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‘My gosh, would it ever. All right, Fox, I’ll make this happen for you, but I’ll need to seek permission from the royal minders. If it’s not on the official schedule, you know how these things work; it will be touch and go. But if Her Majesty does agree, then keep it brief and, you know, entertaining. Well, as entertaining as a man being beheaded can be.’ He pulled a droll expression. ‘Keep it light, is what I’m saying. She’s not a student of art – although she does rather like Rembrandt, I gather, and she more than appreciates art’s collective power and beauty. And I agree with you – royalty aside, it gives you another chance to see The Beheading of Saint John the Baptist and perhaps, with great diplomacy, make some suggestions for transport, who should go with it and so on. The Maltese in charge of St John’s Cathedral won’t want us interfering, but you never know what might happen.’

‘With knobs on sir.’ He grinned. ‘When?’

Blunt shrugged. ‘As soon as possible. Go get yourself organised and I’ll get started on the Palace and any special clearances.’

‘I’m thrilled, sir. Thank you.’

‘Good. Expect to hear from Helen, who will make all the necessary arrangements,’ Blunt said. ‘And make sure you pack a good suit for on the day.’

‘I’ll go to Savile Row immediately, sir.’

‘Good man.’

Peter stood, a thrum of excitement moving through him. He hadn’t felt like this since he’d last scrambled into the cockpit of a Spitfire, ready to do battle with the Luftwaffe. ‘Thank you for this special task, sir.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Blunt said, waving away the thanks. ‘Best man for the job and all that.’

Peter smiled as he left. I’ve pulled it off, he thought. I’m going back. Whatever had taken him so long?

And in that moment as he closed his boss’s door, he understood how much had been missing in his life; for the first time, in a long time, he felt happy.

SIXTEEN

LATE APRIL 1954

Valletta, Malta

Valentina knew it was coming and half ducked, half turned away, unsure where he’d choose to land his blow, but Lawrenz’s fist caught her square in the kidney. She doubled over, groaning as the shock vibrated through her body, and let herself slump to the ground in pain. She also knew that appearing subservient might stop him getting another one in. The years had trained her not to fight back and not to show any of the defiance she felt within, but mostly never to let their son know how much it hurt.

‘I’m sorry,’ she bleated. She didn’t even know what this punishment was for, but the plea of apology sometimes helped.

Danjel was shouting, pleading too, but Lawrenz shoved him out of the way, and she scrambled quickly to his defence. She couldn’t help herself. At first she’d worried that Lawrenz would work out that the fastest way to make her kowtow to him would be to threaten their child. But she’d decided he was too dim, or perhaps he enjoyed the physicality of hurting her too much to look for another way. He seemed to enjoy the feel of his fists on her soft flesh just as much as he enjoyed raping her.

He wouldn’t call it that, of course.

She wouldn’t call it anything else.

He seemed to know that she would never tell anyone. But he threatened Danjel regularly to keep his mouth shut about private family business. Now, as someone knocked on their door, he did so again, waving a thick finger in his son’s face. ‘Speak of this and I will kill her,’ he warned, adding for good measure, ‘And then I’ll kill you.’

He possessed such anger.

But it was no match for hers.

She clutched Danjel, pulling him against her chest. ‘One day I’ll kill you.’

But it was not her who had spoken, she realised. It was Danjel. Not loud enough for their attacker to hear but beneath his breath as a murmur.

As a promise.

The visitor was Robertu. She heard his voice, and Lawrenz greeting him, still breathing hard.

‘Everything all right?’ she heard Robertu ask.

‘Of course. We, er, we were just…’ He gave a soft chuckle. ‘Disagreeing about something. Come in.’

In the bathroom, where she’d pulled Danjel as soon as Lawrenz was distracted, she gathered herself. She felt tender where the blow had landed, but there were no visible marks on her, as was usual. She splashed her face with water.

‘Mama,’ Danjel began.