“And you are not common people, are you?” added Gwen.

“No, we are not,” said Lady Matheson, smiling. “What surcharge will you be imposing for God’s representatives in England?”

“How soon do you need results?” asked Iris.

“The sooner, the better. We anticipate that the prince may propose at Balmoral.”

“Shall we say—” Iris began, then glanced at Gwen, who nodded slightly. “Eighty pounds? Plus expenses?”

“Reasonable expenses,” said Lady Matheson, reaching for her purse again. “No investigating Greek island beaches.”

“Will you be needing an invoice?” asked Gwen.

“I don’t know what that is,” said Lady Matheson, counting out the notes. “Nor do I know what a ‘receipt’ or a ‘contract’ are.”

“In fact, you were never here,” said Iris.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“How do we contact you?”

“At this number,” said Lady Matheson, handing over a card with the money. “Use the names under which I made this appointment. The woman who answers the telephone will connect you to me. She won’t know who you really are.”

“What happens when you receive the follow-up note demanding payment?”

“We will address that when it happens,” said Lady Matheson, rising from her chair. “Good luck, ladies.”

She shook hands with Gwen and Iris, then stood by the door for Iris to let her out. The two women watched as she walked briskly down the stairs past her bodyguard, not even acknowledging his existence as she went by. He looked up at Iris and Gwen, winked, then followed.

“We just made ninety pounds, and I’m still not quite sure how it happened,” said Gwen as they returned to their desks.

“It puts us well on the way to reuniting you with Cecil,” said Iris.

“Start up a new type of business, and you scrimp and scrounge,” commented Gwen. “Solve one measly little murder, and the world beats a path. Don’t we need to be licensed to be detectives?”

“This is not being detectives,” said Iris.

“What is it, then?”

“Advanced gossip. Well within our capabilities. Oh, do you want to be Oona Travis or Catherine Prescott for our contact calls?”

“Does it matter?”

“We should be consistent, just so the secretary won’t be surprised by different voices for the same names.”

“It makes no difference to me. Which one do you want?”

“I shall be Oona, then,” declared Iris. “I’m the exotic one, aren’t I?”

“If you say so. This is all so strange. I feel as if we’re doing something unseemly, charging the Crown for this.”

“They have more money than we do. And this is business, not noblesse oblige.”

“Still, it seems inappropriate.”

“Think of it as helping out family.”

“Family?”

“You’re related in some fashion, aren’t you?”

“Oh, I suppose I am,” Gwen laughed. “I can’t remember how many degrees of consanguinity lie between me and the throne. I think Mummy once told me that I was one hundred seventy-third in line when I was born, but what with some dying and others producing heirs, I have no idea where I stand now. Oddly enough, my son is closer than I am, thanks to the in-laws.”