Page 149 of The Love Letter
‘He dyed it black and added a moustache when he became James Harrison and assumed his new identity.’
‘What’s this?’ Dora was studying the photograph Joanna had found in the attic of Haycroft House.
‘That’s James Harrison, Noël Coward and Gertrude Lawrence. Given their evening dress, at some kind of first-night party, I’d imagine.’
Dora studied the photo intently, then glanced at the other photo of James Harrison in the theatre programme. ‘Good Lord!’ She let out a sigh and shook her head in wonderment. ‘Oh no, it’s not!’
‘Not what?’
‘That man standing next to Noël Coward is definitely not James Harrison. You wait here a minute and I’ll prove it to you.’
Dora rose and left the room. Joanna heard the sound of a drawer opening, then a scuffling, papery noise before Dora arrived back, her eyes glinting in triumph. She sat down, laid a heap of yellowing newspaper cuttings on the table and beckoned Joanna to her. She pointed at one faded, grainy photograph and then at the others. Then she put Joanna’s photograph next to them.
‘See? It’s one and the same person. No doubt about it at all. A case of mistaken identity there, love.’
‘But . . .’ Joanna felt breathless and slightly sick as her brain tried to make sense of what she saw. She pointed to the face in the programme, the face of the young Michael O’Connell. ‘Surely that can’t be him too?’
Dora took her glasses off her nose and looked at Joanna intently. ‘I doubt that the then second in line to the throne would be performing in a play at the Hackney Empire, don’t you?’
‘You’re saying the man standing next to Noël Coward is the Duke of York?’
‘Compare that photo of him with these: on his wedding day, in his navy officer’s uniform, on his coronation . . .’ Dora stabbed her finger at the face. ‘I’m telling you, it’s him.’
‘But the photograph of Michael O’Connell in the theatre programme . . . I mean, they look like one and the same person.’
‘Seems like we’re seeing double, dear, doesn’t it? Oh, and I brought you something else to look at too.’ Dora pulled out another cutting. ‘I thought it sounded odd when you mentioned the “visitor” arriving in Ireland in early January 1926. See, this shows the Duke and Duchess on a visit to York Minster in January 1926. My parents went to wave in the crowd. So it’s very doubtful the Duke could have been in southern Ireland around the same time, it was a long way to travel in those days. And besides, the Duchess was six months along with her first pregnancy. Far as I know, the pair of them didn’t leave England’s shores until their tour of Australia the following year.’
Joanna’s hands went to her head as her brain struggled to compute it all. ‘So, I . . . then it couldn’t have been the Duke of York in Ireland after all?’
‘You know,’ Dora said slowly, ‘in those days, a lot of famous people used doubles. Monty was known for it, and Hitler, of course. That’s why they couldn’t get him. They’d never know whether they’d killed the right man.’
‘You’re saying that Michael O’Connell might have been used as a double for the Duke of York? But why?’
‘Search me. The Duke’s health was never good, mind. He was sick as a young boy. And he always had that dreadful stutter. He suffered from bouts of bronchitis all his life.’
‘Surely someone would have noticed? All the photographs in the newspapers . . .’
‘The quality was not like it is these days, dear. No newfangled lenses pointing up your nose, and no television. You’d see the royals from a distance, if you were lucky, or hear them on the radio. I’d reckon if there was some reason they wanted a stand-in – say, if the Duke was sick and they didn’t want the country to know – they’d have got away with it easily.’
‘Okay, okay.’ Joanna tried to take in this new information. ‘So, if that was the case, and Michael O’Connell was used as a double for the Duke of York, why all this fuss?’
‘Don’t ask me, dear. You’re the investigative journalist.’
‘Christ!’ Joanna shook her head in frustration. ‘I thought I’d made sense of it all, and if what you’ve pointed out is right, then I’m back to square one. Why all the deaths? And what on earth was in that letter they were so desperate to get their hands on?’ She stared into space, her heart beating hard against her chest. ‘If . . .ifyou’re right, Simon has sold me completely down the river.’
‘Maybe he thought it was better than having you drown in it,’ Dora said sagely. ‘Simon’s a straight Yorkshireman and you’re like a sister to him. Whatever he’s done, he’s done to protect you.’
‘You’re wrong. Simon may care for me, but I’ve learnt where his true allegiance lies in the past few weeks. Oh Christ, Granny. I’m so confused. I thought it was all over, that maybe I could forget about it and get on with my life.’
‘Well, you can, of course, love. All we’ve done is spot a similarity between one young man and t’other . . .’
‘Similarity? In those photos anyone would be pushed to tell the difference! It’s too much of a coincidence. I’m going to have to go back to London and rethink everything. Can I borrow these cuttings?’
‘With pleasure, as long as you return them.’
‘Thank you.’ Joanna scooped the cuttings up and folded them into her rucksack.
‘Let me know how it goes, love. My instincts tell me you’re on the right track now.’
