Page 15 of Next in Line

As they walked back into the entrance hall, he paused to admire a Turner, a Millais and a Burne-Jones, only wishing he had longer to appreciate them. The Princess accompanied them out to the car, where she once again surprised William by having a long chat with Danny before they departed. She didn’t go back inside until the car was out of sight.

William waited until they’d turned into Kensington High Street before saying, ‘Well, do you want the job, chatterbox?’

‘Of course I do,’ said Ross, without hesitation. ‘But I have a problem.’

•••

‘Will there be anything else, Mr Booth Watson?’ asked his secretary as she closed her dictation pad.

Booth Watson sat back and considered the question of how to deal with the dual problems of Miles Faulkner and his ex-wife Christina. Although he’d seen both of them quite recently, he still wasn’t sure if Miles had accepted his explanation of what had taken place in Spain, while Christina had certainly worked out what he’d been up to. He was aware she wouldn’t hesitate to seek advice from Sir Julian if it were in her own best interests. But he also knew the ideal person to keep an eye on both of them, while only reporting back to him: a man who would have contacts in Belmarsh, both behind bars and on the landings, while at the same time keeping a close eye on Christina Faulkner, so he always knew who she was seeing, and what she was up to. Although Booth Watson detested the former Superintendent who’d left the Met under a cloud, he agreed with Lyndon Johnson who, after resigning himself to the difficulty of firing J. Edgar Hoover, had once commented, ‘It’s probably better to have him inside the tent pissing out, than outside pissing in.’

‘Yes, Miss Plumstead,’ he eventually managed. ‘I want you to arrange an urgent meeting with ex-superintendent Lamont.’

‘Of course, sir. But I should point out that your diary is back-to-back at the moment. You have two court appearances later in the week and—’

‘In the next twenty-four hours,’ Booth Watson said, interrupting her.

CHAPTER 7

WILLIAM QUICKLY TURNED THE KEYin the lock, hoping he was back in time to read a bedtime story to the children. He was delighted to hear cheerful young voices coming from the front room. He hung up his overcoat on the hallstand and extracted two boxes from the inside pockets before heading towards the boisterous noise.

No sooner had William opened the door than Artemisia charged across and threw her arms around his legs.

‘Is it true,’ she asked even before he could speak, ‘that you had tea with Princess Di?’

‘The Princess of Wales,’ said Beth, correcting her.

‘The answer is yes,’ said William, ‘and she said to say hi, and asked me to give you a present.’

Artemisia held out her hands, while Peter asked, ‘Did she give me a present?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said William, producing the two boxes from behind his back. He handed them over, hoping the twins wouldn’t notice that one of the gifts was far better wrappedthan the other. He needn’t have worried, because Peter ripped the wrapping off his present immediately, impatient to discover what was inside, while Artemisia took her time, undoing the silk ribbon and removing the pink paper, both of which would be given pride of place on her bedside table.

‘Wow,’ said Beth as Artemisia held up a small coronet made of shiny beads.

‘Is it real?’ she asked, clutching it tightly.

‘If a Princess gave it to you, it must be,’ said her mother, placing the coronet on her daughter’s head.

Artemisia ran out of the room to take a look at herself in the hall mirror, while Peter began to unbutton his pyjama top.

‘She even knows which team I support and that Kerry Dixon is my favourite player!’ he proclaimed, pulling on a Chelsea shirt with the number nine on the back.

‘And even more impressive,’ whispered Beth, ‘she knows what size he is.’

Artemisia reappeared, her head aloft as she began to stroll regally around the room, smiling and waving at the cat with the back of her hand. As she passed Peter, she said imperiously, ‘You have to bow.’

‘Chelsea supporters don’t bow to anyone,’ said Peter as he began to parade in the opposite direction, showing off his new kit to those seated in the stands.

Both parents somehow managed to keep straight faces.

‘Can I wear it to bed?’ pleaded Peter, after completing several circuits of the room.

‘Yes, of course you can, darling,’ said his mother, followed by a second ‘Yes’ to Artemisia even before she could ask. ‘But you’ll both have to write to the Princess in the morning and thank her.’

‘Mine will be a long and interesting letter, because I havea lot to say since I last saw her,’ said Artemisia as their nanny joined them.

‘Time for bed,’ Sarah said firmly.

---