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gazing over it, he forgot all about the promise of tea. He tried to decide what the shape of the trees meant. They seemed mysterious and significant, so he used his forefinger to trace them on the window glass.
    He could smell the furniture polish used on the table under the window. Eventually, he decided that it smelled like beeswax.
    Dimly, he was aware of a voice, deep inside himself, that was doing its best to raise a hullabaloo. It was irksome, but only distantly, like a noisy neighbour in a district where the houses were five miles apart.
    The business of the Palace went on around him, in the hushed and discreet way that the royal household staff had made a specialty. After someone placed a tea tray on the table by his side, he was left alone. Footsteps went past, soft conversations came from nearby, a muffled telephone rang. None of this bothered – or concerned – Aubrey. Periodically, he found he had to move position as his leg muscles were starting to cramp, and he had some notion that he was hungry, but these signs of physical discomfort were muted, as if they were happening to someone else.
    The voice deep inside was doing its best to rattle the walls but it was easy to ignore.
    One of the doors opened. Sommers entered. He was frowning, and Aubrey would have described him as looking troubled, if he’d been able to rouse enough interest to do so. Instead he smiled – something told him that smiling was good – and he stood.
    â€˜His Highness will be with you in a minute,’ Sommers said in a tight voice. Aubrey saw his hand was hovering over the pocket of his jacket, and for an instant he wondered what the chap had there, but no sooner had the thought flitted into his mind than it left. The matter had no impact on his mission.
    â€˜Good, good,’ Aubrey said. He bounced on his toes and realised that he was excited. His hands twitched, eagerly.
    Sommers glanced over his shoulder, then toward the window. ‘Why don’t you take a seat, Fitzwilliam? His Highness won’t be long.’
    â€˜I’ll stand,’ Aubrey said and had trouble smothering a laugh. What a time he was having! The way the light came in through the window, the sound of the motor traffic that echoed over the parade ground all made a delicious backdrop to his task.
    A figure strode through the doorway. Aubrey’s hand went to the inner pocket of his jacket only to realise, to his disappointment, that it wasn’t the Prince.
    â€˜Hello, old man,’ George said.
    Before Aubrey could frame a reply, he had to disengage his finger from the trigger of the pistol. This took more attention that he thought. In the meantime, George was joined by someone else and Aubrey forgot everything in his astonishment.
    â€˜Caroline. What are you doing here?’
    Caroline stood next to George. Her hands were clenched tightly together. ‘Wrong question, Aubrey. You need to ask yourself what you’re doing here.’
    Aubrey’s astonishment was whisked away and replaced by his consuming sense of purpose, the one he’d had since waking up. He grinned and once again his hand stole to the pistol in his pocket. ‘What a ridiculous question.’
    â€˜Is it?’ Caroline demanded. ‘Think, Aubrey. Really think. Why have you come here at this hour? Why did you leave college so abruptly? Where have you been before you came here?’
    Sommers coughed and looked significantly at Caroline. He was standing with his back against the wall, his arms folded on his chest, all friendliness gone. Aubrey would have been offended at this change, but he had other things to think about. ‘Sommers,’ he said. ‘Where’s Bertie?’
    Sommers glanced at Caroline and George. ‘His Highness is on his way. Your friends have been chatting with me.’
    The pistol was really a fine piece of work, Aubrey decided. Compact, neatly machined. He liked the grip, particularly, with its neat