Murder Most Royal

‘Do they know where it went into the water?’ Her voice was low, her mouth dry. She didn’t know whether or not to be reassured by the answer that the police seemed to know very little at this stage.

‘I was wondering . . .’ Valentine said. ‘Shall I call them? Explain about us? I mean, it’ll look rather—’

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s none of their business where we go, what we do. None at all.’

‘If the police ask us,’ he began tentatively, ‘I suppose I can just say . . . I mean . . . we have nothing to hide.’

‘Absolutely,’ Flora agreed.

‘Well . . . yes, but I—’

‘Say nothing,’ Flora insisted. ‘It’s not up to us to do the police’s job for them. Now, let’s talk about nice things. You’re coming with us on the thirtieth, yes? And you’re staying here overnight? Are you sure you don’t want to come for Christmas? You’re always welcome here, you know. Both of you.’

There was a brief bark of laughter down the line. ‘I don’t think so.

‘You don’t think . . .?’

‘I think nothing, Florette. If anything happens, I’ll tell you when I see you. Now go have fun with your greenery. Let Birnam Wood come to Dunsinane.’

Flora frowned. ‘Didn’t Macbeth die when that happened?’

‘I was thinking more of the aesthetics. I know you don’t do greenery by halves.’

‘Val?’ she said, uncertain of herself for the first time. ‘Does it matter that I feel lighter? I’ve suddenly realised I do.

‘Nothing will make you a bad person,’ he reassured her. ‘Give my love to the girls. How’s the old man getting on, by the way?’

‘Still not well. It’s like he’s been knocked for six. He was even worse this afternoon. He spent an age in the chapel. Frankly, I’m dreading Christmas.’

Her brother’s voice was kind. ‘I’m sure you’ll make it wonderful for everyone. You’ve got Mummy’s template to follow. Just put your spin on it.

‘Sure,’ she said. But she wasn’t really listening. Her thoughts were still with the hand in the water. When the call ended she found herself washing her own hands under the freezing water from the tap, even though they were already clean.

In his cottage on the Sandringham Estate, Julian Cassidy swirled the tot of whisky round his glass, inhaled its peaty smell and downed it in a couple of gulps. This was his third and it was taking the edge off.