‘Fitted out by Heals in the Tottenham Court Road,’ added Phyl with satisfaction. ‘It works well with my hat shop. I send the dress clients next door and the hat clients round here. And you needn’t worry about Jacob. We share the revenues and believe me – he’s doing all right!’

‘I forgot to ask – how’s his wife?’

‘Usual. Hanging on to life by her fingertips. Enjoying her bad health.’ That was all Phyl would say about her protector’s lawful wife. It was all she ever said before changing the subject. ‘But look around, Lily – are you seeing the possibilities?’

‘What? Are you suggesting I borrow one of these creations to knock the commander’s eye out?’

‘I think we could manage that. Nothing off the peg, of course – this isn’t Marshall and Snelgrove.’ Phyl sniffed. ‘All made to measure here. And it would take my best seamstress a week to make up a frock for you. But – listen. We mostly sell dresses by showing them off on models. That row of dinky chairs, on a Wednesday, is occupied by rich women and the occasional husband. They don’t mind being dragged along to a parade because they get a chance to ogle the mannequins without getting ticked off. The flesh and blood ones, I mean. I’ve got four on the books. Two French, two English. And I have a constantly changing set of dresses for them to show off. I’ve got a dozen demonstration gowns on hangers in the dressing room at the back. You can have your pick of them. Problem is, my girls are all nearly six foot tall and thin as a whistle.’ She eyed Lily critically. ‘You’re slim enough. You’ve got the Wentworth figure like me and your pa. Greyhound rather than fat spaniel like your mother. But I’ll need to do a bit of shortening. That’s where we’ll need the scissors.’ She took them from her pocket and brandished them. ‘Come on! Evening dresses on the left. Let’s pick something out!’

Lily was lost for words in front of the rows of dresses. They ranged from pure white satin to darkest mulberry grosgrain, some a daring four inches below the knee for flappers, some ankle-length for dowagers, all intimidating and out of her reach.

‘Anything but white,’ Lily said, making a start. ‘I don’t want to look as though I’m being presented at court.’

‘And I rule out anything dark. Not for a balmy evening.’

Half the exhibits were whisked aside.

‘Some of these are very décolleté,’ Lily murmured dubiously, passing the remainder in review. ‘And I haven’t got the bust for them. Let’s remember this isn’t a date. I’m going to be working undercover so I ought to have some cover to work under. Something discreet that won’t let me down if I have to run or pick a fight or defend my virtue.’

‘The shoestring straps are out then,’ Phyl said sliding them to the end of the rail. ‘Fusspot! Cinderella’s fairy godmother never had these problems.’

An apricot georgette and a raspberry crêpe de Chine followed them into the rejected section. ‘No bonbons.’

‘That leaves us with a choice of two. Well, that was quick. Some women take three hours. Anyway, either of these models will cut down six inches without ruining the proportions and, in their different ways, they’re both stunners.’

She held one in front of Lily to assess the effect. ‘Heavy silk in eau de Nil: fashionable colour without being outrageous. Green always looks right with coppery hair and a creamy skin. Slim fitting and sleek, but the shoulder straps are built up and embroidered with a Russian motif – very fashionable! And strong – you could go ten rounds with Jack Dempsey and they wouldn’t come adrift. I’ve got the sweetest little headdress to go with it.’ Her voice took on the modulated confidentiality of a saleswoman’s. ‘A cap of green and gold shot tissue with an overlay of oxidized silver thread, pearls, gold beads and bells, madam. Perfect on a heart-shaped face. Just dangle a gold earring on each side and you wouldn’t need anything sparkling with this outfit. That would be excessive. This delightful confection tells its own tale.’

‘In a mysterious voice carried on the east wind … It’s like a Dulac illustration for The Corn Spirit. But you’d need to silence the bells.’

‘That’s no problem … a drop of candle wax’ll do it. But it’s only a dress, love. Don’t get carried away. It was, in fact, not made up on spec – it was designed by me and the client herself with a special occasion in mind. She cancelled the order – “held up in Paris”, she said. The scandal sheets reveal that she has indeed been detained over the Channel – with a dark-eyed charmer! An Italian tenor, they say. Anyway, I’m left with a work of art on my hands. Now – if we’re being fanciful – I’m not sure in what accent this last one will speak.’

‘We’ll never know. I think probably it wouldn’t deign to address a word to us.’

‘You’re right. This really is haute couture. And discretion itself. I nicked the idea from the spring Paris designs. Coco Chanel inspired it though she doesn’t know that. It’s a bit of a gymslip but then you’d feel comfortable with that – cut and colour.’

Lily looked with approval at the midnight blue silk. A sleeveless bodice ran from the square neck smoothly down to a lowered waist delicately emphasized by a satin sash. The severity of the line was softened by the addition of an overskirt of navy tulle.

‘Well? What’ll it be?’ Phyl asked. ‘Princess of the Steppes or Saucy Gym Mistress? Want to try them both? Practise a few ju-jitsu moves in front of the mirror?’

‘No need. I know what I like and I’ve made my mind up,’ said Lily. ‘Get your scissors out, Phyl. I’ll take that one, if you’re sure that’s all right?’

Phyl hesitated for a second. ‘If you’re quite certain?’ she said. ‘Will the commander like it, do you think?’

Chapter Sixteen

‘Come in, come in. What I imagine the commander would like is to find us all settled down and getting acquainted.’ James Bacchus of Special Branch waved a languidly inviting hand across the central table of the operations room. ‘I see we’ve all arrived five minutes early to impress Sir. It’s Hopkirk, isn’t it? How do you do, Superintendent? Hopkirk, why don’t you and your colleague park yourselves over there while we’re waiting? And may I introduce my second in command – Captain Rupert Fanshawe, late of the Grenadier Guards?’

‘Delighted,’ grunted Hopkirk. ‘And may I introduce Inspector Charles Chappel, late of the Victoria Vice?’

The four men sat down opposite each other, casting an occasional covert glance across the table. Hopkirk made a show of taking a sheaf of foolscap sheets from his briefcase and arranging them to his satisfaction in front of him. Chappel did the same with a more modest display of documents. Hopkirk placed a fountain pen and a pencil alongside the sheets. He tweaked the lever of his pen to test the ink supply, he tickled the point of his pencil to assess its sharpness. ‘I like to be prepared,’ he commented. His glance swept unemphatically over the shamingly empty space in front of the two Branch men who were lounging at ease, trying not to catch each other’s eye.

They all waited.

‘Sandilands is always one minute early and comes in like a hurricane, you’ll find,’ Bacchus remarked knowingly to the company.

‘Then this would be the moment to bring the washing in and batten down the hatches,’ Hopkirk advised. ‘If I’m not mistaken, here he—’

Joe came striding into the room. ‘No, no, remain seated, will you? Now, Hopkirk is here as officer in charge of the investigation of the admiral’s murder. And please note: murder is what we’re calling it until further notice, not assassination. Hopkirk, I see you’re ready. In a moment you will treat us to an outline of your findings, and we’ll follow that with whatever questions the Branch may have.’

He took his place at the head of the table. ‘But first, gentlemen …’ He leaned forward and fixed on the eyes of each man in turn. ‘I see you’ve lined yourselves up for a quadrille, or is it a bout of jousting you have in mind? I’m partial to a bit of cut and thrust myself but I won’t have sides taken on this one. We’re all in this together and we succeed together. I’m not contemplating any other outcome. Don’t take me for your scoutmaster or your padré. Think for yourselves. Get it right. Share what you have. Hopkirk, you have five minutes to convince Bacchus and Fanshawe that we are considering a civil misdemeanour in the case of the death of the admiral.’