‘So what did they do?’
‘You remember the gentleman in the wheelchair who so frightened Grace at the memorial service?’
‘How could I forget?’ Joanna remembered the cold eyes that had swept over Grace as they had left the church.
‘He was a very senior member of the British Secret Intelligence Service. His remit at the time was the safeguarding of the royal family. He went to the Harrison homestead and demanded James give up the letter the Duchess had written to him, for the sake of the future of the monarchy. James, understandably, refused. He knew that without the letter he was unprotected. Unfortunately, Grace was listening behind closed doors and heard the gist of the conversation.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad if she wasn’t as neurotic and needy a character, but she felt betrayed by the one human being she had placed all her trust in. Here was absolute evidence of her husband’s previous – and obviously powerful – liaison with another woman. A woman whom Grace could never hope to compete with. She accused him of keeping secrets, of still being in love with the Duchess. You have to understand, Joanna, we are not talking about a rational woman here. This discovery sent her completely off the rails. She’d always liked a drink and she started making drunken references in public to a secret that had to be kept at any cost. In short, she became a liability.’
‘Oh God. How awful. What did James do?’
‘He told me later that Grace went absolutely mad after the meeting had ended. She confronted him and demanded to see the letter. When he refused, she began to tear the house apart in an attempt to find where he had hidden it. So James did the only thing he could, and tore one of the letters the Duchess had sent him from its hiding place. Of course, it was not the letter they wanted back, but a decoy.’
‘But Grace believed it was the letter they wanted?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was it the letter she sent to me?’
‘Yes.’ Rose sighed. ‘Of course, it said nothing of real importance, but she was not to know that. She refused to give it back to James, telling him she would hold it with her forever as proof of his unfaithfulness. That letter stayed with her for the rest of her life. Where she hid it when she was in the sanatorium remains a mystery, but she certainly showed it to me just before she left for England last November.’
‘But this affair was years before James had even met Grace!’
‘I know, my dear, but as I said, she had gone quite mad. He wrote to me in France, confiding his fears, knowing I was a friend of Grace’s and one of the only people who also knew the truth. He knew it wouldn’t be long before our friend in the wheelchair and his cronies got wind of the fact Grace knew, of her indiscreet behaviour. She had also tried to take her own life by then, blaming the attempted suicide on James for his affair with the Duchess. He was desperately aware of what lengths they would go to, that even the letter in his possession could not save a woman who might give the game away. So he decided to act before they did.’
‘How did he get her out of danger?’
‘He brought Grace to France. They stayed with me for a while then James made arrangements to install her in a comfortable institution near Berne in Switzerland. I’m sure that these days the poor lamb would have been diagnosed with manic depression or some such, but I assure you, at the time, it was the kindest thing to do. She was known there as “Rose White” – James using her middle name. A few months later, he then made it known to those in England that Grace had taken her own life whilst on holiday with me, her oldest friend. At the time, most of London was aware of her instability. It made a believable story. We held a funeral in Paris with an empty coffin.’ Rose gazed into the distance. ‘Let me tell you, my dear, she might as well have been in there for the difference it made to James. I’ve never seen a man so distraught. For her own safety, he could never see her again, he knew that.’
‘Good God.’ Joanna shook her head sadly. ‘No wonder he never remarried afterwards. His wife was still living.’
‘Exactly, but no one else knew that. Then, of course, the war came. The Germans invaded France and my husband and I left for our house in Switzerland. We were close by and I’d see Grace at the sanatorium as often as I could. She ranted and raved, asking where James was, begging me constantly to take her home. My husband and I rather hoped that, for her sake, her health would fail, for it was no life, but she always was a tough old boot, physically anyway.’
‘Did she stay in the Swiss institution for all those years?’
‘Yes. And I admit I stopped going to see her as often as I had before, because it all seemed rather pointless. And dreadfully upsetting. Then, one morning, seven years ago, I received a letter. It was from one of the doctors at the institution, asking me to go and see him. When I arrived, the doctor told me that Grace had improved. My guess would be that with all the advances in medical science, they had found a drug to stabilise her condition. She was better to the point where he suggested she was well enough to take a step into the outside world. I admit to being dubious, but I went to see her and talked to her, and there was absolutely no doubt that she was. She was able to talk rationally about the past and what had happened. And she begged me to help her at least enjoy the final years of her life in some semblance of normality.’ Rose raised her arms in an elegant shrug. ‘What could I do? My beloved husband had died a few months before. I was rattling around in a huge chateau all by myself. So I decided I’d buy a smaller house and have Grace come and live with me. We agreed with the doctor that if there was any deterioration, Grace would go straight back to the institution.’
‘How on earth did she cope with the outside world after all those years of being locked away?’ Joanna muttered, more to herself than Rose.
‘She was absolutely delighted with everything. Simply the treat of making her own decisions about what she should eat for breakfast, and when, thrilled her. She had her freedom, after all those long years, bless her.’
Joanna smiled. ‘Yes.’
