Abdication: A Novel (35 page)

“I want to add one more thing, Evangeline, in case you are in any doubt about my intentions. I want you to know that I am convinced of one unshakeable truth. David and I as a married pair would create disaster together!”

She reached over to the small table beside the bed and picked up a sealed blue airmail envelope. Her voice was much calmer now.

“I am going to tell you a secret, Vangey. I want you to know that I have broken the whole thing off. Matter of fact, I have written to David to tell him that this is the end of it.” Wallis waved the blue envelope at Evangeline. “I have told him that we would never make each other happy. The money and the jewels, well, most of the jewels, perhaps not the sapphires, will be sent back to him. And when I get back to England I am going to return to Ernest and then we will all go back to America and you will come with me and we will find you another Wiggle as a reward for being the most stalwart of all friends. Perhaps the king would still let you have Slipper’s puppy. What do you say, darling Vangey?”

The tears had dried and the old familiar confidence had returned as unexpectedly as the appearance of stars on a cloudy night. Evangeline was so taken aback by this dramatic turn of events that she could only
stare at Wallis openmouthed. Of course she had not been the only cruise member to notice the signs that all was not right between Wallis and the king, but this momentous decision was a volte-face that even Evangeline had not anticipated. The idea of giving up the unconditional adoration of a man was inconceivable to Evangeline, in any circumstances. But to give up the love of a king was something that only a lunatic would consider.

And yet Evangeline found herself moved by Wallis’s confession and by the trust Wallis had placed in her by making it. The two of them would be proper friends again. They could make plans together. Their lives would be set in some kind of direction. Rapidly Evangeline thought through some of the consequences of Wallis’s decision. Evangeline was certain that the king would put up a pretty fierce fight to keep Wallis. She had seen too often the way he looked at her. Despite (or was it
because
of?) the firm way in which Wallis treated him there was no question that he was deeply in love with her. Nevertheless, Wallis was stubborn. Whatever obstacles the king might put in her way, Wallis would triumph. Of that Evangeline was certain.

Evangeline felt an unfamiliar rush of relief. It had been a difficult year but one which she would look back on with much affection especially for the time spent with the Blunts before Joan’s terrible illness. She wondered how she could have doubted the loyalty of her old school friend. In an unprecedented gesture, Evangeline found herself stretching out her own plump hand and giving Wallis’s naked knuckles a reassuring squeeze. It felt like gripping a leftover Sunday joint after poor Wiggle had chewed all remaining flesh from it.

“I admire you, Wallis,” she said, overcoming the impulse to withdraw her hand. “Most women would not have the courage that you have just demonstrated. And I want you to know you can count on my friendship. Your trust in confiding in me will never be forgotten.”

After returning to England, Evangeline heard nothing from Wallis for more than two weeks. She was not concerned. She knew that patching up things with Ernest and the unravelling of all the legal procedures previously set in motion for the divorce would take a while. And then there would be the business of moving back into number 5 Bryanston Court from the house in Regent’s Park that Wallis had taken after the temporary rupture with her husband. She expected that Wallis had already booked the passage for the three of them to New York. Wallis had promised they would all sail on the new
Queen Mary
as a treat.

One evening Evangeline was dining alone in St. John’s Wood with Philip. She had stopped reading all the newspapers, even the clippings sent by her brother from America. She was tired of all the false rumours that swirled through the European and American press and the British papers were so self-censorious about what they could and could not print that she saw no point in reading them either. The wireless had become her favourite means of staying in touch.

With a smug sense of knowing better, she listened to Philip mentioning stories that Wallis had been in Scotland with the king, the Mountbattens and those old friends of hers, the Hunters. The rumours had been confirmed in yesterday’s
Times
Court Circular, he said. There had been some critical muttering in the House that the king had begged off an official “kinging” engagement while up in Scotland, only to be seen by a press photographer driving himself to Aberdeen railway station to meet “a special guest.” Philip had also heard that the tartan halls of Balmoral, still decorated with the original plaids chosen by Queen Victoria, had witnessed quite unprecedented levels of gaiety over the past two weeks. With a knowing smile, Evangeline assured Philip that the rumours were definitely unfounded.
The Times
Court Circular must have included Wallis’s name by mistake. Tapping the side of her nose Evangeline apologised that she could not fill him in any further on Wallis’s plans as she was sworn to secrecy.

When the telephone eventually rang a week later on Joan’s long-unused desk in St. John’s Wood, Evangeline picked up the receiver and on hearing Wallis’s steady voice at the other end was pleased to know that her recovery from the momentous Paris decision had been speedy. Wallis was certainly a woman of considerable resilience.

“Vangey, darling. How are you?”

“Never better, Wallis my dear, and looking forward to seeing you.”

“Ah yes, well there is a slight difficulty about making any plans for the week or so I’m afraid,” Wallis replied, sounding apologetic. “I expect you have seen from the Court Circular that I have been away up in Scotland? Well, without going into matters that I feel are best left unspoken now,” and at this point Wallis’s voice assumed a conspiratorial tone, “I am going to lie low for a while. I have been staying at Claridge’s but as a matter of fact I am just off to spend a few days in a little house in Felixstowe in Suffolk. Kitty and George Hunter are coming with me so I won’t be on my own, just in case you were worrying. That legal matter, you understand, for which I want only my closest married friends near me. But there is nothing to worry about. Sorry that I can’t stop to talk just now. There are so many people making demands on my time. On my return from Suffolk I think we have dinner engagements every night for three weeks! But I will be back on the horn just as soon as I can.”

