On Thursday, the Landseer regulars were once more assembled at the studio to discuss a revised shooting schedule and other practical matters for The Heart That Wears the Crown . When Toby arrived, he handed the receptionist an envelope addressed to Sir Ian, and asked for it to be despatched to the great man’s office as soon as convenient. It contained an outline of events so far, one which would hopefully not occasion too much alarm. In return, the receptionist handed Toby a letter which had arrived in the Wednesday afternoon post.
“We knew you’d be here today so didn’t redirect it,” she said, with a smile befitting the matronly, no-nonsense woman that she was.
“Thank you, Brenda.” Toby studied the handwriting on the envelope but it didn’t appear familiar.
“It’s already been opened and checked, as I believe Sir Ian has insisted on at present?” Brenda had evidently been told why the envelope was unsealed but not the reason behind it and appeared to be fishing for an explanation.
Toby wasn’t going to provide it. “One can’t be too careful these days. Both our fans and our detractors can get a little over-excited.” He extracted the letter, read it, then carefully pocketed the thing. “Are Miss Marsden or Mr Hamilton here yet?”
“Mr Hamilton, yes.”
“Thank you.” Toby headed off for the room where they’d be assembling, in the hope that he’d catch Alasdair before they needed to make a start on the business of the morning. He should see this latest communication as a matter of urgency.
When Toby reached his destination, he found Alasdair, cup in hand, chatting to Alexander Rattigan, their usual director.
“Toby!” Alexander gave him a wave. “Can I pour you a coffee?”
“Please. May I borrow Alasdair for a second, though? I’ve had a letter I want him to take a gander at.”
“Of course. Is this to do with your mysterious group? Alasdair was outlining your adventures.” Alexander handed Toby a steaming coffee. “It’s like something out of one of our scripts.”
“That’s what it felt like on Monday evening.” Toby waved the letter. “Come and see this, Alasdair.” He took his fellow actor off to one side. “There have been developments.”
Dear Mr Bowe
I believe that we owe both you and Mr Stewart an explanation. When you left our meeting you must have borne a very strange impression of us.
Toby sniffed as they read the content together. “That’s putting it mildly.”
The thing is, whatever Lloyd thought he was doing that evening, it wasn’t my intention, nor Richard or Jeff’s. We got rather too involved with who reckons they can do what and rather forgot the effect that could have on someone who wasn’t expecting to hear it .
“She appears to have read the situation well,” Alasdair observed. “I wonder if the word reckons has any significance.”
“Implication that at least one person was making up what they were saying or that the group has its doubts about the veracity of the stories? You could be right.”
We’d rather explain in person, if we may, assuming we can find a convenient place and time. Perhaps Mr Stewart would like to be present, as well, and we’d also extend that invitation to Mr Hamilton, who appears to be your partner in solving crime .
“Just try and stop me being there,” Alasdair said. “I’ve a feeling there are plenty of revelations left in this business and I’d rather witness them in person.”
“Quite rightly. There’s plenty of nuance missed when you hear something reported as opposed to getting it straight from the horse’s mouth, no matter how well the report is made. Or how effective the accent,” Toby added, with a cackle.
I’ll understand completely if you’d rather not meet any of us again but if you could find the time to do so I believe you’d find it both interesting and…I’m struggling to find the word I want. Vitally important, if not to you then to our country, or so we believe. You can contact me at the telephone number given above, during working hours .
Alasdair pointed at the number. “Whitehall exchange. She does move in exalted circles. I wonder if this is connected to her work?”
“Meaning she has to go around the houses because of she can’t openly discuss it? Possibly.”
Please don’t mention any of this to Lloyd, should you have any further correspondence with him. Again, I’d rather explain everything in person. Richard and Jeff are aware that I’m writing to you and would like to be part of any future meeting.
Sincerely
Moira Matthews
“Well, well. Are you going to ring her?”
Toby snorted. “Are you going to kiss Fiona in this new film?” He lowered his voice. “I know our diaries are full in the forthcoming weeks with the premieres and all the other stuff that accompanies them but we’ve got a couple of evenings set aside for moi et toi, seulement , so if you’d be happy to divert one of those to this other cause…”
“Of course. We’ll still have the night that follows said evening,” Alasdair whispered.
Before Toby could reply, the arrival of Fiona signalled that they had to return to business. Concentrating on the matter in hand, given the tempting thought of a night spent in Alasdair’s bed, would require every ounce of professionalism.
When they broke for lunch, the postboy brought Toby a reply from Sir Ian. It thanked him for the update and gave him carte blanche to proceed as he and Alasdair saw fit, so long as they exercised common sense and didn’t put themselves into danger. As far as Toby was concerned, that carte blanche meant he didn’t at present have to give a further update regarding this latest communication, nor on what they intended to do about it. They would take Jonny along to provide another set of fists.
After Toby had eaten enough lunch to keep him going through the afternoon, he made his excuses to the supporting actors he was sharing his table with and went off to find a telephone somewhere quiet. Why not try to catch Moira as soon as he could? The publicity department, whose members were already briefed about the Monday Evening Association , would be the ideal spot.
