Murder Most Royal

Indoors, the little ones gathered around the Christmas tree to hang the decorations that were set out for them in ancient cardboard boxes, some of which dated back to Queen Victoria, watched over by the painted pheasant on the drawing room ceiling. The Queen was content to observe from a nearby chair, sipping a hot tea and lemon and giving suggestions for where choice ornaments should go.

Anne came to sit beside her.

‘Mummy, I’m so sorry.’ Her tone was sombre.

‘You must be feeling awful.’

‘I wasn’t.’ For a pleasant half-hour, filled with children’s chatter, the Queen had managed to put it from her mind.

‘Did you hear that Astrid’s gone missing too?’

‘Who’s Astrid?’ the Queen asked.

‘Ned’s girlfriend . . . fiancée. Moira Westover’s girl.’

‘Oh, I see. How dreadful. How do you know?’

‘It was on the radio,’ Anne explained. ‘We heard a news update as we were driving down. She was the one who reported Ned missing a week ago.’

‘Oh, dear,’ the Queen sighed. The chief constable hadn’t mentioned it.

Another complication. She thought of the Westover family. It was awful enough trying to deal with a difficult emotional situation, but to do it in the public eye made it more distressing. She knew better than anyone how that felt.

Presents were opened after tea, in the German tradition, preserved since Prince Albert’s day. Four generations of royals gathered in the drawing room, in suits and smart dresses (there were more costume changes at Sandringham than during a busy West End performance).

The early winter darkness emphasised the cosiness of a room lit by candles, lamps and a galaxy of fairy lights on the tree.

There was a great air of anticipation as the youngest children ceremoniously handed out parcels from the laden trestle tables. Not that any of the adults were expecting high-tech gadgets or vintage watches. The children’s presents tended to be traditional and generous, but the rest of the family had long since learned that when you sit in a room surrounded by antique Venetian fans and one of the best Fabergé collections in the world, where the hostess has recently been presented with a life-size statue of one of her favourite racehorses, you couldn’t hope to compete.

Or rather, the competition was quite a different one: to see who could be the most entertaining on a budget. The winner (and the family were competitive to a fault, so there was usually a winner) was the one who came up with the best joke.