‘You have honestly never heard of her? I find that very hard to believe.’
‘Have you heard of Beryl Deepdene?’
‘No,’ says Joyce.
‘Then you see that different people have different interests,’ says Elizabeth.
‘Who is Beryl Deepdene?’
‘It was the cover name for a particularly brave British operative in Moscow in the nineteen seventies,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Well known in my circles.’
‘I doubt that Beryl Deepdene has won a TV Choice Award,’ says Joyce.
‘And I doubt that Fiona Clemence has won a George Cross,’ says Elizabeth. ‘It’s horses for courses, isn’t it? Ah, look, we’re here.’
It is a ten-minute walk from Elstree & Borehamwood Station to Elstree Studios. Joyce likes nothing more than a high street she has never walked down before, and points out a number of things to Elizabeth. ‘Starbucks, Costa and Caffè Nero, as you’d hope’， ‘Does that Holland & Barrett look bigger than usual?’， ‘My goodness, they still have a Wimpy, Elizabeth.’
A queue snakes from the security gates of the studio, but Joyce and Elizabeth are able to walk straight to the front. Joanna has a friend whose sister is a production manager, whatever that might be, on the show, and they have special guest tickets. They are ushered straight into a bar and offered tea or coffee. Joyce is wide-eyed.
‘Isn’t this something? Have you ever been on television, Elizabeth?’
‘I was once called to give evidence to the Defence Select Committee,’ says Elizabeth. ‘But, legally, they had to blur my face. And I was once in a hostage video.’
They are called through to the studio and given seats in the front row. It is freezing cold, but they are asked to remove their gloves （‘Otherwise we won’t be able to hear you when you clap’）。 There is no food allowed in the studio, but Joyce opens her bag wide enough to show Elizabeth that she has sneaked in some Fruit Pastilles. While they wait, Joyce gets her phone out of her bag. She spots a security guard.
‘Are we allowed to take photos?’
‘No,’ says the security guard.
‘Righto,’ says Joyce.
‘You’re not going to stand for that Joyce, surely?’ says Elizabeth.
‘I’m certainly not,’ says Joyce, taking a photo. ‘This is going straight on Instagram.’
‘Makes me wonder why you asked,’ says Elizabeth. ‘In a way.’
‘It’s just polite, isn’t it,’ says Joyce, taking another photograph. ‘Did you know Fiona Clemence has three million followers on Instagram? Can you imagine?’
‘Barely,’ says Elizabeth.
As Joyce puts her phone away, she finally gets a reply from Donna. I didn’t train at Hendon, Joyce. Where was everyone training these days, Joyce wonders.
She hopes Ron and Viktor are having a nice day too; she waved them off, with Bogdan driving, this morning. Jack Mason has a snooker table, and apparently that means they’ll be gone for the day. Joyce can see the appeal of snooker. The waistcoats and so on. She thinks she would marry Stephen Hendry were the opportunity to arise.
The music being played into the studio fades now, and the crowd applauds as Fiona Clemence walks onto the set.
‘Flawless skin,’ says Joyce to Elizabeth. ‘Flawless, isn’t it?’
‘How long is all this going to take?’ asks Elizabeth. ‘I’m really only here to ask questions.’
‘Not long,’ says Joyce. ‘Three hours or so.’