Simon. He seems nice. He came and played on my computer game with me for a bit last night. Is he coming down for supper?”

  “Actually, I thought you and I could have supper together and a nice chat.”

  “It’s a bit awful not to ask him, isn’t it? I mean, he is our guest.”

  “Go on then,” Zoe said, weakening, “see if he wants to join us.”

  Five minutes later, Simon, looking vaguely embarrassed, walked into the kitchen.

  “Are you sure it’s okay, Zoe? I can easily get a pizza.”

  “My son insists on your presence,” said Zoe with a smile, “so sit yourself down.”

  Throughout supper, she did her best to keep a straight face as Simon regaled Jamie with stories of the New Zealand sheep farm he lived on back home.

  “Mumma, one day, can we go and visit Simon in Auckland? It sounds cool!”

  “I should think so, yes.”

  “Simon, do you want to come and see the new computer game Mumma got me today? It’s fantastic, but much better when there’s someone else to play against.”

  “Jamie, poor Simon,” Zoe sighed.

  “It’s fine. I’d love to play,” Simon offered.

  “Come on then.” Jamie stood up and indicated that Simon should do the same. With a shrug and a smile at Zoe, Simon followed Jamie out of the kitchen and upstairs.

  An hour later, she went upstairs to the sound of excited screams emanating from both her son and Simon.

  “You’ve not come up to tell me it’s time for bed? It’s Saturday and we’ve nearly got to level three and I’m winning,” said Jamie, not taking his eyes from the screen.

  “Then you can win again tomorrow. It’s gone half past nine, Jamie.”

  “Mumma, please!”

  “Sorry, Jamie. Your mum’s right. We’ll play again tomorrow, I promise. Night night.” Simon put his controller down and gave Jamie a pat on the shoulder.

  “Night, Simon,” Jamie called as he left the room.

  Zoe tidied up Jamie’s room while she waited for him to come back from the bathroom, then she tucked him in. “Anything you’d like to do tomorrow?”

  “Finish the game.”

  “Apart from that?”

  “No, not really. Stay in bed late, watch loads of TV, drink loads of Coke, all the things I can’t do at school.” He grinned up at her.

  “Okay, deal, apart from the Coke.” Zoe kissed him. “Night.”

  “Night, Mumma.”

  Simon was pouring himself a glass of water from the kitchen tap when Zoe arrived downstairs.

  “Sorry. All that excitement made me thirsty. I’ll clear out of your way.”

  “I think you deserve a proper nightcap after that masterpiece of imagination at the supper table. Are you sure you didn’t train as an actor?” she said with mock suspicion.

  “As it happens, I do feel I know New Zealand rather well. My girl— I mean, my ex-girlfriend, has spent the past year out there.”

  “Ex?”

  “Yeah. She loves it so much she’s decided to stay and marry a local.”

  “I’m sorry. Would you like a brandy? Or a whiskey?”

  “I . . . As long as I’m not in your way.”

  “No. You-know-who is off elsewhere on official business, so I’m by myself all weekend. The drinks cabinet’s in the sitting room. Let’s go in there and I’ll put the fire on. It’s turned nippy.”

  Simon sat in an armchair with his brandy while Zoe stretched out on the sofa.

  “You’ve certainly made a hit with my son.”

  “He’s a bright kid. You must be proud of him.”

  “I am. Marcus is always saying that I mollycoddle him too much.”

  “I think he’s an extremely well-adjusted and normal young man.”

  “I try my best, but it’s never easy bringing up a child by yourself, although at least he had my grandfather here. Changing the subject, Joanna sent you a message. She said she wants you to ring her.” Zoe studied Simon’s expression. “She told me she’s known you for years and she promised she won’t let on about knowing who you really are to Marcus. Will she?”

  “Absolutely not. I trust Jo implicitly. She knows most of my secrets.”

  “Except for one. Until today anyway,” Zoe countered. “I also told her about Art. What with you being here and something else she’d seen, she’d virtually guessed anyway. You really think that even though she’s a journalist, she wouldn’t spill the beans?”

  “Never.”

  “Well, I do hope she and Marcus stay together. She’s a good influence on him.”

  Simon nodded silently as he took a sip of his brandy. “I bet you miss your grandfather.”

  “I do, very much.”

  “Were you close?”

  “Extremely. I know Jamie misses him as well, although he doesn’t say much. He was the man of the house, his father figure. Mind you, there’s lots of things I’m discovering that I didn’t know about him.”

  “Rea
lly? Like what? His life seems to have been pretty well documented.”

