“Serious? Not a lack of champagne for the party, surely?” He laughed. “My father already sent over six bottles.”
“No, really serious,” Alfie said. “Someone might be going to shoot the prime minister this afternoon.”
“What? Is this some kind of joke?” Jeremy was still smiling.
“No. Not a joke. It’s real,” Phoebe said.
“How did you figure that one out?”
“Phoebe overheard this morning.” Alfie moved closer to the van so that nobody could overhear. “A man told a woman she had to do it, and he gave her a loaded gun and she was very upset.”
“Good God. Really?” Jeremy was no longer smiling. “You’re right. This is serious stuff. We should go and tell the police right away.” He got out and came around the van. “Jump in. I’ll give you a lift.”
He had opened the rear door. They scrambled into the back of the van. The door closed behind them.
“Hey, don’t shut us in. It’s dark in here,” Alfie shouted, but the van was already driving off again.
When it hadn’t slowed after a few minutes, Phoebe whispered to Alfie, “I don’t think we’re going to the police station, do you?”
“No. We’d better get out of here next time it slows down. Okay?”
“Yes, let’s. I have a really bad feeling about this.”
She slid across to the door and ran her hands over it. “There doesn’t seem to be a way to open it from the inside,” she whispered. “Let’s bang and shout. Somebody will hear us.”
“But he’ll hear in the front seat. He might come around and kill us,” Alfie said.
“Oh, don’t be silly. This is Jeremy. I’ve known him all my life. He wouldn’t ever . . .” She paused. “I don’t think he’d kill us,” she said in a small voice.
The van was being driven fast, throwing the children from side to side. At last it slowed and came to a halt. They felt it shake as the driver’s door slammed.
“Now!” Alfie whispered to Phoebe. “Bang on the sides and shout. Ready, go.”
“Help!” they shouted. “Let us out!” They banged with their fists on the sides of the van.
Then Alfie noticed something. “He’s left the engine running,” he said. “We’d better hope we’re not in a garage, or we won’t last five minutes.”
“Don’t say that!” Phoebe put her eye to the crack where the doors came together but could see nothing.
Alfie gave a sudden sob. “Oh God,” he yelled. “Get me out of here!”
He hammered on the door of the van.
“Calm down,” Phoebe said primly. She put a hand on his back and felt him shaking.
“I hate being shut in like this,” he said. “Ever since the door was blown in on the bomb shelter, and we couldn’t get out and everyone was screaming, and I thought we were going to die. I’ve got to get out . . .”
Phoebe patted his shoulder. “It’s going to be all right, Alfie. We’ll find a way.”
“How?”
Phoebe looked around, trying to think of something to make him feel better. “You’re a Cockney,” she said. “Don’t people like you know how to pick locks?”
“Not all people in London are criminals, you know.” He sounded miffed now, but at least he had stopped whimpering.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that you’ve had to do things we never have. Look, I’ve got bobby pins in my hair,” she said. She took one out and handed it to him. “Give it a try.”
She held her breath until he said, “It’s no use. The lock seems to be on the other side.”
“Golly,” she sighed. “I can’t think what else to do, can you?”
“Keep hoping, I suppose,” he said.
“Oh, Pamela, there you are at last, you naughty girl,” Lady Westerham greeted her daughter as the motorbike pulled up outside Farleigh. “You promised you’d be here to help me. Margot and your friend have been stellar. So helpful. And Dido, too.”
“I’m sorry, Mah. It was a matter of great importance, or I’d never have gone,” Pamela said. “A matter of national security.”
“What on earth has national security to do with you?” Lady Westerham asked with disdain. “It’s no business of yours. Leave such things to the professionals. And for God’s sake, go and change before the guests arrive.”
Ben was feeling a little better now that they were back at Farleigh. He had had a word with Colonel Pritchard, who did take him seriously but urged him not to worry. There were plenty of soldiers around. The gate could be guarded, the guests vetted before they came in. But what if the enemy was already inside the gate, Ben worried. He looked down at his rumpled trousers. He realised he was not dressed suitably for a garden party, but there was no time to go home and change. He would make sure he stayed out of sight, in the background, observing. As he walked around to the back lawn, he saw that chairs and tables had been placed under the large copper beech. A long table had been set up on the gravel beside the house. Champagne stood ready in buckets of ice. Plates of sandwiches and cakes were covered in white napkins. A large bowl of strawberries stood next to a jug of cream. Two maids were putting out teacups at one end while another carried out a tray of glasses.
Trixie and Margot came out through open French doors, carrying a large flower arrangement between them. Trixie spotted Ben. “Oh, you’re back. Thank heavens. Lady Westerham was so annoyed. Are you all right?”
“Yes, thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry we saddled you with all the work. Unavoidable. Caught in a rainstorm.”
“Oh, we managed just fine,” Margot said. “I’ve enjoyed every second. It’s wonderful to be part of something like this. Normal life, the way it used to be. One never appreciates it until one doesn’t have it. I mean, look at all this food and drink. We were starving in Paris. Living on turnip soup and foul bread.”
“You must be so glad to be home,” Ben said.
“I can’t tell you how glad.” Ben looked at her, but Margot didn’t meet his gaze.
“But she had to leave her chap behind,” Trixie said. “She was telling me all about it. So sad.”
“He’s probably dead by now,” Margot said. “But he was very brave and wouldn’t betray his friends. I admire him for that.”
Ben looked at her critically. There were things she was not saying, he was sure of that.
“Now that you’re here, I’m putting you in charge of pouring champagne,” Trixie said. “I’m hopeless at opening champagne bottles.”
“I’m not too hot myself,” Ben said, “and I’m not suitably dressed for a party. We came straight back from the West Country.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked. Ben was conscious of Margot standing beside him.
“Not really. False alarm,” he said. “It was only an old monastery that had been burned by Cromwell’s men.”
“What was all this about, then? Some kind of scavenger hunt?” Margot asked.
“No, we were trying to identify a place in a photograph for my boss,” Ben said. “I don’t think it even matters now. So, where do you want to put me to work?”
“I think the maids will need help with that tea urn,” Margot said. “It’s jolly heavy. We’re going up to change.”
As he helped position an urn of tea, he looked around. The lawn on which the tables were set was surrounded by a rose arbour, tall topiaries, and shrubs. Plenty of cover for someone who wanted to hide. When the others had moved away, he set off on a tour, examining possible hiding places with an easy escape into the woods. Unlike the front of the house with its lake and lawns giving a view for miles, the rose arbour led to an enclosed rose garden, and then the kitchen gardens. And beyond them a thick stand of yew trees. Plenty of opportunity for a quick gunshot. He shuddered. Why on earth hadn’t they held this on the front lawns? Probably because they wanted to be away from the comings and goings of the West Kents, he thought. Giving the impression of a serene country house, removed from thoughts of war, for once.