Joanna sat at her desk, dejectedly typing an article about the top ten plants that could kill your pet. She felt numb, empty, used and confused, and on the verge of giving it all up and returning to Yorkshire to count sheep for the rest of her days.
Marcus had called her on her mobile and even a number of times on the tapped landline at her flat last night. Joanna had not returned his calls. In reality, she was ‘out’ to Marcus for the rest of her life, after the way he had betrayed her. She shuddered at the thought that during all those beautiful times they had spent together, he had simply been using her for anything she knew.
She was counting the minutes until it was half past five and time to switch off her screen. Though why she wanted to go home to an empty flat with no boyfriend and no best friend, she didn’t know. It didn’t help that the whole office was buzzing with the news of Zoe Harrison and the Prince. Or that this morning Marian, the female features editor, had called her into her domain.
‘You wrote the piece on Marcus Harrison, Zoe’s brother.’
‘Yes,’ Joanna had replied sullenly.
‘And word has it that you’re screwing him.’ Marian never minced her words.
‘I was, but I’m not now.’
‘As of when?’
‘As of yesterday.’
‘What a shame. I was going to suggest sending you to try and get an interview from her, seeing as you’re almost family.’
‘Impossible, I’m afraid.’
‘Pity. It could have got you off Pets and Gardens.’ Marian chewed her biro as she studied Joanna. ‘Okay, Jo, it’s your call. If you won’t do it, then someone else will. You trying to protect her?’
‘No.’
‘Fine. Because if you are, the best thing you could do is to get her to agree to talk to you. At least that way she’ll get a sympathetic hearing.’
Marian had waved her out dismissively and Joanna had slunk back to her desk.
At long last, it was twenty-nine minutes and fifty-five seconds past five. With a groan of relief, Joanna switched off her computer and headed for the door. She was waiting for the lift when Alec came up to her.
‘Hi, Jo. You okay?’
‘No, Alec, I’m not.’
‘Right, well, I want a word, but not here. I’ll meet you in the French House in an hour. Looks like you were right.’ Without giving her a chance to say no, Alec turned on his heel and went back into the office.
Given she felt she now had nothing to lose, Joanna spent an hour wandering aimlessly around Leicester Square and the Trocadero, increasingly annoyed with the tourists getting in her way. Alec was already on a stool when she arrived in the crowded bar.
‘Glass of wine?’
‘Yup,’ she nodded, pulling up the bar stool next to him.
‘Hear it’s not been a good day.’
‘Nope.’
‘Marian told me that you refused to try and get an interview with Zoe Harrison. You could have used it as leverage to come back to me.’
‘It would have been a pointless exercise, Alec. Zoe probably thinks I was the one who spilt the beans in the first place and would prefer to pose semi-naked for the News of the Screws rather than talk to me.’
‘Shit!’ Alec’s mouth dropped open. ‘You knew about her and the Prince?’
‘Yes. She’d told me all about it. Thanks.’ Joanna took a slug of her wine. ‘In quite some detail, I might add.’
‘Jesus,’ Alec groaned. ‘So, you could have broken the story?’
‘Oh yes. And now I wish I bloody well had, as I seem to have got the blame.’
‘Christ, Jo! You’re going to have to toughen up. Breaking a story like that could have given your career a lifetime boost.’
‘Do you think I don’t know that?! I spent most of last night thinking that maybe this game isn’t for me, because I don’t have the necessary lack of moral fibre. I seem to have this awful, unjournalistic quality of being able to keep a secret.’ She finished off her glass of wine. ‘Can I have another?’
‘Well, at least you’re beginning to drink like a hack.’ Alec signalled to the barman. ‘C’mon, you’ll cheer up after the news I’ve got for you.’
‘Am I being reinstated?’
‘No.’
Joanna slumped forwards and rested her head on her arms. ‘Then nothing you say can cheer me up.’
‘Even if I was to tell you I’ve found out some juicy info on your little old lady?’ Alec lit up a Rothman’s.