  “William Fielding was telling me only last week before he died that my grandfather originally hailed from Ireland. In fact, he told me all sorts of things about him. Whether they were true or not, who knows? Fact gets mixed with fiction when you go back seventy-odd years.”

  “Yes,” Simon remarked as casually as he could. “Did Sir James tell you stories of the old days? I’ll bet he knew the great and the good.”

  “He did, yes. His letters are all festering away in the attic in the house in Dorset. When filming is finished I’m going to go down there and sort them out.” Zoe stifled a yawn.

  “You’re tired, I’ll leave you alone.” Simon drained his brandy glass and stood up. “Thanks for the drink.”

  “No problem. Thanks for amusing my son. Night.”

  “Night, Zoe.”

  As Simon went up the stairs to his room, he was as convinced as he’d ever been that Zoe Harrison had no idea about her grandfather’s past. He hoped, for both their sakes, it stayed that way.

  * * *

  Despite both of their apartments feeling unsafe, Marcus and Joanna had no choice but to opt for Crouch End that night—as Marcus pointed out, she at least had new locks on her door.

  “How do you fancy spending the weekend after next in a lovely country hotel in Ireland?” Marcus asked her in bed, after he’d pulled a duvet over them to muffle their voices.

  “What? Why?” Joanna asked.

  “Because I think I’ve pinpointed the place where dear old Sir Jim may have originally hailed from.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Jamie and I had a chat. He told me how Sir Jim had spun him some tale about this magical place in Ireland where a man and a woman had fallen in love. He showed me the place on the map.”

  “Where was it?”

  “According to Jamie, it was a small village in West Cork, called Rosscarbery. Apparently this house stands alone, right out in the bay. I’ll make some calls on Monday, get the travel agent to recommend a good hotel. Even if it turns out to be a red herring, it’s a great excuse for a holiday—and for getting away from our bugged apartments. It’d be even better if you could take an extra day off, then it wouldn’t be such a rush to get there and back.”

  “I’ll try,” she said, “but my boss isn’t exactly in a generous mood with me.”

  “Just tell him you’re uncovering an IRA plot.”

  “Yeah, garden plots maybe,” Joanna said with a snort of derision.

  23

  “I’ve had a call from the palace. I’m picking His Royal Highness up at eight tonight.”

  “Yes.” Zoe nodded distractedly to Simon as he pulled the car out of the drive, her gaze still fixed on the receding figure of Jamie standing on the steps of his school. She sat in the front of the Jaguar, formality dispensed with. It felt better like this.

  “You know, I think Jamie was more sorry to say goodbye to you than he was to me,” said Zoe.

  “That’s not true at all, but we did have fun together. There are some bright spots to this job after all.” Simon headed onto the motorway in the direction of London. “Zoe?”

  “Yes?”

  “Far be it from me to comment, but do you not think it might be safer for you to go and see His Royal Highness at the palace rather than him coming to Welbeck Street? It’s so much more secure.”

  “I know. But I feel so tense there. I always think there might be someone listening at the door.”

  “Okay. I’ll make myself scarce tonight, obviously.”

  “Thanks. Er, Simon, when I go to Norfolk this week to start filming again, how will you explain your presence there?”

  “Oh, I’ll check in, hang out in the bar, be a groupie on the film set . . .” He shot her a grin. “I can be pretty inconspicuous when I want to.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Zoe replied grimly.

  Outside number ten Welbeck Street, the photographer waited patiently.

  * * *

  Having deposited Zoe home earlier, Simon pulled the car to a halt outside Welbeck Street for a second time that day. The prince had been a more irritating passenger, compared to Zoe’s calming presence. Simon clenched his teeth as he sensed him shuffling impatiently in the backseat and tapping away at his mobile phone.

  “Don’t bother opening the door. I’ll hop straight out,” the prince barked as Simon made to get out of the car.

  “All right, sir.”

  Simon watched as he made his way up the steps, neither of them noticing an infrared light flash on the other side of the road. He sighed and looked at his watch. The two of them could be hours and he really didn’t want to contemplate how they were spending their time. He took a thriller out of the glove box, switched on the spotlight above him, and began to read.

  His mobile rang at ten to eleven.

  “I’m coming out in five minutes.”

  “Right. I’m outside and ready to go, sir.”

  Simon put his book away and turned the engine on. Exactly five minutes later, the front door opened. Zoe appeared, looked both ways, then beckoned to her companion. In the hallway he gave her a quick peck on the cheek and ran out to the car.