‘So, we settled down to a life together; two old ladies grateful for each other’s company, sharing a past that bound us tightly together. And then, a year ago or so, Grace began to develop a cough that wouldn’t go away. It took me months to convince her to go to the doctor – you can imagine how frightened she was of going anywhere near them. When she finally did, tests revealed she had cancer of the lung. The doctor wanted to hospitalise her, of course, and operate, but you can imagine Grace’s reaction to that idea. She refused point-blank. I think that was the most tragic part of the whole tale. After all those years of incarceration, to finally find some peace, a little happiness, and then be given a year to live.’ Rose fumbled for her hanky and wiped her eyes. ‘Sorry, my dear. It’s all still very fresh in my mind. I miss her dreadfully.’
‘Of course you must.’ Joanna watched Rose compose herself before she continued.
‘It was a few months later when Grace saw the article about James dying in the English Times. And took it into her head that she wanted to go back to England. I knew it would kill her if she did. She was seriously ill by then.’
‘Yes, and you should have seen the squalor she was living in. What on earth was in those tea chests?’
The comment brought a smile to Rose’s face. ‘Her life, my dear. She was the most dreadful magpie; she’d steal spoons from restaurants, toilet rolls and soap from powder rooms, and even hide food from our kitchen under the bed in her room. Perhaps it was due to material deprivation in the institution, but she hoarded everything. When she left France, she insisted on having the tea chests shipped over with her. When I kissed her goodbye, I … knew I would never see her again. But I understood she felt she had nothing to lose.’
Joanna watched Rose sink lower into the chair, as grief overwhelmed her. From the way her energy was visibly ebbing, Joanna knew it was now or never. ‘Rose, do you know where this letter is?’
‘I really can’t talk any more until I have a good
meal inside me. We shall send for room service,’ Rose decreed. ‘Be a dear and pass the menu, would you?’
Joanna did so, knowing there were so many more questions she wanted to ask. She willed herself to garner patience as Rose searched in her handbag for her glasses, and studied the menu intently. Then she stood up wearily and crossed to the telephone by the bed. ‘Hello there, could you send up two rare sirloin steaks with Béarnaise sauce, and a bottle of Côte-Rôtie. Thank you.’ She put the receiver down and smiled at Joanna, then clasped her hands together like an excited child. ‘Oh, I do so love hotel-room food, don’t you?’
If it was possible to mentally pace whilst sedentary in a wheelchair, then the old man was doing just that. He was not behind his desk; in fact, he wheeled himself towards Simon as he opened the door, comforted by the sight of the only other human being who could share his anxiety.
‘Any news?’
‘No, sir. We’ll try again tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow may be too late, damn it!’ he snapped.
‘No sign of Haslam or Alec O’Farrell your end?’ Simon asked.
‘There’s been a lead on O’Farrell’s whereabouts, which is being followed up as we speak. My bet is that they’re holed up in a hotel somewhere, probably planning the sale of the century for their sordid little story. They’re certainly still in the country at least. I’ve had all my people scouring passenger lists at airports and ferry terminals. Unless of course they’ve left under forged passports.’ He sighed.
‘What about our “messenger”? Rose Le Blanc, neé Fitzgerald?’
‘No flights into England have confirmed a passenger by that name, but of course that means nothing. She could have easily travelled in by car or train. We will find her if she’s here, but – Christ! – if Haslam gets to her first … I’m positive Madame Le Blanc knows where that damned letter is.’
‘Sir, until they’ve actually got it in their hands, they don’t have proof.’
He did not seem to be listening. ‘I always knew we were headed for disaster, that the fool would never give it up. The devil even got a knighthood on the strength of his promise!’
‘Sir, I think you’re going to have to widen the net, let others know what it is they’re looking for.’
‘No! They have to work blind. We just cannot risk further leaks. I’m depending on you, Warburton. I want you to stay exactly where you are. My gut has always told me, if that letter is anywhere, it’s in one of Harrison’s houses. If Haslam finds out where it is, she’ll come to get it. Both houses are under heavy surveillance. If she does, she must be dealt with. Do not under any circumstances let emotion cloud your judgement. Tell me now if you feel you are unable to finish the job?’
There was a pause before Simon said, ‘No, sir, I can handle it.’
‘If you don’t, then someone else will. I hope you realise that.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Make sure you carry on as normal. I don’t want either Haslam or O’Farrell getting wind of the fact we’re on to them. Let them lead us to it, understand?’
‘I do, sir.’
He angled his wheelchair to face the river. After a long silence, he sighed heavily. ‘You do realise that if this gets out, it will be the end of the British monarchy. Goodnight, Warburton.’
Joanna watched in an agony of suspense as Rose chewed her way painfully slowly through everything on her plate. She’d wolfed her own food down, not even registering the taste, but knowing she needed to eat.
Eventually, Rose patted her lips with her napkin. ‘Now I feel more like it. A cup of coffee while we chat, I think, my dear.’
Trying to control her frustration, Joanna rang down for room service once more.
Finally, once the coffee had arrived, Rose began to talk again. ‘Now, it’s well known that royals have had mistresses and lovers since the monarchy came into being. The fact the Duchess of York fell in love with her husband’s double was not what the palace would have cared for, of course, but it could be dealt with. Even the fact that she insisted on writing him dangerous love letters, one of which you yourself saw, could be contained. At the time, it was unlikely she would ever be queen, or her husband king.’ Rose paused and gave a small smile. ‘Ironically, history was changed overnight by the most simple, yet potent force in the world.’