‘Nope. I’ve given up on that one. That letter’s ruined my entire life. I’ve had enough.’
‘Fine.’ He took a drag of his cigarette. ‘Then I won’t tell you I’m pretty sure I know who she was. That, just before she arrived in England, she’d been living in France for the past sixty years.’
‘I still don’t want to know.’
‘Or that James Harrison managed to purchase his house in Welbeck Street outright in 1928. It was owned by a senior politician who had been in Lloyd George’s cabinet prior to that. Seems strange a penniless actor could afford a grand house like that, doesn’t it? Unless, of course, he’d just come into a large sum of money.’
‘Sorry, Alec, I’m still not there.’
‘So finally, I won’t tell you that there was a Rose Alice Fitzgerald working as a lady-in-waiting in a certain royal household in the 1920s.’
Joanna gaped at him. ‘Sod it! Let’s get a bottle.’
The two of them adjourned to a corner table, and Alec told her what he had discovered.
‘So what you’re saying is that my little old lady, Rose, and James Harrison, aka Michael O’Connell, were in cahoots, blackmailing someone in the royal household?’ she said.
‘It’s what I’ve surmised, yes. And I think the letter that she sent you was actually a love letter from Rose herself to James, aka Michael – or, in the letter, “Siam” – which had nothing whatsoever to do with the real plot.’
‘So why does Rose talk about not being able to see James in the letter?’
‘Because the Honourable Rose Fitzgerald was a lady-in-waiting. She came from an upper-crust Scottish family. I hardly think a penniless Irish actor would have made a good match for her. I’m sure they had to keep their liaison secret.’
‘Christ! Why have I had so much to drink? My head’s foggy. I can’t think straight.’
‘Then I’ll think for you. Put simply, I reckon Rose and Sir James—’
‘Michael O’Connell, in those days,’ Joanna butted in.
‘Michael and Rose were lovers. Rose had discovered something juicy whilst going about her duty in the royal household, told Michael, aka James, who then blackmailed the person concerned. The parcels you say William Fielding used to collect for Michael/James, well, I reckon they contained money. Then Michael does a disappearing act, possibly flees the country, dumping poor old Rose along the way. A few months later, he arrives back, adopts a new persona, buys his pile in Welbeck Street with the cash he’s gathered, marries his wife Grace and all is tickety-boo.’
‘Okay. Let’s work on your premise,’ said Joanna. ‘I might as well face it, it’s as good as any I’ve come up with so far and it does all seem to fit. Why the sudden mass panic when James Harrison dies?’
‘Well now, let’s try some lateral thinking. We know for certain that Rose arrived back in the country just after Sir James popped his clogs, having been abroad for many years. Is it possible that Rose planned to reveal all after Sir James’s death? Maybe blacken his name, pay him back for dumping her all those years ago?’
‘Then why hadn’t she done it before?’
‘Perhaps she was frightened. Maybe James had something on her, had threatened her. And then, when she knew she was ill and time was running out, she decided she had nothing to lose? I dunno, Jo, I’m guessing here.’ Alec ground out a cigarette in the ashtray and lit another.
‘But would that panic the establishment? MI5 is involved, Alec. All I know is it’s something very, very big,’ breathed Joanna. ‘Big enough for the high-ups to persuade Marcus Harrison to wine, dine and bed me to see what I knew.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘My friend Simon.’
‘You sure about that?’
‘Oh yes.’
Alec swore under his breath. ‘Blimey, Jo, what is all this?’
‘If we follow your idea, then obviously whatever it was Rose and Michael had discovered was major.’ She lowered her voice further. ‘Christ, Alec, two people have already died in odd circumstances . . . I don’t want to be the third.’
They sat in silence, Joanna desperately trying to clear her fuzzy mind. Alec’s old words rang through her: Trust no bugger . . .
‘Alec, why this sudden interest after freezing me out?’
