The Corpse of St James's Read Free Page B

The young woman hesitated a moment. ‘Jonathan, come and see me one of these days. We haven’t talked in a long time.’ Someone frowned at her. Her boss, possibly? She sketched a wave and vanished, leaving Jonathan to the mercy of the media, who requested an interview.
    Jonathan complied, reluctantly, and escaped the moment he could. He was plainly uncomfortable in the role of hero.
    â€˜I didn’t know you had a cousin, Jonathan,’ said Alan as we crunched across the immaculate gravel.
    He scowled. ‘Honorary,’ he said briefly. ‘Her mother was a good friend of my mother’s, and we called her Aunt Letty. By extension, therefore . . .’
    â€˜Ah. I see. Pleasant young woman.’
    Jonathan scowled again. ‘Bit of a pill, if you want the truth. In and out of trouble when she was a girl. I rather lost touch with her when my parents died, but I know her mother was greatly relieved when she snagged the job at the palace. I don’t believe they pay terribly well, but she does live in, so she’s under a certain amount of supervision.’
    â€˜I’d think it’d take a brave girl to misbehave under the Queen’s eye,’ I commented. ‘I have the distinct impression Her Majesty doesn’t miss much. Look, we’d better find a taxi. You look like you’ve been on your feet long enough for one day.’
    â€˜Actually, I left a wheelchair somewhere. The quacks want me to use it still, but I don’t, at least not unless I really have to. And I’d be damned if I’d sit to receive an honour from the Queen, so I told someone to keep it for me.’ He looked around vaguely, as if expecting to see his chair behind a bush, and lo!, the someone appeared, wheeling it – with some difficulty – across the gravel.
    â€˜We waited for you at the lift, sir,’ said the man, somewhat reproachfully.
    â€˜Yes, well, I managed. As you see.’
    Jonathan refused to sit in it until we had left the gravel, but his face when he finally sat down told me how much that stubbornness had cost him.
    I thought I could see how he had summoned up the courage to save that child.
    â€˜Right,’ said Alan. ‘Now to find a taxi.’
    â€˜I wonder,’ said Jonathan tentatively, ‘if you’d mind terribly if we walked for a bit. In a manner of speaking, that is,’ he added, looking down at his chair. ‘I . . . the palace is a bit . . . the rain has stopped, and I’d like some fresh air, if it’s not a dreadful bother.’
    â€˜I feel exactly the same way,’ I said with a sigh of relief. ‘Claustrophobic. It’s a perfectly lovely, spacious cave, but a cave, nonetheless. Let’s walk through St James’s Park, Alan. Squirrels and ducks and pelicans are exactly what I need just now.’
    The traffic around the palace is always incredible. Taxis and other vehicles whizz around the Queen Victoria Memorial in an unending stream. There are pedestrian traffic lights, controlled by push buttons, but they emit a rapid, threatening beep-beep-beep that seems to shout ‘Hurry! Hurry!’ My heart was in my mouth, with all those impatient engines ready to move the moment they were given the green light, but we managed to cross two streets safely and then, in seconds, were in the shelter of what is, for me, the loveliest park in London.
    It was high noon, and the park should have been crowded with people: children begging their parents for ice cream and throwing crumbs to the greedy ducks, lovers strolling arm in arm, the elderly sitting on benches attracting crowds of hopeful pigeons and the odd squirrel looking for a handout. St James’s is one of the royal parks, which simply means they’re owned by the Crown. Anyone can enjoy them, and thousands of people do, every day. Not today, though, what with the rain. Soon, if the sun came out, the throngs would descend, but now we had the place nearly to