“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Look at how Andrea behaves towards his wife and son after,” said Gwen. “He shoves her into a sanatorium, sends the boy away, first to live with other relatives, then to one brutal boarding school after another. Barely visits him, never once visits his wife—his wife, Iris—in all the years that she’s confined. Is that how a man treats his first and only son and the woman who bore him?”

“Yes, he was a nasty piece of work, I’ll grant you. But are you suggesting—”

“That he was punishing her for having an affair that led to the illegitimate birth of her only son?” finished Gwen. “Obviously, I have no evidence to suggest that whatsoever.”

“No.”

“But what if someone else does? What happens to Philip’s prospects?”

“They vanish like smoke,” said Iris. “Bastards don’t get to marry princesses. Officially, anyway. So the thing left behind in Corfu—love letters?”

“That would fit the theory, wouldn’t it? Too precious to destroy, too risky to leave lying around. Hidden in the villa, or buried in an oilskin packet at the foot of a favourite tree, and forgotten in the haste of packing and fleeing until Princess Alice is safely on a British destroyer and it’s too late to go back.”

“It could be,” agreed Iris. “Too bad we have nothing to back it up.”

“Alice herself—”

“Is off-limits,” said Iris. “Because if you’re wrong about this, the mere asking would be disastrous for the royal romance. Her lady’s maid, however, might have been a confidante. And the lover himself, if we could figure out who he was. Here’s a question: why would Alice tell any of this to Talbot?”

“Could she have known him before?”

“He’s in Athens in 1917, same year they flee the first time. There may have been some overlap. He could have traveled to Switzerland to sound out the exiles on behalf of Britain.”

“What about after he left Athens?”

“Let’s see. He’s naval attaché through 1920, then marries the French widow that June.”

“Where was the wedding?”

“London. Holy Trinity Church on Sloane Street.”

“So, it’s not likely he was bored with the widow by September. She was French, after all.”

“Good Lord!”

“Just thinking about other possible men in Alice’s life. What else did you find out about her?”

“She got heavily into spiritualism in Switzerland. Andrea’s younger brother, Christo, was obsessed with it. The sort of fad that people with money and time on their hands will indulge in.”

“Interesting. A younger brother with a sympathetic ear. Or perhaps there came a dashing visiting lecturer on arcane matters, a charlatan with a charismatic bearing and a hypnotic stare.”

“Rasputin was elsewhere at the time. You have a marvelous imagination, Gwen. You should sit in psychiatrists’ waiting rooms more often.”

“Shake my brain sufficiently, things will come loose.”

The bill arrived. Iris reached for her bag. Gwen shook her head.

“My treat,” she said. “We are celebrating your courage.”