‘Appearance? Again, acceptable. No, I’d go so far as to say attractive.’ He cleared his throat and admitted: ‘In fact, damned attractive. Hard to tell what’s under all that serge, of course. I had to use my imagination. Physical type is right – pony rather than the usual shire horse we have on our books. Well coupled up. Moves nicely. A grace that’s natural, you’d say, rather than imposed by deportment classes. Fair hair, fashionably cut. I have to say they’ll make a lovely pair.’

A further muttered question raised a blustering response. ‘Good Lord, man, I didn’t ask. I say – there is a limit!

‘Oh, yes, she has physical courage. Saw her damn nearly get herself knifed at Paddington. Excellent report in her file from her ju-jitsu instructor. And she’s resourceful. I’ll bear witness to both qualities. And, in Margery’s words, she’s “forthcoming”. By that my cousin meant the girl’s ready to speak up for herself.’ Joe grinned. ‘Some might say impertinent and undisciplined. No idea when to hold her tongue. Still, I keep reminding myself – and I remind you, James – it’s not a doormat we’re looking for. And perhaps we shall just have to accommodate and learn to manage a little female free-thinking. I’m ahead of you there – brought up by a suffragist mother and sister, I’ve been doing it all my life. But we have one problem, James, old man. When I said a moment ago that she’d left, I meant exactly that.’ He gave a shout of laughter. ‘So freely does the constable think, she’s just buggered off, leaving me with her resignation letter on my desk.

‘Yes! Yes! Flounced out! I didn’t know whether to have her arrested or give her a round of applause …

‘No, no need for the heavy hand. Not yet. I had the forethought to set a reserve bait. I think I’ve worked out what makes Miss Wentworth tick. She’ll be back in the net before you can say knife. No need for concern. I have our girl in hand. I think we can say with some confidence that it’s all on for Saturday week.’

He looked at his watch. ‘Now, James, I want you and whoever you’ve put in charge of next Saturday’s jollification … Rupert? Ah, yes – good man … to come up here to the ops room for a briefing and exchange of information and to meet your opposite number in the CID, Superintendent Hopkirk. Six suit you? Time we all shook the cards from our sleeves and laid them out on the table. Officers possibly in the line of fire – always a concern whether they’re male, doubly so when they’re female. And “Carnage at Claridges” is not a headline I want to see splashed across the Daily Mirror the next day.’

Chapter Fourteen

‘Well, what do you think, Phyl? And please don’t tell me he’s only after—’

‘I wasn’t going to. Give me some credit. In fact, I was going to say – you seem to have caught the attention of the one man in London who’s not Only After One Thing!’ Auntie Phyl put on the spectacles that dangled on her slim bosom and peered again at the florist’s card. ‘Hard to say what he is after, but whatever it may be, it’s not a girl’s most precious possession.’

‘You sound very certain of that, Phyl. What makes you think so?’

‘Hold your horses. What is this – the third degree? I need a Passing Cloud to aid concentration. And a cup of cocoa. Put that pan on the gas ring, love, and I’ll tell you. Don’t skimp on the sugar.’

The office space and workshop at the back of Auntie Phyl’s hat shop was generous and equipped for staff comfort as well as running repairs and the creative flourishes the business demanded. Lily was very much at home here and busied herself with milk pan and mugs.

‘Gawd! My feet! I’ve been on them since six this morning.’ Phyllis Wentworth, Modiste to the Gentry, sank grumbling into one of the two armchairs, kicked off her shoes and began to massage her toes. ‘Oooh! That’s better. Antelope skin – soft as butter and all the go but the heel height’s a killer! I’m too young to have bunions! Oh, thanks, love.’ She accepted a cigarette from the silver tin Lily found beside the biscuit barrel, moistened her lips, placed the oval shape delicately between them and sighed. She narrowed her eyes while Lily struck a match and lit it. ‘Ah! First puff of the first cigarette of the day! Nothing like it. Have one? No? Suit yourself.’ She turned her attention back to the tiny card. ‘Give me a minute. And let me get you in focus … say hello. You haven’t been to see me for weeks. I was thinking of going to the police to declare you a missing person. And now you come tearing in here at the end of the day all sparkly eyed, clutching a florist’s card like your first love-letter and expect me to do an instant Sherlock on it? And – first things first …’ She looked about her in an exaggerated way. ‘Weren’t there supposed to be flowers with this, or have you latched on to the biggest cheapskate in London? A bloke who sends you a card with a picture of a flower on it and a three-line note cuts no ice with me.’

‘Were there ever flowers! You couldn’t see me for flowers as I staggered along the Embankment with them. I left them at the Charing Cross Hospital. What am I supposed to do with a sheaf of lilies in the middle of town? I was attracting comment! If I’d taken them back to the hostel – can you imagine what ideas that would have put into Mrs Turnbull’s head?’

‘The contents of Mrs Turnbull’s head are not something I choose to conjure with, thanks very much. Lilies? Those lovely long-stemmed ones? You should have brought them here. I could have put them in the window. Touch of class.’

‘You don’t need any more touches. The window looks wonderful.’ At last Lily remembered her manners. ‘Are you all right, Phyl? Business going well?’

‘I’ll say! Always the season for hats. And there’s no shortage of cash about in the West End. I sold over a dozen models today and took as many orders. The races … weddings … None under ten guineas.’

‘Mum says you’re branching out. She’s spreading the rumour that you’ve put in a bid for Harrods.’

‘What? Maids’ uniforms and off-the-peg celanese frocks? Give me some credit! Still, the old bat’s not entirely wrong – I have got something up my sleeve. I’ve had to take on two more girls this month in the sewing department. You know, Lily love, that there’s always a place for you here? And you’ll see why it’s urgent when I tell you my news. I could do with a manager. And I’d pay you better than the starvation wages you get for pounding the pavements.’

‘Perhaps they’d raise my pay if I did some special undercover work. Work where I can use my brain, Phyl.’

Phyllis looked at her niece with pity and understanding. ‘Those upper-class bosses of yours expect you to keep your brains in your boots, love. They don’t expect a common or garden girl like you to think or reason, whatever learning she’s done. They’d say you were getting above yourself if you started to use all that matriculation stuff you’ve got in your head. Your mother isn’t often right but when she warned your father that it was asking for trouble getting you educated she might, for once in her life, have hit the nail on the head.’

‘Well, I’m going to surprise you, Phyl. I’ve had an offer – a serious offer, I think – of some plain-clothes detective work! This JS was, in fact, quite pleased to discover I could think for myself. Let me tell you why he’s really interested in me, shall I?’

Phyllis listened to Lily’s account in disapproving silence. ‘An unofficial boss? Can’t say I’d be happy with that arrangement. When you’re dealing with a man you should always agree terms and get things down on paper.’ Catching a quizzical glint in Lily’s eye she pursed her lips and admitted: ‘All right! I’m one to talk. The Awful Warning if your mother’s to be believed. Arrangements don’t come more informal than my own.’

Lily smiled and hurried to murmur: ‘I never know when it’s the right moment to ask but I’m always wondering, Phyl … the Slip-up? How’s he doing?’