‘Your next appointment has arrived, ma’am.’
‘No, they haven’t,’ said Diana. Turning to William, she admitted, ‘That’s just a coded message to get rid of you two, whereas I’d much rather have tea with you than dinner with the King of Saudi Arabia. However...’
William immediately stood up. ‘I think the time has come for us to leave, ma’am. Thank you so much for seeing us.’
‘I do hope I’ll be seeing you again, Inspector,’ said Diana as she accompanied them both down the wide staircase to the hall. William was pleased to see Ross chatting to the Princess while he hung back to take a closer look at several paintings he might never have the opportunity of seeing again, including a seascape by the other Henry Moore. Beth would be certain to question him when he got home about which artists the Princess favoured. It would be an interesting challenge to see how many of them he could remember without being able to make a note.
As they walked back into the entrance hall, he paused to admire a Turner, a Millais and a Burne-Jones, only wishing he had longer to appreciate them. The Princess accompanied them out to the car, where she once again surprised William by having a long chat with Danny before they departed. She didn’t go back inside until the car was out of sight.
William waited until they’d turned into Kensington High Street before saying, ‘Well, do you want the job, chatterbox?’
‘Of course I do,’ said Ross, without hesitation. ‘But I have a problem.’
‘Will there be anything else, Mr Booth Watson?’ asked his secretary as she closed her dictation pad.
Booth Watson sat back and considered the question of how to deal with the dual problems of Miles Faulkner and his ex-wife Christina. Although he’d seen both of them quite recently, he still wasn’t sure if Miles had accepted his explanation of what had taken place in Spain, while Christina had certainly worked out what he’d been up to. He was aware she wouldn’t hesitate to seek advice from Sir Julian if it were in her own best interests. But he also knew the ideal person to keep an eye on both of them, while only reporting back to him: a man who would have contacts in Belmarsh, both behind bars and on the landings, while at the same time keeping a close eye on Christina Faulkner, so he always knew who she was seeing, and what she was up to. Although Booth Watson detested the former Superintendent who’d left the Met under a cloud, he agreed with Lyndon Johnson who, after resigning himself to the difficulty of firing J. Edgar Hoover, had once commented, ‘It’s probably better to have him inside the tent pissing out, than outside pissing in.’
‘Yes, Miss Plumstead,’ he eventually managed. ‘I want you to arrange an urgent meeting with ex-superintendent Lamont.’
‘Of course, sir. But I should point out that your diary is back-to-back at the moment. You have two court appearances later in the week and—’
‘In the next twenty-four hours,’ Booth Watson said, interrupting her.
Chapter 7
William quickly turned the key in the lock, hoping he was back in time to read a bedtime story to the children. He was delighted to hear cheerful young voices coming from the front room. He hung up his overcoat on the hallstand and extracted two boxes from the inside pockets before heading towards the boisterous noise.
No sooner had William opened the door than Artemisia charged across and threw her arms around his legs.
‘Is it true,’ she asked even before he could speak, ‘that you had tea with Princess Di?’
‘The Princess of Wales,’ said Beth, correcting her.
‘The answer is yes,’ said William, ‘and she said to say hi, and asked me to give you a present.’
Artemisia held out her hands, while Peter asked, ‘Did she give me a present?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said William, producing the two boxes from behind his back. He handed them over, hoping the twins wouldn’t notice that one of the gifts was far better wrapped than the other. He needn’t have worried, because Peter ripped the wrapping off his present immediately, impatient to discover what was inside, while Artemisia took her time, undoing the silk ribbon and removing the pink paper, both of which would be given pride of place on her bedside table.
‘Wow,’ said Beth as Artemisia held up a small coronet made of shiny beads.
‘Is it real?’ she asked, clutching it tightly.
‘If a Princess gave it to you, it must be,’ said her mother, placing the coronet on her daughter’s head.
Artemisia ran out of the room to take a look at herself in the hall mirror, while Peter began to unbutton his pyjama top.
‘She even knows which team I support and that Kerry Dixon is my favourite player!’ he proclaimed, pulling on a Chelsea shirt with the number nine on the back.
‘And even more impressive,’ whispered Beth, ‘she knows what size he is.’
Artemisia reappeared, her head aloft as she began to stroll regally around the room, smiling and waving at the cat with the back of her hand. As she passed Peter, she said imperiously, ‘You have to bow.’
‘Chelsea supporters don’t bow to anyone,’ said Peter as he began to parade in the opposite direction, showing off his new kit to those seated in the stands.
Both parents somehow managed to keep straight faces.
‘Can I wear it to bed?’ pleaded Peter, after completing several circuits of the room.
‘Yes, of course you can, darling,’ said his mother, followed by a second ‘Yes’ to Artemisia even before she could ask. ‘But you’ll both have to write to the Princess in the morning and thank her.’
‘Mine will be a long and interesting letter, because I have a lot to say since I last saw her,’ said Artemisia as their nanny joined them.
‘Time for bed,’ Sarah said firmly.
‘I’m a Princess,’ Artemisia replied. ‘But you can call me Artemisia.’
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said Sarah, giving her a slight curtsey, ‘but even Princesses need their beauty sleep.’
Artemisia gave her father a hug before she and Peter left the room, both chatting away to Sarah at the same time.
‘You’re a good man, William Warwick,’ said Beth as she bent down and kissed him on the forehead. ‘The coronet I believe, but not the Chelsea shirt.’ William smiled. ‘But now I want to hear all about your visit to Kensington Palace. What was she wearing? What did you have for tea and, most important, which paintings were on display that I’ll never have the chance to see?’
William was already regretting not lingering longer on the staircase while HRH was chatting to Ross.
‘All in good time,’ he said. ‘But first, there’s something more pressing we have to discuss.’ He hesitated for a moment, before asking, ‘How do you feel about having another child?’
Beth didn’t respond immediately, but finally asked, ‘What’s changed? After all, we’ve discussed the subject ad infinitum, and always come to the same conclusion. We simply can’t afford it.’
William settled back to listen to a speech he’d heard several times before.
‘We’re a typical modern couple,’ Beth reminded him. ‘We both have full time jobs, and wouldn’t want it any other way. You’re doing the job you’ve always wanted to do, and I don’t have to remind you how lucky I feel to be working at the Fitzmolean. Not only that, but as a Chief Inspector you can’t even claim overtime, despite the fact that your workload hasn’t diminished. To make things worse, I’m paid a pittance compared to men who do the equivalent job. Such is the lot of women who work in the art world, publishing or the theatre. But that won’t stop me pushing for change in the future,’ she added with considerable feeling. ‘Women will continue to be taken advantage of as long as there’s a surplus of eager candidates vying for every job, especially when they daren’t complain about the pay. And even then, a man far less qualified often ends up being appointed to the same job because he won’t be taking time off to have a baby!’