Edward, pink faced with exertion, turned to Lily and held out a hand. ‘I say — you must be my dancing policeman.’ He peered closely at her. ‘Can I possibly have that right?’
Lily shook his hand, unable to think of any other response. ‘Lily Wentworth, sir.’
‘You may call me sir if you prefer, Lily, but my close friends call me by my last name which is David,’ he said lightly. ‘And I think, for this evening, you’re meant to be a friend and staying close. How did you spot me?’ He laughed. ‘I’ve been watching the heavy brigade tooling about the room searching for me. They never once looked up at the bandstand! And then Sandilands came in and started charging about the place like a bull let loose in Harrods. No attention from him either. You saw me straight away. How come?’
‘I have an ear for rhythm — you were half a beat out. And you were the only one of a well-drilled line-up that had his head permanently set like this — to the left. I’ve noticed it in photographs.’ Lily demonstrated, putting her head on one side and staring soulfully into the middle distance. ‘When you know what to look for in a group photograph it stands out a mile.’
The prince was entertained by her impersonation. ‘I see it! Me and Alexander the Great!’ he chortled. ‘I always knew we must have something in common. Now that Cecil’s recovered his beat … what’s that he’s giving us now? Ah — a slow waltz to allow his heart rate a chance to recover … shall we take the floor?’
The moment they swirled off into the waltz, the whole room seemed to exhale a breath of relief and the floor was invaded by every couple in the room intent on being seen dancing in the company of the heir to the throne. After a few moments, he confided: ‘So glad they’ve sent me a policeman who can really dance — I feared the worst. I’ve seen your mob on parade. Better equipped for tossing the caber than tripping the light fantastic!’
‘Some of us can do both, sir.’ Lily smiled and leaned into a reverse turn, relishing Sandilands’ astonished face as they swooped by. A discreet and distant flash told her that Cyril was recording the moment.
HRH, as Sandilands called him, had the reputation of being a charming man. Lily had always thought that if she ever met a so-called charming man she’d be sick on his dancing shoes. But after two or three circuits of the floor, she reluctantly had to admit that she was charmed, if by that she meant amused, intrigued and flattered. He had much to say and spoke with feeling and humour. And there was some other quality — a deprecating self-awareness that drew one in. He seemed to have an unending stream of stories, some told against himself, that kept Lily laughing. His relaxed view of events, however, began to alarm her. So unflurried was her partner, he surely could not have been made fully aware of the seriousness of the threat against him.
She raised the matter as tactfully as she could, to be answered by a cheerful: ‘Oh, yes. Know what you mean. En garde again. What a bore! I wonder what the going rate for me is in England? In India — did you know I’d just got back from India? — it was a thousand pounds a pop. Some over-rich politico — whom I may not name — was brazenly offering a thousand-pound reward to anyone who would lob a bomb at me. Everyone knew who he was. And I had to sit opposite the fiend at a couple of dinner parties. Can you imagine?’
Lily agreed that conversation must have been a little stilted and dared to ask whether he’d been aware of any attempts actually being mounted.