  The infrared light flashed again.

  “Okay, Warburton, back home, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  * * *

  There was a somber mood the first morning back in Norfolk on the film set of Tess. Everyone was shocked by William’s death and it had broken the jovial atmosphere.

  “Thank God it’s only one more month,” said Miranda, the actress playing Tess’s mother. “It feels like a grave here too. That your new boyfriend?” she asked in the same breath as she studied Simon, who was drinking a glass of Coke at the bar.

  “No, he’s a journalist who’s been sent up here to cover me for a week. They’re doing an interview to coincide with the release of the film.” Zoe repeated the story the two of them had concocted together.

  Despite his protestations that he would fade into the background, Simon’s presence had drawn some attention in the past two days. He was far too attractive to be “inconspicuous,” as he’d suggested, and everyone had noticed him as he hung around the edges of the film set, scribbling pretend notes onto a pad. Zoe had found Simon’s presence unsettling, but at least in the evenings, due to the heavy workload, she was crawling upstairs to bed soon after she returned from the set, and could avoid him.

  On Thursday morning, as she was studying the script for that day’s shoot, her mobile phone rang.

  “Hi, sis, it’s me. How’re you getting on?”

  “Fine, Marcus.”

  “Are you coming home at the weekend? Only you mentioned going to Dorset and making a start on the attic.”

  “I can’t, I’m afraid. I’m going away actually.”

  “I see. Anywhere nice?”

  “Just a house party with some friends.”

  “What ‘friends’?”

  “Marcus! Just tell me what you want,” Zoe snapped.

  “Well, would you mind if Jo and I went down to Dorset and had another go at the boxes in the attic?”

  “I don’t see why not. But don’t throw anything away until I’ve seen it. Okay?”

  “Sure. I’ll divide it into ‘worth it’ and ‘worthless’ piles.”

  “Okay.” Zoe had no time to argue. “I’ll speak to you soon. Love to Jo. Bye.” As she made her way downstairs, Zoe briefly wondered whether it was sensible to let her brother loose in Dorset, but then pushed the thought aside. She was looking forward to a quiet weekend spent in Art’s arms.

  * * *

  Marcus put down the receiver, and stepped out of the phone box, looking around him to see if anyone was watching. Ian still hadn’t been in touch, but Marcus was certain it was him that had been behind the bugs.

  He picked up coffees and bacon rolls from the bakery and went up the stairs to his apartment, where Joanna was just stepping out of the shower, he
r wet hair sleek over one shoulder.

  “I called Zoe,” he said. “She’s given the okay to go down to Dorset and have another rifle through all that stuff in the attic. Do you want to come?”

  “Oh, Marcus, I can’t this weekend. I’m on shift at the office.” She began to dry her hair with the towel.

  “They work weekends on Pets and Gardens?”

  “Yes! Lots of country stuff happens on weekends, like dog shows, winter poppy sales, and snowdrops coming out.”

  “Wow, I’m riveted.”

  “Well, some of us really do have work to do, Marcus. I’d have no apartment and nothing to eat if I lost my job.”

  “Sorry, Jo.” Marcus could see he’d upset her. “Do you mind if I go down to Dorset?”

  “Why would I mind? I’m not your keeper.”

  “No, but I want you to be.” He walked over and held her in his arms. “Don’t be cross. I’ve said I’m sorry.”

  “I know, I just . . .”

  “I understand.” He pulled her towel off and kissed her, and Joanna forgot everything else.

  * * *

  When the car reached the front entrance of the grand Georgian house, Simon helped Zoe and the prince out, then removed their luggage from the boot.

  “Thanks, Warburton. Why don’t you take the weekend off? My man is here. Any problem and we’ll call you.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “See you on Sunday evening, Simon.” Zoe smiled sweetly over her shoulder as the prince led her inside.

  Two hours later, Simon arrived back at his apartment in Highgate with a sigh of relief. It was over a week since he’d been home and had some time to himself. He listened to his messages; four of them were from Ian, sounding drunker and less intelligible each time, cackling about a great “number” he’d pulled on “them upstairs.” Simon had no idea what the hell he was talking about and wondered whether he should have a quiet word in the right ear about Ian’s drinking and erratic behavior.

  He dialed Joanna’s number and left a message suggesting she come round for supper tomorrow night so they could have a chat. Probably in Marcus Harrison’s bed, thought Simon, as he put the receiver down. He showered, prepared himself a Spanish omelet and salad, then sat down to watch a film. The telephone rang a few minutes later.