‘Love.’
‘Yes, my dear. Love.’
‘And she did become queen.’
Rose nodded and took a sip of coffee. ‘So ask yourself, Joanna, what could it be, what could have happened between Michael O’Connell and the Duchess of York that could in turn become the most closely guarded secret of the twentieth century? And what would happen if proof of this secret was in a simple letter? Written by design, by a woman who, in the midst of an infatuation, wished to save him. Then hidden somewhere and used as his only method of protection against the vast armoury of those who wanted and needed him dead?’
Joanna searched the air, then looked around the room for an answer. Then, the sound of the traffic on the street outside disappeared as realisation hit her.
‘Oh my God! Surely not?’
‘Yes.’ It was Rose’s turn to pour whisky for a shocked and shaking Joanna.
‘Never let it be said I told you. You guessed.’ Rose shook her head. ‘I’ve only seen that kind of shock on one other face, and that was when I confirmed to Grace what she had heard through the study door at Welbeck Street.’
‘Surely you’d have been best to lie to Grace? To make her believe she’d misheard? My God.’ Joanna swallowed the whisky. ‘I class myself as perfectly sane, but having finally discovered the truth … I’m a gibbering wreck.’
‘I’m sure. And yes, I did consider trying to convince Grace she’d misheard, but of course I knew she wouldn’t leave it there. There was a chance she’d go to the horse’s mouth, to the man whom she’d heard James talking to that day in the study. A man who later became Sir Henry Scott-Thomas, head of MI5. A man capable of destroying both her and James if he found out she knew. A man who was later paralysed from the waist down in a riding accident.’
‘The man in the wheelchair …’ Joanna felt as though her brain was frozen. She searched through the grey mists, knowing there were further questions she must ask.
‘The letter … does it confirm what … we’ve just talked about?’ Joanna could not bring herself to voice the words.
‘I may have delivered it, but it was already well hidden inside the package when I did. However, if it kept James alive all those years, allowed him to amass fame and fortune right beneath the noses of those who wanted him dead, then yes, I rather believe it does.’
‘And why did they never get to you? After all, you delivered the letters.’
‘By then, I was engaged to my beloved François and had left the palace. I married and left for the Loire only after the package had been delivered. No one knew I was ever involved.’ Rose chuckled softly. ‘The Duchess was awfully clever, until she couldn’t hide her secret any longer.’
Joanna realised with a jolt that she herself had told Simon the name of the ‘messenger’ in Yorkshire only two weeks ago.
‘Rose, you really are in terrible danger! I told someone your name recently. Oh God, I’m so very sorry.’ Joanna stood up. ‘So many people have died already. They’ll stop at nothing … you have to leave immediately!’
‘I’m safe, at least for now, my dear. After all, I am the only person who knows where that letter is. And besides, my old World War Two forged identity papers proved a godsend after all these years. François paid an expert a lot of money to ensure we were known as Madame et Monsieur Levoy – Swiss citizens. He had some Jewish blood on his maternal side, you see. I’ve always kept a passport in that name, just in case. François insisted.’ Rose gave a small smile. ‘And that is how I came into the country and how I am known here at this hotel.’
Joanna looked with admiration at this extraordinary woman, who had kept the secret for so long, and was putting her life at ris
k out of love for her old friend. ‘You mentioned earlier you delivered a package, rather than a letter?’
‘Correct.’
What was in that package?’
‘Dearie me.’ Rose yawned. ‘I’m getting terribly sleepy. Well now, the thing was that obviously the letters were highly sensitive, and that one in particular. If they had fallen into the wrong hands, it could have been disastrous. So the Duchess thought up a very clever way to disguise them.’
‘How?’
‘You saw the letter that Grace sent you. Even though it was old, there must have been something odd that you noticed about it?’
Joanna racked her brains. ‘I … yes, if I remember, there were tiny holes around the edges.’
Rose gave a slight nod of approval. ‘Now, as we are running out of time, perhaps I must help you with the final piece of the jigsaw. Remember, I am only doing it for poor Grace’s sake.’
‘Of course.’ Joanna nodded her head wearily.
‘The Duchess had two passions in life. One of them was the cultivation of the most marvellous roses in her gardens; the other, exquisite embroidery.’ She eyed Joanna, who looked back at her blankly. ‘Now, I think it’s high time I was in bed. I intend to leave England shortly to stay with some friends in America until all this blows over. I thought it best if I made myself scarce for the next few months, until the dust settles.’
‘Rose, please! Don’t do this to me! Tell me where the letter is!’ Joanna entreated her.
‘My dear, I have just told you. All you must do now is use that quick brain and those pretty eyes of yours.’
Joanna knew there was no point in begging further. ‘Will I see you again?’
‘I doubt it, don’t you?’ Rose’s eyes twinkled. ‘I have every confidence you will find it.’
‘I don’t! Roses, embroidery …’
The Love Letter Page 42
