Lily was still shaking with silent laughter when her arm was seized from behind and clamped tightly to the side of a tall woman striding out towards the Thames. Lily had to scamper along to avoid being swept off her feet, such was the onward rush, the iron grip on her arm.
Cream-coloured linen, no gloves, no handbag. She’d left home in a hurry. But she’d snatched the time to pull on a cloche hat in natural straw. A waft of Attar of Roses confirmed Lily’s identification.
‘Anna?’ she murmured. ‘Anna Petrovna, is this you?’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
‘No. I’m Anna Peterson, my dear, according to my new passport. Thank you for that. And you, I take it, are Lily Wentworth. Constable in the British police force?’
Lily nodded, alarmed but puzzled. The voice was low and well modulated. It had, surprisingly, what Lily could have sworn was a reassuring trace of a Scottish accent. Every time she raised her head to look at her companion the wretched woman looked aside, hiding her profile with the brim of her cloche. The first swift glimpse Lily had had of the stranger’s face revealed familiar features and she tried in her mind’s eye to link them with the face she’d so fleetingly seen under a frilly lace cap at the Claridges reception.
Could she be sure this was Anna? Lily decided to be certain. ‘Before I forget,’ she said, ‘I have to pass on regards and good wishes from Ethel and Jack.’
‘I think you mean Ethel and Jim,’ the stranger corrected wearily. ‘If you mean my young friends in Hogsmire Lane. Do let’s stop all this secret service rubbish, shall we? We’re not overgrown Boy Scouts. And we haven’t much time to set the world to rights. I’ve been longing to talk to you — I feel I know you, having listened in to your chats withmy guardian. Now, thanks to you, I have some exciting shopping and packing to do. You may have advice to offer me on that … And I’m sure you’re looking forward to spending some time with the handsome commander, drinking a celebratory glass of champagne and toasting an absent friend.’
They walked on for a while, Anna relaxing the grip on Lily’s arm and slowing her pace. And then: ‘Ah! There’s Westminster Bridge straight ahead. One of my favourite places in London. Your Wordsworth seems to have liked it. Earth hath not anything to show more fair and all that. But then he’d never seen the river Neva flowing in majesty. He’d never seen St Petersburg. In fact he hadn’t seen much, your national wordsmith — I cannot call him “poet” — nor had much experience of places or people. To his naive eye, the French Revolution was a wonderful thing along with daisies, peasants and this view of a polluted river lined with grey buildings. Still, it is the best you have to offer so we’ll go on to the bridge and watch the Thames flow for a while, shall we?’
To all appearances the best of friends, Lily strolled with Anna Petrovna, self-appointed Nemesis of the royal family and possibly mentally deranged killer, on to the bridge.