A Three Dog Problem
- Автор: Беннет Си Джей
- Серия: Her Majesty the Queen Investigates #2
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Zaffre - Bonnier Publishing Fiction
- ISBN: 978-1-83877-485-1
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «A Three Dog Problem». Краткое содержание книги:
When a body is found in the Palace swimming pool, she finds herself once again in the middle of an investigation which has more twists and turns than she could ever have suspected. With her trusted secretary Rozie by her side, the Queen is determined to solve the case. But will she be able to do it before the murderer strikes again?
That was true. Her friend protested otherwise, but the shadows under her eyes were deepening. Her shoulders drooped. Uncle Max promised to cook the soup for them both that evening, after she’d had a nap. Rozie left, feeling that she had been wrong about her sense of disquiet on arrival – but that she had a new reason to be uneasy now.
Chapter 18
Grace Oshodi had been cooking. This was entirely normal for a Sunday, and equally normal that, even though Rozie wasn’t expected, there was more than enough for her. She needed to think and she did that better on a full stomach. Or that’s what she told herself, anyway. She was six streets from home and Mum’s after-church Sunday feasts were legendary.
Having called ahead to announce her arrival, Rozie used the walk to Lancaster Road to do some mental maths. Cynthia Harris was sixty-three, according to her file. If she had joined the Household at, say, twenty-two, after an art degree (assuming Uncle Max knew what he was talking about), then the earliest she could have arrived was in . . . Rozie did a rapid calculation . . . 1975. That made sense. That was fine. It did not explain the bugs under Rozie’s skin, or the buzzing in her brain.
When did she go to the Works Department? her brain persisted in asking. Why did nobody say?
But she ignored it, and bought a second colourful bouquet, to take to her mother this time, and a good bottle of red wine.
For the first, fantastic forty minutes, it was as if she had never been away.
In the dining room, which played host to an upright piano, three guitars, two tall bookshelves and a small TV, as well as a table for six set awkwardly for eight, the family were helping themselves to the feast. The aroma of sweet peppers emanated from the tiny kitchen where every other Sunday her mother concocted meals big enough to feed the five thousand. She alternated with Auntie Bea, her sister, who was here along with her husband Geoff and sons Ralph and Mikey, whom Rozie and Fliss had grown up with like brothers. Rozie’s dad, Joe, sat at the head of the table with his eyes on a silent TV rugby match. On his right was a young woman she had never seen before.
This was not unusual. While her dad collected guitars, vinyl dance music from the fifties and vintage maps of the London Underground – all of which littered the flat – her mother collected people. A Sunday meal that didn’t include at least one old friend or new acquaintance was an opportunity missed, in Grace Oshodi’s opinion, and an affront to God’s bounty. In many ways, her mother reminded Rozie of the Queen at Windsor and Balmoraclass="underline" it was all about sharing, hosting, connecting. When work permitted, they were both very social women who loved a laugh.
The latest addition to the Sunday table was a student called Yeshi Choen, a visitor from Bhutan studying for a masters in political history at the London School of Economics. The new guest barely glanced up from her food when Grace introduced ‘my daughter Rosemary’, which suited Rozie nicely. It meant she could catch up with her cousins as she loaded her plate with rice and beef stew, squeezing into a corner seat and patiently asserting her right to what little elbow room there was to be had.
‘So, are you still seeing Janette?’ she asked Mikey, to her right, secretly high-fiving herself for remembering the girlfriend’s name.
‘Uh-huh,’ he grunted, through a mouthful of stew. He swallowed. ‘And are you still tragically single?’
‘Mm-hmm.’
‘Don’t tease the girl!’ Grace implored good-naturedly.
‘Don’t wha-at? You do know that is what she was put on this good Earth for? If we can’t have a go at her, what’s the point? Anyway, aren’t you always telling her you had two kids by now?’
‘I’m sure I’d never mention such a thing,’ Grace said primly, to general laughter round the table.
Rozie settled in as the mountains of beef and jollof rice, stewed beans and fried plantain disappeared into hungry mouths. Gradually, stomachs were filled, the frenetic pace of eating began to slow, and even Ralph, who was famous for how much rice he could put away, turned down a fourth helping and slumped back in his chair.
‘So, Rozie,’ he asked, ‘wassup at the Palace, girl? You got any news we oughta know?’
‘Not really,’ Rozie said lightly. ‘Same old, same old.’
‘You’re famous now, you know?’ Ralph said it like it was a challenge.
‘I am not,’ she assured him firmly.
‘You’re on Wikipedia. You’ve got your own goddam page. I looked you up.’
‘I—’
‘I beg your pardon, what is this? Where does Rosemary work? I do not understand.’ Yeshi had finished her stew and was looking at them with an expression of polite confusion.
‘She works for the Queen,’ Grace explained. ‘At Buckingham Palace. And Windsor Castle. And wherever else the Queen goes.’
‘I see. And what is the nature of the work she performs?’
Yeshi addressed her question to Grace, who explained as best she could. Rozie left her mother to it. She just wanted this topic of conversation to be over.
‘I see. She is a very senior person. I congratulate you, Miss Rosemary.’ Yeshi bowed gently in her direction. She leaned forward. Her gaze was very intense now. ‘And so, tell me please, what does your Queen think about the United Kingdom leaving the European Union in this Brexit situation?’
Rozie’s heart sank. She would be studying for a masters in political history, wouldn’t she? Not marine biology, or fine art.
‘I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you.’
‘Her Royal Majesty’s opinion is important, no?’
‘The Queen is neutral,’ Rozie explained. ‘She’s above that sort of politics. It’s important that she—’
‘I heard,’ Auntie Bea said, leaning into the table too, ‘that she was super-thrilled. Like, she’s a total Brexiter because of Commonwealth countries like Nigeria. I read it on Facebook.’
‘How would they know?’ Grace said hotly to her sister. ‘Did she make a speech about it?’
‘She didn’t have to. One of her friends said.’
‘What friend?’ Grace’s voice was raised. Her eyes blazed. She was a passionate Remainer and an equally passionate royalist – more than ever since Rozie started her new job – and in her mind, the two things went together.
‘I don’t know!’ Auntie Bea countered just as loudly. ‘They were anonymous!’
‘Ha! Tell her, Rozie!’ Grace turned to her daughter in smug expectation.
‘I can’t!’ Rozie said, uncomfortably. ‘The Queen will follow whatever people voted for in the Referendum.’
‘But it was rigged!’ Grace expostulated. ‘And anyway, I’m not asking you what she’ll do, I’m asking what she thinks.’
Rozie held her breath for a moment. She couldn’t bear to argue with her own mother about this, and she’d explained often enough that she couldn’t, and wouldn’t, answer for the Queen on anything. This was the first time her mum had challenged her.
‘Oh, Rosemary doesn’t know.’
Everyone turned to look at Joe, who had the air of a wise old owl at the other end of the table. He smiled knowingly at them all. Rozie mouthed ‘Thanks,’ at him, but he wasn’t being kind.
‘The Queen plays her cards close to her chest. She wouldn’t trust a girl like our Rosemary with her deepest thoughts. You just take in the boxes, don’t you?’
‘Well, I—’
‘She does not!’ Grace insisted, affronted. ‘She’s one of the inner circle now. Did you know . . .?’ She turned back to her sister. ‘Rozie went on holiday to St Barts with some aristos she made friends with at the Palace?’
‘Ha! You might have mentioned it,’ Auntie Bea said with a sarcastic grin. ‘About forty thousand times.’