And then, just before hanging up she added something.

“Oh, and Vangey, be a dear and agree to walk Slipper’s puppy while I am away? I have asked Osborne to have him brought up from the Fort and delivered to Hamilton Terrace. We have taken up your suggestion and called him Loafer, just to keep the shoe theme going, and to remind him he belongs to an American! I know you will be pleased to take care of the precious animal for me.”

The voice was extinguished with a click so sudden that Evangeline had no time to respond. Clearly the conversation in Paris had meant
nothing. Talk about basking in the sunny company of kings! Surely Wallis must realise her mistake in prolonging her relationship with the king instead of returning at once to Ernest? Was she entirely lacking in common decency by not ending her dalliance now? What was in her head by going through with the divorce from her husband? Had Wallis not learned her lesson with her first marriage that decent men like Ernest were hard to come by? The business with Mary Raffray had surely only come about because Wallis had inadvertently pushed Ernest into it. After all, if one’s wife were conducting a steamy relationship with a king, most men would run for the arms of another woman. Fickle, that’s what Wallis was, Evangeline concluded, the sort of female who is seduced by position, sycophancy, power and gemstones. As well as the betrayal she had made to the hapless Ernest, Wallis’s behaviour amounted just as much to a betrayal of Evangeline herself. And the assumption of the woman, lumbering Evangeline with the dog without so much as an “if you please” was the final straw.

Evangeline remained sitting at Joan’s desk considering the nature of treachery. She was angry and tried to calm herself down by analysing the reasons for her anger, even forcing herself to admit that she had drawn pleasure from the gradual collapse of Wallis’s relationship with the king. The concept of “W. E.”—the combined initials of the two names of the lovers, Wallis and Edward, their own private cipher—had nauseated her while at the same time brought up the memory of her and Wallis’s own schoolgirl code: Gel-lis. Suddenly Evangeline was overwhelmingly and dangerously jealous, the oath of friendship she had made so recently in the hotel in Paris wholly invalidated.

Evangeline opened Joan’s telephone book, and turned to the entry marked Sir John Reith. As soon as the call was answered she came straight to the point.

“Oh, Sir John. This is Evangeline Nettlefold speaking. You remember? Well, yes, I do recall you saying something to me about the velvet
voice! Most kind! I have been thinking over our delightful conversation at Philip’s dinner at Cuckmere back in the summer, and I have decided I would be more than happy to take up your suggestion that I introduce a flavour of my country to your listeners. I have just one proviso. Could we keep the plan to ourselves for now? I would like it to be a surprise for Wallis.”

And having arranged to meet at a discreet rendezvous to discuss the idea further, Evangeline put the receiver gently back in its cradle feeling that perhaps she was gaining the upper hand at last.

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

M
ay and Sarah were sitting in the Queen’s Arms, even though it was only eleven in the morning. The once negligible swelling of Sarah’s waist had billowed into a size that made it difficult for her to get in and out of the armchairs at home with ease and she had recently discovered the high stools in the pub to be more comfortable. Danny the publican brought the two women cups of tea and a plate of his wife’s ginger biscuits, reminding May of the Jewish way of associating food with welcome. Apart from the ever-present plateful of sugar cookies in Bertha’s plantation kitchen, there had been no such custom while May was growing up when meals were an ordeal to be endured rather than enjoyed.

May was glad to be back in London. She had wanted to see her brother, of course, and hear about his adventures in the Mediterranean, but it was Sarah to whom she felt the most pressing need to speak. May had made few friends in Barbados, largely because she told herself she was always so busy with her work. But even at school there had been no particular girl to whom she had felt close. In fact, there had been times when the teasing about the unusual colour of her skin, neither white nor dark, had made her feel quite alienated from the tiny community that lived and worked near Speightstown. She suspected that she was viewed as an oddity, and longed to be part of a group. Now,
with Sarah she had at last found the nonjudgemental, mutual affection of a woman and the feeling was uplifting. Sarah had been the first person, other than the oblique references made by her own mother, to have spoken to her about what it felt like to fall in love. Now it was May’s turn to share her own response to that experience, with all the consequent joy and agony that seemed to be integral to it. She very much wanted Sarah’s advice about Julian but was curiously shy about how to ask for it.

Cuckmere had been a gloomy place during the past few weeks. Most of the staff was away on their holidays and Sir Philip continued to spend most of his time up in London, working on the confidential legal matters that consumed his professional attention. Both the birdlike Lady Emerald Cunard and the tall diaphanous Lady Sybil Colefax had been heard saying how grateful they were for the appearance of another decent single man on the dinner-party scene. Lady Joan remained unconsciousness in the hospital and Sir Philip had not been able to bring himself to agree to the course of electric-shock treatment some shellshocked war veterans in his club had spoken of as effective in such situations. The physical intrusion into the brain sounded too dreadful to contemplate. John Hunt understood Philip’s reservations but remained baffled by Joan’s case. He had been meticulous about visiting Lady Joan in hospital at least once a week, but was unable to give her husband much reason for hope. The photographs of Lady Joan had disappeared from Sir Philip’s desk and May knew the reason. The photograph of her own mother, brought with her from Barbados, was still secured facedown by an elastic band in the back of her diary. The visual reality of her mother’s gentle smile was still too painful to look at.