Chapter Nineteen
‘Rupert Fanshawe. Would you like to dance, Miss … er …?’ the officer asked, eyes everywhere but on Lily.
Special Branch, Lily guessed. Bodyguarding royal personages was, after all, their forte. And, as far as anyone knew, their record was one hundred per cent success. They’d escorted British kings and queens throughout Europe and back again in total safety at a time when other monarchs had been falling like ninepins to bomb and bullet. They’d even saved the lives of foreign royalty venturing on to British soil, if the rumours were correct. They’d guarded the Romanov family on their state visit to Britain and all had returned to St Petersburg unscathed. Branch officers had Lily’s respect. ‘Not sure I’d enjoy it very much, Rupert … Cecil seems to have lost the beat, don’t you think?’
She glanced in puzzlement at the conductor. Slim and elegant in his evening dress, pink scalp shining through the slicked-back hair, he stood, maintaining his customary half-turn to the dance floor. But his well-known smile was frozen on his face, his eyes fixed uneasily on the middle distance. He waggled his baton with less than his usual enthusiasm. ‘Nervous? Look — he can hardly keep the beat going. He seems to have sensed something’s wrong. Perhaps he saw something untoward. Up there on the stand, he’s more likely than most to have spotted trouble. Have you spoken to him?’
Rupert shook his head angrily, his anxiety increasing.
‘Then I think you should try … No, hang on …’ Lily winced and looked again at the band. She frowned and stared. She grabbed the Branch man’s arm and held him back. ‘Rupert — all’s well. You can stand down. It’s the head to the left … it’s a dead give-away. Will you excuse me for a moment?’
She set off for the bandstand.
‘Gotcher!’ Lily spoke in a parody of a police voice straight into the ear of the Prince of Wales. ‘Caught red handed. Clear case of impersonation. Are you going to come quietly?’
He stopped his drumming abruptly, wrong footing several couples on the dance floor. They trailed to a puzzled halt and turned to stare at Cecil, wondering whether the dance was over.
‘Oh, I say — it’s a fair cop! A moment, please. I’ll surrender when I’ve done the flourish.’ He caught the panicking eye of the band leader, nodded and went into a swirling flurry of beats that announced that the dance was indeed over. Moving back into the sides, he peeled off the band uniform coat he was wearing and exchanged it for his evening tails, taking them from the wide-eyed and embarrassed drummer who’d been put to wait in the wings. ‘Thank you so much, Tommy,’ said the prince. ‘I really enjoyed that. Quite got the evening going!’