Jeffrey Archer - Twelve Red Herrings

The Governor and his wife left the Nelson Room and walked down the main staircase just before 7.20, to find yet another under-butler stationed by the front door, and two more maids standing opposite him carrying silver trays laden with glasses of champagne. Hazel introduced herself to the three of them, and again checked the flowers in the entrance hall.

As 7.30 struck on the long-case clock in the lobby the first guest walked in.

“Henry,” said the Governor. “Lovely to see you. Thank you so much for the use of the Rolls. And Bill, come to that,” he added in a stage whisper.

“My pleasure, Your Excellency,” Henry Bendall replied. “I must say, I like the uniform.”

Lady Cuthbert came bustling through the front door. “Can’t stop,” she said. “Ignore me. Just pretend I’m not here.”

“Dotty, I simply don’t know what we would have done without you,” Hazel said, chasing after her across the hall.

“Delighted to lend a hand,” said Lady Cuthbert. “I thought I’d come bang on time, so I could spend a few minutes in the kitchen with Mrs Travis. By the way, Benson is standing out in the drive, ready to rush home if you find you’re still short of anything.”

“You are a saint, Dotty. I’ll take you through…”

“No, don’t worry,” said Lady Cuthbert. “I know my way around. You just carry on greeting your guests.”

“Good evening, Mr Mayor,” said Ted, as Lady Cuthbert disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

“Good evening, Your Excellency. How kind of you to invite us to such an auspicious occasion.”

“And what a lovely dress, Mrs Janson,” said the Governor.

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” said the Mayor’s wife.

“Would you care for a glass of champagne?” said Hazel as she arrived back at her husband’s side.

By 7.45 most of the guests had arrived, and Ted was chatting to Mick Flaherty when Hazel touched him on the elbow. He glanced towards her.

“I think we should go and fetch him now,” she whispered.

Ted nodded, and asked the Chief Justice to take over the welcoming of the guests. They wove a path through the chattering throng, and climbed the great staircase. When they reached the door of the Queen Victoria Room, they paused and looked at each other.

Ted checked his watch — 7.50. He leaned forward and gave a gentle tap. Carruthers immediately opened the door to reveal Mountbatten attired in his third outfit of the day: full ceremonial uniform of an Admiral of the Fleet, three stars, a gold and blue sash and eight rows of campaign decorations.

“Good evening, Your Excellency,” said Mountbatten.

“Good evening, sir,” said the Governor, star struck.

The Admiral took three paces forward and came to a halt at the top of the staircase. He stood to attention. Ted and Hazel waited on either side of him. As he didn’t move, they didn’t.

Carruthers proceeded slowly down the stairs in front of them, stopping on the third step. He cleared his throat and waited for the assembled guests to fall silent.

“Your Excellency, Prime Minister, Mr Mayor, ladies and gentlemen,” he announced. “The Right Honourable the Earl Mountbatten of Burma.”

Mountbatten descended the stairs slowly as the waiting guests applauded politely. As he passed Carruthers, the butler gave a deep bow. The Governor, with Hazel on his arm, followed two paces behind.

“He must know,” whispered Hazel.

“You may be right. But does he know we know?” said Ted.

Mountbatten moved deftly around the room, as Ted introduced him to each of the guests in turn. They bowed and curtsied, listening attentively to the few words the Admiral had to say to them. The one exception was Mick Flaherty, who didn’t stop talking, and remained more upright than Ted had ever seen him before.

At eight o’clock one of the under-butlers banged a gong, which until then neither the Governor nor his wife had even realised existed.

As the sound died away, Carruthers announced, “My Lord, Your Excellency, Prime Minister, Mr Mayor, ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served.”

If there was a better cook on St George’s than Mrs Travis, no one at the top table had ever been fed by her, and that evening she had excelled herself.

Mountbatten chatted and smiled, making no secret of how much he was enjoying himself. He spent a long time talking to Lady Cuthbert, whose husband had served under him at Portsmouth, and to Mick Flaherty, to whom he listened with polite interest.

Each course surpassed the one before: soufflé, followed by lamb cutlets, and an apricot hazelnut meringue to complete the feast.

Mountbatten remarked on every one of the wines, and even called for a second glass of port.

After dinner, he joined the guests for coffee in the drawing room, and managed to have a word with everyone, even though Colonel Hodges tried to buttonhole him about defence cuts.

The guests began to leave a few minutes before midnight, and Ted was amused to see that when Mick Flaherty bade farewell to the Admiral, he bowed low and said, “Good night, My Lord. It has been an honour to meet you.”

Dotty was among the last to depart, and she curtsied low to the guest of honour.

“You’ve helped to make this such a pleasant evening, Lady Cuthbert,” Mountbatten told her.

“If you only knew just how much,” thought Hazel.

After the under-butler had closed the door on the last guest, Mountbatten turned to his hostess and said, “Hazel, I must thank you for a truly memorable occasion. The head chef at the Savoy couldn’t have produced a finer banquet. Perfect in every part.”

“You are very kind, sir. I will pass your thanks on to the staff.” She just stopped herself from saying “my staff”. “Is there anything else we can do for you before you retire?”

“No, thank you,” Mountbatten replied. “It has been a long day, and with your permission, I’ll turn in now.”

“And at what time would you like breakfast, sir?” asked the Governor.

“Would 7.30 be convenient?” Mountbatten asked. “That will give me time to fly out at nine.”

“Certainly,” said Ted. “I’ll see that Carruthers brings a light breakfast up to your room at 7.30 — unless you’d like something cooked.”

“A light breakfast will be just the thing,” Mountbatten said. “A perfect evening. Your staff could not have done more, Hazel. Good night, and thank you, my dear.”

The Governor bowed and his lady curtsied as the great man ascended the staircase two paces behind Carruthers.

When the butler closed the door of the Queen Victoria Room, Ted put his arm around his wife and said, “He knows we know.”

“You may be right,” said Hazel. “But does he know we know he knows?”

“I’ll have to think about that,” said Ted.

Arm in arm, they returned to the kitchen, where they found Mrs Travis packing dishes into a crate under the supervision of Lady Cuthbert, the long lace sleeves of whose evening dress were now firmly rolled up.

“How did you get back in, Dotty?” asked Hazel.

“Just walked round to the back yard and came in the servants’ entrance,” replied Lady Cuthbert.

“Did you spot anything that went badly wrong?” Hazel asked anxiously.

“I don’t think so,” replied Lady Cuthbert, “Not unless you count Mick Flaherty failing to get a fourth glass of Muscat de Venise.”

“Mrs Travis,” said Ted, “the head chef at the Savoy couldn’t have produced a finer banquet. Perfect in every part. I do no more than repeat Lord Mountbatten’s exact words.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” said Mrs Travis. “He’s got a big appetite, hasn’t he?” she added with a smile.

A moment later, Carruthers entered the kitchen. He checked round the room, which was spotless once again, then turned to Ted and said, “With your permission, sir, we will take our leave.”