He managed to get through straight away on what must have been a direct line. “Miss Matthews?”
“Yes? Oh, is that Mr Bowe?”
“It is indeed. Thank you for your note. I confess myself most intrigued by it.”
“That’s what I intended. We—Richard and Jeff and I—were so worried that we’d sent you running for the hills, never to be seen again. It must have been a lot to take in and things aren’t quite as they appear.” She paused. “Could you bear to meet us in person again? Lloyd won’t be there if that makes it easier.”
“That proposed meeting is what I’m calling about. I have a few dates that both Alasdair and I could make. I hope they’d work for Jonny, because he also has a bit of a pedigree in solving crimes, as you put it.” That was a slight exaggeration, although Toby and Alasdair’s investigational career—if it could be called by such a name—had started with doing a friend a favour and looking into what had become of someone who’d apparently vanished.
“I hope he can attend, too. We’d like him to understand the truth, as well, and not be left thinking we’re a bunch of lunatics who should all be in Colney Hatch. I also put together some dates on the off chance that you’d be in contact. How does next Monday suit?”
“That’s on my list of available dates. Did you have a venue in mind or should we book somewhere?”
“A couple of times we’ve used a private room at The Swan with Two Necks , which is off Ealing Broadway, if that’s not too far. It’s a classy sort of place.”
“Then that sounds perfect. Seven o’clock too early as a rendezvous time?”
“I was going to suggest something similar. I’m sure you’ve no need of beauty sleep but I have to take all I can get.” Which couldn’t have been fishing for compliments, because before Toby could reply, Moira said, “We’ll see you then,” and hung up.
Toby picked up the scrap of paper where he’d been jotting down the details of the venue and time. How had this Swan place—it surely had to be a pub, given the name—ended up as Moira’s regular venue?
When he returned to the studio dining room, Alasdair was still there, drinking coffee and apparently perusing a script at a table on his own.
“Appointment made,” Toby said, as he plonked himself into the seat opposite his partner.
“I assumed you’d gone to ring Moira, so I lurked here reading and trying to look like I wanted to be alone.”
“Good idea, Greta Garbo. Or did she say she wanted to be left alone?” Toby pushed the paper across the table. “Place and time. It’s apparently a posh pub and according to Moira we can get a private room. She’s used it before and whether it was for her and the other two or on different business, I didn’t ask. I suspect she’ll be a lot more forthcoming without himself being present. She made a point of assuring me Lloyd won’t be there. ‘If that helps’ or some such words. I hope Jonny can also be there on Monday, so that if the evening ends up in a straight fight, we won’t be outnumbered. I don’t want to square up to Moira, though, because I bet she’d get me in a half-Nelson before I drew breath.”
“Daft beggar. Will you ring Jonny and inform him or will I?”
“If you could, that would be helpful. After this afternoon’s session, I have to go straight to a soiree with my actual fan club. I’m getting the make-up department to spruce me up beforehand, so that I don’t let the team down.” Toby smoothed back his hair, which he felt had got a touch dishevelled in his rushing around. “Although you’ve a similar event to attend, haven’t you? Young Jonny might have to wait until tomorrow.”
“I’ll squeeze him in somehow.” Alasdair grinned. “I have to pull my weight in this business.”
“You always do.” Toby drained his cup. “And now, for a stirring tale of secret royal romance, or whatever the publicity department will describe it as.”
Alasdair sniffed. “It’s rather a treat making this film. Slightly different to recent offerings but still fitting nicely into the Bowe-Hamilton-Marsden oeuvre.”
“As well as being a convenient way to cash in on upcoming events. Rumours of some time on location in a thinly disguised Italy, too, unless they can make Cromer or wherever double convincingly for somewhere that most definitely isn’t England.”
“Yes. We can’t make the connection that obvious, although nobody could take offence at the concept. It’s an as yet unmarried king being crowned, it’s set both in a past age and in one of those strange, somewhere-in-the-middle-of-Europe type of countries that only exist between the pages of a book or in a screenplay.” Alasdair shook his head. “And even Fiona in her pomp might not be as glamorous as our Queen.”
“Her Majesty certainly has a film star’s charisma. Hm.” Toby pursed his lips. “Italy. Doesn’t Orlando have a drop of Italian blood in him? Some ancestral Coppersmith who obliged a noblewoman in the bed department and got amply rewarded for it, if I’m not mistaken.”
“He does. The obliging chap was an actual copper smith, too, I believe. I don’t suppose that connection is part of a plan to make this next film dovetail with the Cambridge one, but it might be useful for the publicity wallahs to milk, if they can play up the family history and bowdlerise the services provided.” Alasdair shrugged. “Perhaps we’ll have another Coppersmith and Stewart film next in line, rather than a Holmes and Watson.”
“Who knows? Whatever carries on paying the wages.” Toby rose from the table. “We should report for duty. Although thinking of Watson makes me also remember Holmes asking him to take his service revolver on their potentially dangerous assignments. I hope we won’t find ourselves needing something similar next week.”