Murder Most Royal — читать онлайн бесплатно полностью

’

‘I was hoping to give your private secretary a quick update before Christmas. I got a bit held up, I’m afraid.’

‘You’ll have trouble seeing Sir Simon. He’s in Scotland,’ the Queen informed him.

Bloomfield frowned. ‘He rang first thing to find out how the team were getting on, ma’am. He sounded very keen to know all the details. I assumed he was here.’

‘Sir Simon’s on holiday,’ the Queen said sharply, making a mental note to tell the man in no uncertain terms, when he got back, not to do Rozie’s job for her while he happened to be away.

‘And I’m afraid Captain Oshodi, my APS, is getting ready to play football. My grandson has inveigled her on to his team. Can I help?’

Bloomfield took a couple of seconds to process the information. However, he gathered himself.

‘Quite possibly you can, ma’am. You’re familiar with the victim, I gather. I don’t want to intrude into your day. I’m sure you must be . . .’

He was somewhat distracted by whatever was going on behind her – almost certainly one or several of her children and grandchildren popping their heads round the door from the armoury corridor that led to the drawing room, to see who on earth this new arrival was.

‘You’re right, we’re very busy. But I have five minutes. Where can we . . .? Ah yes, follow me.’

In the company of the dogs, she led him to the far end of the room, where a doorway was almost invisibly silhouetted in the panelling beside the fireplace. It led to a small, dark, book-lined room with a desk.

The Queen turned on the light and closed the door behind them.

‘So. An update,’ she said. ‘How encouraging.’ She didn’t sit down, because stand-up meetings tended to be quicker.

Bloomfield was still adjusting to his surroundings. He paused to look down at his trousers, where Vulcan was energetically sniffing his leg, and bent to give the corgi a reassuring stroke. The Queen had a lot of time for people who instinctively fondled the ears of friendly dogs. He straightened.

‘I wish I had better news, ma’am. Edward St Cyr was last seen in London on the fourteenth of December. My senior investigating officer is up there now. Mr St Cyr spent the night at his flat in Hampstead, prior to a meeting the following morning. He was certainly in a hurry. He was caught speeding twice on the A13 in his Maserati.’

‘He was rather known for speeding, I seem to remember.’

‘Ah. We can’t say for sure if he attended the meeting on the fifteenth.