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The soldier knocked against the door. ‘Monsieur Rikkard Ambrose and Mademoiselle Lillian Linton to see ‘is Majesty se King.’
There was a momentary pause. Then…
‘Entrer!’
Holding my breath, I watched as the door started to swing open. We had discussed all sorts of scenarios before coming here. There was a distinct possibility that Dalgliesh would be waiting in that box. I perfectly remembered the last time we had met. It was difficult to forget being kidnapped and held hostage in a lonely cabin in the middle of nowhere. I had no idea how he was going to react if he was there. More importantly…I had no idea how I was going to keep myself from scratching his face off.
Calm down, Lilly! I told myself. Calm down. You’ve got a mission. And it’s not killing Dalgliesh. At least not tonight.
The door opened, and…
Dalgliesh was nowhere to be seen.
But there were a few other mildly interesting people.
Louis Philippe, King of the French, was sitting in a luxurious blue and gold armchair near the railing. He looked a bit like your favourite friendly shopkeeper, who had been down on his luck recently, but didn’t let it get to him too much. His round face was pretty unremarkable, except for the ginormous nose that hung like a zucchini in the middle of his royal visage. Worry lines were carved into his face, especially at the corners of his mouth, but there was a glimmer in his eyes that told everyone this old royal horse had still plenty of life left in him.
Minister Guizot, on the other hand, looked like he had still plenty of death in him. If the man beside the king was, in fact, Minister Guizot, and not an undertaker here to take the king’s measurements before the assassination. The tall man was dressed from head to toe in black, with a high collar and beak-shaped nose that gave him the appearance of a hungry bird circling above his favourite corpse. Add to that his pale face and sharp, intelligent eyes, and he didn’t exactly look like the broker of international peace Mr Ambrose had described.
I leaned over towards Mr Ambrose. ‘Are you sure that saving him will help world peace?’
‘Yes, Mr Linton.’
‘Oh dear. Poor world.’
At the sound of our approach, the king turned around and, suddenly, his lined, heavy face was lit with a broad smile designed to put everyone at ease. Meanwhile, the foreign minister lurked behind his monarch, making sure everyone stayed uneasy.
‘Monsieur Ambrose! What a pleasure to see you here. When I sent my invitation I didn’t know you were going to answer it so promptly.’
‘It was a spontaneous decision, Your Majesty. I hear tonight’s performance is going to be something special.’
‘You did, did you?’ From behind his king, Minister Guizot’s eyes bored into Mr Ambrose. I had to give the man credit. His stare was almost as intimidating as that of my dear employer. No wonder he was able to keep several nations dancing to his tune.
‘Yes.’ Mr Ambrose met the minister’s gaze unblinking. ‘It might be a little shocking, but very beneficial in the long run. An operatic catharsis, you might say.’
‘Like in ancient Greek tragedy?’
‘Yes.’
‘But didn’t everyone die in ancient Greek tragedy?’
There was a long moment of silence, as the two powerful men stared at each other.
‘Only on the stage,’ Mr Ambrose told him.
‘I see.’
‘Where are my manners? I’m so forgetful tonight.’ The king clapped his hands. He seemed to have noticed nothing of the tension in the air. ‘Please, sit down, Monsieur, Madame. You, Monsieur Ambrose, take the seat of honour on my right, and you, my dear Madame…?’
I dipped into a perfect curtsy. Aunt Brank would have been proud of me. ‘Miss Lillian Linton, Your Majesty.’
‘Charmed. Please, take a seat, Mademoiselle Linton.’
We sank into our seats, Mr Ambrose and Minister Guizot still eyeing each other intently without the king noticing a thing. Down in the orchestra pit, the musicians began tuning their instruments.
‘So, what brings you to our beautiful capital city?’ the king enquired.
‘Yes.’ The minister’s eyes switched from Mr Ambrose to me, on the search for a weaker target. ‘I would very much like to know that, too.’