He barked out a laugh. ‘If you think I’m being paid to spy on you, don’t worry, sweetheart. Strikes me you need some help. Because this just won’t go away, will it? Everyone else seems to have screwed you over. I may be an unlikely knight in shining armour, but I’ll have to do.’
‘If I decide to continue investigating.’
‘Yeah. So, what next?’
‘Marcus and I were going on a trip to Ireland next weekend before I found out the truth of why he was seeing me. William Fielding had indicated an Irish connection and Marcus seems to have managed to pinpoint where, if anywhere, Michael O’Connell might have originally hailed from.’
‘How?’
‘He said that Zoe’s son mentioned a place in Ireland that his grandfather had talked about before he died. He might have got it wrong, but . . .’
‘Never dismiss child-talk, Jo. I’ve coerced some of my best scoops out of nippers.’
‘Then you are quite without scruples, Alec.’
‘That’s what makes a good journalist.’ He checked his watch. ‘I gotta go. We never had this conversation, of course. And I shall not advise you to go to Ireland and sit in the local bar where any amount of gossip can be overheard, nor shall I suggest you do it quickly before Marcus – or perhaps someone else – gets there before you. And I shall certainly not mention that you do not look well tonight and there’s every possibility that over the next couple of days it will develop into flu and you’ll be too sick to make it into work.’ Alec stuffed his cigarettes into his pocket. ‘Night, Jo. Call me if there’s trouble.’
‘Night, Alec.’
She watched him leave the bar and, despite herself, she smiled. If nothing else, Alec, or the wine, or a mixture of both, had managed to lift her spirits. Hailing a taxi, she decided to sleep on it, digest the information before making a plan.
There were eight new messages from Marcus on her answering machine when she got home. That was in addition to the seven on her mobile, plus numerous calls she had asked the receptionist to bar at work.
‘They must have paid you one hell of a lot of money, you slimy, double-crossing, rancid, decomposed little toad,’ she growled to the machine as she headed for the bathroom and a shower.
The doorbell was ringing when she emerged, dripping, wrapped in a towel. Peeping through the curtains, Joanna saw that the decomposed little toad was standing on her doorstep.
‘Oh Christ!’ she cried, then switched the TV on, prepared to ignore him for as long as it took.
‘Joanna,’ he was shouting through the letter box. ‘It’s me, Marcus. I know you’re in. I saw you behind the curtains. Let me in! What have I done wrong? Joanna!’
‘Damn! Damn! Damn!’ Joanna growled as she put on her robe and stomped to the door. Marcus was going to wake up half the neighbourhood if she didn’t allow him entry. She saw his eyes peering through the letter box at her.
‘Hi. Let me in, Jo.’
‘Piss off!’
‘Charmed, I’m sure. Can you let me know exactly what I’m supposed to have done?’
‘If you don’t know, then I’m not bloody telling you. Just get out of my life and stay out, forever.’
‘Joanna, I love you.’ His voice broke. ‘If you don’t let me in to discuss whatever crime it is I’m meant to have committed, then I shall have to stay out here all night and . . . sing my love to you.’
‘Marcus, if you don’t get off my doorstep in the next five seconds, I’m calling the police. They’ll arrest you for harassment.’
‘Okay. I don’t mind. Of course, we’ll probably make the front page of tomorrow’s newspaper, with my new-found status as brother of Prince Arthur’s new love, but I’m sure that won’t worry you . . . I . . .’
Marcus almost toppled through the front door as Joanna opened it.
‘Okay. You win.’ She was quivering with anger. Marcus went to touch her. She flinched and backed away. ‘Don’t come near me. I mean it.’
‘Okay, okay. Tell me then, what is it I’ve done?’
Joanna crossed her arms. ‘I have to say, I thought it was odd that you were so caring, so overblown in your affections. I mean, I’d already been told what a rotten, stinking rat you were. And silly me, I decided to take you at face value, thought that maybe you felt differently about me to the rest of the female population of London.’
