‘The place isn’t the same without Monty,’ he opined. Joan tried not to take it personally, but a treasured spaniel was one of the many things Fiona possessed and she did not. Others, in no particular order, included a title, a famous family chef, an outsize bottle of L’Air du Temps (a gift from an admirer, found in a desk drawer next to the paper clips) and a personal acquaintance with at least half the men who had been at Eton in the last twenty years.
It wasn’t easy to make up for these deficiencies. However, for what it was worth, Joan had an innate ability not only to find important documents in Fiona’s idiosyncratic horizontal filing system, but to put them back in places where other people – notably the private, deputy and press secretaries – could find them too. There was also her memory for names: both of the senior men around the globe who needed to speak to the Private Office, and for their secretaries and assistants, who purred like kittens to be remembered and suddenly made all transactions easier.
On her first day, Joan installed an impressive typewriter on her desk, and though the DPS insisted the noise of the keys would drive him mad, her ability to anticipate and type up the notes and memoranda he needed saved him precious minutes in a busy day. She couldn’t bring in Parisian-style pastries, but she wasn’t a fool and she arrived instead with bags of fresh bagels and cinnamon babkas from the East End, which were always gone by ten o’clock.
Every half-hour, Urquhart would give her a new task, or a head would pop round the door and the private or press secretary would add something for her to do. It was mostly menial work and the thanks were always perfunctory, but Joan didn’t care.
She was at the centre of the world and loving every minute.
Within twenty-four hours of her arrival, someone from the White House had called to sort out the Queen’s sleeping arrangements for her stay in Washington in October. Urquhart, who found such details beneath his dignity, had left her to it.
Joan had since met the prime minister, the lord chancellor, the Archbishop of York and the chairman of the BBC. She saw Her Majesty almost daily, to deliver or pick up the red boxes of official paperwork for the Queen to review. And because Joan mastered the files so quickly, she became the expert on the schedules for the upcoming royal visits. Other members of staff were coming to rely on her. They would always address their questions to the DPS, but they increasingly turned to Joan for the answers.
There was something she needed to discuss with the Queen, but their brief conversations had been taken up with immediate plans for the Easter weekend and Her Majesty’s birthday. Meanwhile, the only problem lay with the secretaries (lower case), who were once so friendly. When Joan used to pop across from the typing pool, they would include her in their tea breaks and their gossip. But since her elevation to a capital S, they looked on her with suspicion. The nicer she was to them, the more distant they became.
Still, the job itself was a dream, she knew she was doing it well, and for now that was enough.
‘The new girl’s a disaster, ma’am. I’m sorry, but there we are.’
Miles Urquhart stood stiffly before the Queen in her study. It had taken him a few days to get this little meeting in Her Majesty’s diary, but at last the time had come. His russet moustache quivered with righteous indignation: to be expected to work alongside a little know-it-all Irish minx! What had Her Majesty been thinking? It was demeaning, demoralising and it had to stop.
‘Oh? What’s she done?’
Urquhart briefly closed his eyes. What hadn’t Joan done?
‘She doesn’t know her place, ma’am.’
‘And what is that?’
‘To be my assistant,’ he said gruffly, sensing more resistance from Her Majesty than he had anticipated. ‘To learn fast and do as she’s told.’
‘I see.’
‘And she has been sadly disappointing on both counts. I didn’t want to bring this to your attention, ma’am. Normally I’d deal with it myself, but I know you suggested the girl personally and I thought you ought to know before any action was taken.’
‘Bring what to my attention, Miles?’
Where to begin?
‘She’s frequently late. She’s cocky. She doesn’t know her limits. She almost made a complete hash of a sensitive issue in Washington, classic example, and I’ve only just rescued it. And—’
‘I thought Hugh said she was flying through the filing and doing rather well.’
‘That was at the start, ma’am. Before we found out her true nature. I’m not surprised she can’t cope, of course. Girls of her class aren’t cut out for this sort of work.’
The Queen pushed back her chair and sat with her hands in her lap. She looked composed, but had she sported a moustache, it might have bristled tellingly too.
‘Oh. You mentioned an issue in Washington . . . ?’
He refrained from rolling his eyes, but a tic went off in his cheek at the memory of it. ‘This was on Saturday, ma’am. I only found out on Sunday but as it was your birthday, I didn’t want to bother you. And as I say, I’ve dealt with it.’
‘I’m sure you have, Miles. Dealt with what?’
‘A ridiculous breach of protocol. Joan tends to chat to every Tom, Dick and Harry who calls up, regardless of status. She made friends with some secretary at the White House and took it upon herself to overrule your sleeping arrangements for October. I might not have noticed, but she pointed it out to me herself, as if she was proud of it.’
‘And what did she do, exactly?’
Urquhart’s tic beat faster. ‘The protocol is quite clear. All leaders visiting the White House stay at Blair House on Pennsylvania Avenue, as they’ve done since Churchill’s unfortunate visit to the executive residence in 1942. I gather he was known to wander about the White House at night with a little more freedom than the president found acceptable. Given that history, it makes it all the more embarrassing that Joan and this American secretary took it upon themselves to change your schedule and move you and the duke back to the executive residence for your stay.’
‘Did she?’
The Queen’s eyes widened. Again, her upper lip didn’t amplify her emotion, and Urquhart assumed horror, like his own.
‘Don’t worry, ma’am. I’ve spoken to my man in Washington. He’s busy putting it right before the president gets to hear about it. We would hate him to think we have no respect for tradition, for privacy . . .’
‘I see,’ the Queen said. ‘Have you spoken to Joan about this? Did she explain?’
‘She said she discussed it with Jeremy, but he denies it. I’m afraid she can’t absolutely be relied upon to tell the truth. Another class trait, possibly. To be charitable, one might assume that perhaps she feels overwhelmed.’
The Queen cut across him. ‘If you had spoken to her, Miles, she might have told you that I wrote a note following my discussion with the president last week. Mrs Eisenhower very kindly invited the duke and me to stay with them in the White House. I was touched by the gesture. It was a sign of our personal friendship.’
‘Ma’am, I—’
‘Of course, I accepted. You didn’t see my note? I do hope you can talk to your man in Washington before the president does get to hear about the new arrangement. I’d hate us to look ungrateful.’
Urquhart stood rigid with dismay. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘And silly, and uncoordinated.’
There was a pause.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Urquhart was stung. It was rare for Her Majesty to issue a rebuke, but when she did, she chose her words well. Silly and uncoordinated. If Sir Hugh were to hear of it . . . It was all the fault of that stupid girl, of course, for not making herself clearer and then discussing the thing with Jeremy, and not himself, if indeed she’d talked to anyone. She had been nothing but trouble, apart from the filing – which any office girl could do. It was what he was trying to say. He returned to his point.