“Not really. Only that she is in need of a maid. Her place was most untidy. But expensive. Have you found out who was paying her rent? That might be a start.”

“Nobody paid her rent,” he said. “She bought the place herself, two years ago. Paid cash.”

“Paid cash,” I said. “I wonder where she got that much money. She’s not an heiress, is she? She was never a famous actress, never married to a millionaire. What did she do?”

He sighed. “As I said, her life is an enigma. True, her name was linked to various prominent men, but such relationships wouldn’t have provided the money for a flat in Mayfair, unless she was the mistress of a particular millionaire . . . and then we’d all have known about it.”

“So what do you want me to do now?” I asked. “Would you be prepared to turn a blind eye if I went back to her flat?”

“Pelham’s men have been over it once and removed any letters or bills they thought might be of interest, so I’m not quite sure what you think you’d find. And of course you know he wouldn’t thank you for interfering, but if you think there is something to be learned, then by all means . . . Only you and I never had this conversation.” He shared the hint of a smile with me. “My department and Scotland Yard are not always on the friendliest terms, you know. Treading on their toes, going behind their backs . . . that’s what they think of us.”

“I’m going to a party tonight,” I said. “Gussie Gormsley is giving it. I thought there could perhaps be some of Bobo’s crowd there. I might ask a few questions.”

He nodded. “And this countess. You think she is the type who might kill out of misplaced loyalty?”

“I do,” I said. “I think she’s absolutely the type.”

As I left the café and made my way back to Kensington Palace I couldn’t help reflecting that Sir Jeremy had already had a chat with Prince George. Who knew what information had passed between them and what they were determined to keep from the rest of us? Sir Jeremy had been involved in protecting the royal family before. He was one of us, and I knew whose side he would take. He might not care about justice if it meant scandal and disgrace for a royal. And he might even have asked me to help in the knowledge that I’d just get in the way, tangle things up for DCI Pelham and not come anywhere near the truth.

Chapter 19

EVENING OF NOVEMBER 6

GUSSIE GORMSLEY’S, ST. JAMES’S MANSIONS,

QUEEN’S WALK, LONDON