‘I do, really, Jo. I—’
‘Shut up, Marcus. I’m talking. Then, I discover that your feelings for me didn’t even come into it. It was your wallet that was enjoying my company.’
‘I . . .’
‘I was told a couple of days ago that you were being paid to woo me and bed me.’ Joanna saw the hectic red blush rise up into his cheeks. And had an urge to slap him very hard.
‘No, Joanna, whoever said that has got it totally wrong. I mean, I was given some money, but not to get information from you. It was to try to find the missing letter. I swear I didn’t know anything about Rose when you told me, or on the first night we went to bed. It happened a couple of days later. I thought of telling you that I’d been approached to help, but I thought you’d get frightened off. And now you don’t believe me, and—’
‘Would you believe you?!’
‘No, of course I wouldn’t. But . . .’ Marcus looked as if he was about to burst into tears. ‘Please, you have to believe that I’ve never felt like this before, never. It had nothing to do with money, apart from the fact I thought that if we pooled our resources and our knowledge, we might find the answers, and . . . I . . . dammit!’ Marcus raked his fingers roughly over his eyelids.
Joanna was genuinely surprised by his reaction. She’d expected him to tough it out, deny it, or callously confirm it when he knew he’d lost. Instead, she seemed to be witnessing genuine confusion and grief. But after Matthew, Simon and now Marcus, she’d had enough of being betrayed.
‘You took that money, Marcus, and kept it a secret from me. I should have believed everyone who told me how selfish you are. And your sister? I bet you were the one who told the Mail about her and the Prince, weren’t you? You knew everyone would blame me, but all you cared about was making some fast cash!’
‘No!’ Marcus said vehemently. ‘I would never sell out Zoe like that!’
‘But you sold me out! So, how could I ever believe you?’ She was breathless with anger now.
‘I don’t know what to say to make you believe me!’
‘There’s nothing left to say. Your five minutes are up. I want you to leave.’
‘I just wanted to protect you . . . I know that doesn’t make much sense, but . . . can you give me one last chance?’ he begged her.
‘Absolutely not. Even if you’re telling the truth now, you still lied to me. For money. You’re a coward, Marcus.’
‘You’re right. I didn’t tell you because I thought I might lose you. I’m not lying when I say I love you, Joanna, and I’m going to regret this for the rest of my life.’
‘Goodbye.’ She closed the door without another word, before he could see the tears in her own eyes. It was tiredness, emotion and tension, that was all, she reassured herself as she headed for bed. Marcus was a newly acquired habit she could easily break. She lay there, desperate for sleep, turning to what Alec had said earlier to stop her thoughts of Marcus. Her brain was like a newborn hare, springing from one fresh fact to the next, and eventually she gave up, climbed out of bed and switched on the kettle. After making herself a hot, strong cup of tea, then sitting on the bed cross-legged, Joanna took her ‘Rose’ information folder from her rucksack. She studied the facts, then drew a precise diagram that collated all the information she had gathered so far.
Should she give it one more try? Ireland was meant to be extremely beautiful and the flights and accommodation had all been booked. At the very least, she could use the trip as a much-needed break from London and all that had happened since Christmas.
‘Sod it!’ she breathed. She owed it to herself to take one step further down the line. Otherwise she’d spend the rest of her life wondering. And she really had nothing left to lose . . .
‘Except my life,’ she muttered darkly.
Three days later, having checked in for the flight to Cork, Joanna took out her mobile as she walked towards the departure gate.
‘Hello?’
‘Alec?’
‘Yeah?’
‘It’s me. Can you tell the Ed I’ve got the most dreadful flu. So bad, in fact, I might not be feeling better until the middle of next week.’
‘Bye, Jo. Good luck. And watch your back. You know where I am.’
‘Thanks, Alec. Bye.’
It was only once she was up in the air and on the way to her destination across the Irish Sea that she gave a sigh of relief.