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the Dungannon estate, let him down at the last minute? Was he about to suffer the silence of failure?
Sixty seconds …
He began to whisper each number.
“Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven, fifty-six…”
Had the drunken man slumped in the chair in the lounge been waiting for him all the time? Were they now on the way to his cabin?
“Forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven, forty-six…”
Had the lilies been replaced, thrown out, taken away? Perhaps Mrs. Clifton was allergic to pollen?
“Thirty-nine, thirty-eight, thirty-seven, thirty-six…”
Had they unlocked his lordship’s room and found the open trunk?
“Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven, twenty-six…”
Were they already searching the ship for the man who’d slipped out of the toilet in the first-class lounge?
“Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen…”
Had they … he clung to the edge of the bunk, closed his eyes, and began counting out loud.
“Nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…”
He stopped counting and opened his eyes. Nothing. Just the eerie silence that always follows failure. He bowed his head and prayed to a God he did not believe in, and immediately there followed an explosion of such ferocity that he was thrown against the cabin wall like a leaf in a storm. He staggered to his feet and smiled when he heard the screaming. He could only wonder how many passengers on the upper deck could possibly have survived.
HARRY AND EMMA
1964–1965
1
“HRH,” MUMBLED HARRY as he came out of a drowsy half-sleep. He sat up with a start and switched on his bedside light, then slipped out of bed and walked quickly across to the vase of lilies. He read the message from the Queen Mother for a second time. Thank you for a memorable day in Bristol. I do hope my second home has a successful maiden voyage. It was signed, HRH Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother.
“Such a simple mistake,” said Harry. “How could I have missed it?” He grabbed his dressing gown and switched on the cabin lights.
“Is it time to get up already?” inquired a sleepy voice.
“Yes it is,” said Harry. “We’ve got a problem.”
Emma squinted at her bedside clock. “But it’s only just gone three,” she protested, looking across at her husband, who was still staring intently at the lilies. “So what’s the problem?”
“HRH isn’t the Queen Mother’s title.”
“Everyone knows that,” said Emma, still half asleep.
“Everyone except the person who sent these flowers. Why didn’t they know that the correct way to address the Queen Mother is as Her Majesty, not Her Royal Highness. That’s how you address a princess.”
Emma reluctantly got out of bed, padded across to join her husband, and studied the card for herself.
“Ask the captain to join us immediately,” said Harry. “We need to find out what’s in that vase,” he added, before falling to his knees.
“It’s probably only water,” said Emma, reaching out a hand.
Harry grabbed her wrist. “Look more closely, my darling. The vase is far too big for something as delicate as a dozen lilies. Call the captain,” he repeated, with more urgency this time.
