There was no need to preach to the converted. Robertson sat down at his desk and took a bottle of whisky from the top drawer; he poured two glasses, never seeming to remember that Fielding hated the drink. ‘There’s something else I want you to keep an eye on while you’re down there,’ he said.
‘Oh yes?’
‘I’ve been having a word with a friend of mine who runs one of the Cornish papers. Rumours are that Hitler’s got his eye on Cornwall, and the Mount in particular.’
‘What?’
‘Von Ribbentrop spent a lot of time there when he was the British Ambassador, and apparently he’s been promised St Michael’s Mount. Alf was in the room when he announced it, at some do with the Lord Lieutenant. Spitting nails, he was, after two hours in that idiot’s company.’
‘Now that I can believe.’ The Nazi Foreign Minister was a figure of ridicule in the press for the gaffes he made on a regular basis. ‘So why hasn’t Alf printed the story?’
Robertson scoffed. ‘He can’t, can he? Not while the official line is still appeasement – but that won’t last for ever, so get plenty of shots of the castle while you’re there. You never know when they might come in handy.’
‘The Lord Lieutenant’s coming for Christmas, isn’t he?’
‘That’s right, with his daughter – and she’s been very friendly with Von Ribbentrop’s aide, if you know what I mean, but for God’s sake don’t mention that at the dinner table. Now, I’ve got a final list of guests for you somewhere.’ Fielding waited while the editor rummaged through a full in-tray, eventually pulling out two lists of names and discarding the older one in an overflowing wastepaper basket. ‘Here it is. We’ve got a vicar, a policeman, two writers …’
‘Sounds like a game of Happy Families,’ Fielding said. ‘With Angel the Actress at the top of the pack.’
There was a knock at the open door, and the office cleaner stuck his head round. ‘Sorry, guv, I didn’t know you were busy. Do you want me to come back later?’
Robertson shook his head. ‘I’ll be busy all night, Jack, so you might as well get it done now while we’re finishing up here. Don’t go overboard, though.’
Jack grinned at Fielding as he emptied the ashtray and gave it a polish. ‘Looking forward to your Cornish trip? All right for some.’
Fielding ignored him and stood up to go. ‘If that’s it, sir, I’ll be off. I’ll check in with you again before I leave on Friday.’
‘No you won’t, because you’re leaving on Thursday. Who knows what this weather will be doing by the end of the week, and I can’t risk any mistakes. I’ve cleared it with your hosts.’ Robertson slid an envelope across the desk. ‘Here’s your train ticket, so get yourself there in good time and make sure you’ve got a feel for the place. Detective Chief Inspector Penrose of Scotland Yard is escorting our Hollywood star down on Christmas Eve, and we’ll need plenty of shots of her arriving at the Mount. Penrose is a good friend of Miss St Aubyn and he’s from that part of the world, so keep on the right side of him.’ He smiled at Jack, who had stopped what he was doing at the mention of Hollywood. ‘Yes, I’m sure you’re dying to know who we’re talking about, but you’ll have to wait until Saturday.’
‘She must be someone important if she needs a police escort.’ The cleaner looked curiously at Fielding as he gathered up the rubbish from the waste basket. ‘Are you sure you don’t need someone to carry your bags for the weekend?’ he offered. ‘I’ve got nothing special planned for Christmas.’
‘Thanks, Jack, but I’ve got this one covered.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Robertson said. ‘Seriously, Alex, I’ve stuck my neck out to persuade the boss that this story is worth a generous donation to the Appeal. Don’t let me down. I want you right there on the spot every time she so much as sneezes.’
‘I won’t let her out of my sight,’ Fielding promised. ‘By the time this is over, I’ll know her better than she knows herself.’
5
The tearoom was even busier than usual, but for once everyone seemed happy to wait and the season of goodwill lived up to its name. The morning flew by in a flurry of Christmas shoppers, and an assortment of bags and boxes from every store in town spilled out from under the tables, taking up precious floor space. Violet glanced at the clock and was surprised to see that it was already a quarter to twelve – time to brace herself for the lunchtime rush and a different clientele. The shop girls and office clerks were never as patient as the housewives, but at least she’d have room to move without causing an avalanche.
She collected the tip from a table by the door – more silver than copper at this time of year – and re-laid it quickly for a party of four young men in naval uniforms. They were in high spirits, full of their plans for Christmas and the girls they were going to spend it with, and she dealt with their flirting as efficiently as she handled their order. It came naturally to her to be nice, and she always smiled when she remembered the manageress telling her at her interview that a pleasant personality was more important than good looks. She had taken the back-handed compliment in the spirit it was meant, and it turned out to be true: she hadn’t been short of offers, although she’d vowed never to do anything as predictable as falling for one of her customers. It wasn’t the first time she’d been wrong.
A queue built steadily at the door, and she was far too busy running to and from the kitchen to see Johnny arrive. By the time she noticed him, he was already seated at a table next to the Christmas tree which had had a reserved sign on it all morning. He grinned when he caught her eye, pleased to have surprised her, and she thought how nice he looked – smarter than usual in the better of his two suits, with a tie that she hadn’t seen before and diligently polished shoes. Instinctively, she straightened her cap, glad that she’d found a minute to comb her hair between orders. ‘Got time to join me?’ he asked, when his turn to be served finally came.
‘Are you mad? It’s the busiest part of the day. I’ll be flat out for the next hour and a half.’
‘It’s all right, Violet – you can take your lunch break early today. The girls will cover for you.’
Violet turned round and looked at her manageress in surprise. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Ridley, I didn’t know he was coming …’
Her apologies were waved away. ‘Go on. Don’t keep the poor man waiting. I can’t spare you all afternoon.’
‘Of course not. Thank you, Mrs Ridley.’
‘You can fetch your own lunch, though. I’m not made of festive spirit.’
Violet nodded and turned back to the table, but not before she’d noticed her colleagues nudging each other. ‘Johnny Soper, what the hell are you playing at?’ she whispered. ‘You’ll get me the sack, and a fine bloody Christmas present that’ll be.’
‘You won’t get the sack. You’re entitled to a lunch hour, just like the rest of us.’
He smiled again, and Violet wondered what he was up to; it was out of character for him to break any sort of rule. ‘All right then, but I can’t be long. What do you want?’