‘There was a crest. Might you know it? I’m still learning.’
‘I might.’
‘It was quite small. A blue hexagon with a crown on top and writing round the edge. And some sort of symbol in the middle.’
‘Hmm. Was that all?’
‘Yes.’
‘Might the symbol have been a letter? An E, perhaps?’ he asked.
Joan thought about it. ‘Yes, possibly. If it was angled to fit the hexagon.’
He nodded, lifting the frying pan and sliding the cooked omelette onto a waiting plate. He placed another plate over it to keep it warm, while he melted a fresh pat of butter in the pan. ‘That would be the Duke of Windsor. Edward – though he was only officially Edward for months, I suppose.’
‘Yes,’ Joan mused. ‘He’s David, really, isn’t he?’
‘Hard to know what he is now. Except persona non grata. He must have been writing from Paris. I wonder what he wanted. I didn’t think they were speaking to him.’
‘Mmm.’
Hector whisked two more eggs in a mug with a sprinkle of salt and pepper. He poured the mixture into the sizzling pan.
‘Of course, Wallis had a similar cypher made to match. It didn’t have the writing round the edge, I believe. The central letter couldn’t have been a W, could it?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Joan said airily. ‘Shall I lay the table?’
‘Go ahead.’
She retrieved knives and forks from one of the drawers, and water glasses from a cupboard.
She did know which letter it was: definitely the ‘E’, not the ‘W’.
It worried her a little that Hector hadn’t even glanced round to face her as he spoke to her, despite being so helpful. It was as if he could tell she was trying to avoid making too much of the question, and therefore was mirroring her.
Anyone who had been at Longmeadow Hall at the time of the ill-fated Brigadier Yelland had a brain as sharp as a tack, and a chess-player’s ability to see several moves ahead. She had a lot to hide, and sensed Hector had just seen through most of it. Her only hope was that he didn’t care, or wasn’t in a position to do much about it.
Chapter 36
Daphne Du Maurier arrived at Balmoral in the dying days of August, along with a West Highland terrier, two large trunks of well-cut clothes and a sense of dread, the last of which she carefully hid from her hosts. Her beloved husband, Boy, wasn’t at all well – his busy life had been taking its toll. She was very worried about him, but had left him at home in Menabilly along with the children, the nanny and a team of, she hoped, reasonably competent nurses, and travelled the length of the British Isles because you do, don’t you, when your sovereign asks?
Balmoral would be dire. Absolutely beautiful countryside, but Daphne’s idea of enjoying it involved personal freedom and solitary walks. The thought of changing outfits several times a day and negotiating small talk with dozens of courtiers filled her with horror. Lord Altrincham had captured the Queen’s life perfectly. Daphne liked the young royal couple themselves very much, but the world they lived in was undeniably stuffy. However, it seemed they had asked her to help out with precisely this problem, so there was a glimmer of hope.
They greeted her enthusiastically. The Queen said gleefully that she had reread Rebecca in honour of Daphne’s coming and had forgotten how chilling it was, and wasn’t she clever? It made one think about housekeepers in an entirely different way.
In the first forty-eight hours alone, they laid on a picnic and a barbecue (outdoor clothes) a ride with the children (riding clothes), two jolly evening meals (smart clothes) and a dance (party clothes). Still, Daphne sensed something in the air: a rustle between the couple, something off-centre and wobbly, like a spinning top that had lost its centre of gravity.
It didn’t really surprise her. Ten years of marriage will do it to you. God knew, her own marriage wasn’t perfect, what with Boy shuttling up and down between Cornwall and London and in danger of drinking himself into an early grave. That wasn’t all he’d been up to in London, either. Had Philip really done all those things the papers accused him of in the South Pacific? Whatever it was, he and Elizabeth both seemed uncertain how to put it right. And, of course, nobody spoke about it, directly or even obliquely. Instead, they talked about facing the cameras at Christmas and in Canada, and what the Queen was going to say, and how not to make her sound like the well-meaning captain of the netball team.
‘I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong,’ the Queen said, more bewildered than upset. ‘I know how difficult things are for everyone, especially after Suez. I try to be encouraging.’
‘They don’t want a pat on the head,’ Daphne explained. ‘They want to know that you feel what they’re going through.’
‘But I do! Of course I do.’
‘Do you, really, ma’am?’
Daphne said it gently, but the Queen looked shocked to have her empathy questioned. She went very quiet, not sulking, but thinking. She was a good listener, Daphne thought.
‘I mean, look at Marilyn Monroe,’ Daphne suggested. ‘Did you see The Prince and the Showgirl this summer?’
‘Yes, actually, we did.’
‘What’s lovable about her are the moments when she’s unsure. If you want to connect, ma’am, you can’t be strong all the time. Sometimes, you have to admit you’re vulnerable. You’re a wife and mother, with all that entails. It may seem like a disadvantage, God knows – I certainly do. But it’s part of your charm.’
‘But I . . .’
The Queen fell silent again. Yes, it seemed wrong-headed to suggest that a monarch couldn’t be strong all the time, but Daphne knew what made a character connect with the reader, and they’d asked her opinion, after all.
‘I’m thinking of the first Queen Elizabeth,’ Daphne explained. ‘“I may have the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king.”’
‘Well, exactly,’ the Queen said. “The heart and stomach of a king.”’
‘What you’re missing, ma’am, is the first part. The “weak and feeble woman”. That’s what drags you in, as a listener. That’s what makes you sit up and take notice, and believe her, and take her seriously. She builds from there.’
‘Oh.’
‘What frightens you?’ Daphne asked. ‘Honestly.’
‘Honestly? The television cameras themselves. All this new technology. The idea of being seen by two million people when I can only see two.’
‘That’s understandable,’ Daphne agreed.
‘And . . . and I suppose . . .’
The Queen gave Daphne an anguished look, followed by a sweet, shy smile, and was quite adorable in that moment. If only that could be captured on television . . .
‘Yes?’ Daphne prompted.
‘I suppose . . . There are people who are very good at imagining the future, you know, and reaching for it, but I find that I . . . well, I lean a little bit into the past. I need tradition, and religion, you know, and old-fashioned ideals like morality and self-discipline. Peace. Love thy neighbour. Truthfulness. They get me through . . . That’s not too boring, is it?’
‘Not at all,’ Daphne said. ‘Perhaps we can work it in. Start with home and hearth – there you are, welcoming people into your home, but you’re doing it through the modern medium of television, and the new technologies can be rather frightening, but to deal with them, people can draw on . . . oh, I don’t know exactly, but something to do with what you said. Traditional values.’