“No—over Bacchus’s dead body—you misremember! Reducing my two best agents to one at the peal of a church bell was never going to please me.”

“It wasn’t easy. We knew we loved each other but he knew I loved my job just as much. That’s why he held off asking me to marry him. James is a thug—I can’t say you didn’t warn me. He’ll beat a man senseless, put a bullet through him if he has to, but he’s not entirely insensitive. He could see I was having a ripping time and thought I might choose to stick with the police force and reject him—choose danger over domesticity. Because that would have been his own choice if he’d had to make one. His own masculine choice. He couldn’t grasp that I might be willing to give up all this”—she rolled her eyes with humour around his office—“for a lifetime of cooking and cleaning. But I loved him,” she finished as though that were explanation enough.

“How did he get around to … er …?”

“He never did ask me. Oh, he intended to! He took me out for a romantic dinner at the Savoy and all the signs were there that he was working up to saying something important. But he dropped me off on my doorstep at the end of the evening with not a word spoken. He kissed me good night and turned to go. I lost my rag. I grabbed him by the ears and said some very unpleasant things. ‘Cowardly stinker … Conscienceless seducer … What a waste of an evening …’ That sort of thing. I finished with an ultimatum. He had twenty-four hours to ask me to marry him, or I was off to Paris to manage Aunty Phyl’s new dress shop on the Rue St. Honoré.”

“Seems to have worked.”

“Not then and there. He still couldn’t find the words. A bloke fluent in half a dozen languages, and he couldn’t come up with the four little words I wanted to hear in any of them! In the end, he had to get a little help from Dickens. I got a note pushed through the door next morning. It said: ‘Bacchus is willing.’ ”

Joe snorted with laughter. “You were lucky you got a joke in English! It might have been something pithy from Pushkin. Now, what was his contribution to the Sighing Suitor’s Manual? Habit makes the heart grow fonder. That always clinches it for me!”

“Anyway—do it properly, Joe. You don’t want to overhear Dorcas telling an unflattering story like that in years to come. Give her something to look back on with pleasure. Some romantic tale to thrill or amuse her friends with. There’s three things that’ll fix a proposal in any girl’s memory: A special place, an unexpected gift, some silver words.” Lily gave him a sideways glance of mock assessment. “A bloke like you, living in London in June, not without a bob or two, with a tongue that can charm birds out of trees … There shouldn’t be a problem. But do it straight away. When are you seeing her again?”

“Very soon. She’s been away, but she’ll be back home in Surrey this coming weekend when her term ends. My sister’s laying on a family welcome-home knees-up. I’ll be sure to make time at some stage of the junketing to come out with something memorable. ‘Sandilands is certain,’ I shall say. Or: ‘How about it, old gel?’ Which do you advise?”

Lily smiled her approval. “That’s settled, then. I shall think about you on Saturday night while I’m sipping my Sancerre in solitary state, one beady eye on this exemplary Englishman of yours, watching him toy with his lobster.”

Joe was suddenly concerned. “Hang on a minute! Not quite sure I like the scene you’re conjuring up. You’re a very attractive woman, Lily, to be out and about in the West End by yourself. A potential target. I think I’d better arrange for back-up.”

“A police chaperone? Not on your nellie! Not unless the lovely sergeant on reception happens to be free. He had a bit of a twinkle, I thought. But quite unnecessary. What could go wrong? You are worried about this, aren’t you?”

“It occurs to me—belatedly—that Englishmen, even pillars of society, have been known to crumble under the influence of wine and the allure of a smile across a candlelit room. If you add in the sense of security a discreet establishment offers—well—a powerful fellow like this, with all the good looks and wealth you could wish for, might just throw caution to the winds.”

Lily raised her eyebrows, exasperated as always by his delicate circumlocutions. The only concession he made to her sex.

“I mean, in a state of unbuttoned ease, he might just be minded to offer himself a little well-earned distraction,” Joe elaborated.

“It’ll make a nice change from fending off the plumber then. Joe, you know how I deal with drunken chancers … or, as you’d put it, an excitable bloke with designs on my virtue.”

“You seize him by the ears and demand marriage, evidently,” Joe said. “Sorry, Lily! It irritates you, I know, but I can’t help fretting about your safety. And that reminds me … Look here.” He reached into the top drawer of his desk and took out a small, neat handgun. “Just in case you come across any excitable blokes this weekend. It’s your old Beretta. Licenses all up to date and in order, but I wouldn’t want things to get to the point where someone had to check.”

“Nor would I. I’ll take it in the spirit in which it’s offered,” Lily said, unbuckling her satchel. “Spare ammo with that? Thanks. I’ll get some practice done before we kick off. Just the weight of it in there is reassuring. Let’s hope they don’t spring awake and think of frisking me as I try to make my way out of here. I’m sure I won’t need to use it. The setup you describe doesn’t bring to mind either of the two things that have me reaching for my gun: villainy or politics.” She pursed her lips and frowned. “Now, the best suite at the Castlemaine … that’ll have a luxurious bathroom attached, two double beds, a sitting room, possibly a study … room enough for an orgy, in fact, if he were so minded. No, it’s pretty clear your subject’s looking forward to a weekend of steaming romance. Perhaps with someone as shy of being recognised as he is himself. Now—which heartthrob can we think of who’s in London at the moment? Lolita Benevente? Marlene Dietrich? Ivor Novello?”

And, with the gurgle of amused irreverence that had always lifted his heart, “Perhaps if Noël Coward’s in town too, we’ll find we’ve uncovered an after-the-show get-together of the Naughty Set? A spot of sinning in St. James’s? I’m going to enjoy this one, Joe!”

CHAPTER 2

Ten minutes after Lily left, the reception officer was greeted by a gentleman requiring an immediate audience with the Assistant Commissioner. The officer, unimpressed by the urgency of the man’s manner, checked and rechecked his duty log.

“May I ask if you have an appointment, sir? Assistant Commissioner Sandilands appears to have no further appointments scheduled for this morning.”

“No, I haven’t, but if he’s in the building, he’ll see me,” the gent told him confidently and passed his card over.

Sir James Truelove, it announced, giving a home address in Suffolk and a town address in Albany, Piccadilly.

The desk officer was an inspector working light duties while recovering from an injury. He was experienced and aware enough to fill in other details for himself. Truelove. Minister for Reform and Education. Generally expected, in the course of his ascent to the highest office in the land, to become the next Home Secretary with overall responsibility for the Forces of Law and Order. Police, Special Branch, Secret Services, the keys to the Tower of London, all in his hands. Sandilands’ future boss? His own future boss? The inspector’s voice took on a more respectful tone.

“I’ll let Commissioner Sandilands know you’re here, sir.” He picked up the telephone and kept an impassive face as Sandilands barked back at him.

“You’ve got who down there? Truelove? Hell’s bells! No … no … quite right, Hawkins. Bad timing, though—I’ve got a meeting with Flying Squad in ten minutes. Darned nuisance, but you’ll have to show him up, I’m afraid. Yes, yes. Right away. Just make time for me to order up a couple of mugs of tea and straighten my tie.” A throaty Scottish expletive accompanied the slamming down of the receiver.