By Royal Command (14 page)

15

Guest of Honour

‘Quite a pile,’ said the taxi driver as he steered round a bend in the long gravel driveway and saw Miles Langton-Herring’s family home for the first time.

It was indeed quite a pile. A recently built mansion in the popular Tudor style. It was extensive and rambling, with two long wings, a steep, red-tiled roof, countless elaborate chimney stacks, all sorts of outbuildings and a garage big enough to fit four motorcars. Light spilled out through its diamond-leaded windows and there came a hubbub of music and voices from inside.

A line of Rolls-Royces, Daimlers and Bentleys was waiting to drop guests off at the front steps and more cars were arriving every minute.

‘I’ll get out here,’ said James.

The house stood in its own grounds on the south side of the Great Park. James could have ridden over on a bus but he had gone to the extravagance of taking a cab because he was running late. Since the incident with the bread Bentinck had been making his life hell. James had been dashing around for him like an obedient dog so as not to get Pritpal and Tommy into any more trouble. This evening Bentinck had deliberately kept him busy for over an hour as he knew that James was going out.

It looked like the party was already in full swing.

James paid his driver and walked along the row of cars to the front of the house where two uniformed lackeys were greeting guests at the door. James filed in behind a man in a gleaming top hat and a woman weighed down with furs and diamonds.

He hadn’t known what to expect, and had assumed from the way that Miles had described it that the party would involve just his immediate family and a few friends, with maybe a cold buffet and drinks and some music playing on a gramophone.

It was becoming obvious by the second that he couldn’t have been more wrong. This was no intimate reception; it was a society ball. At least James was wearing his school uniform, complete with top hat, so he didn’t look too out of place among the men in evening dress and the women in their best gowns.

He walked into the hallway and stopped to look around. The largest floral display he had ever seen was standing in the centre, next to a string quartet that was struggling to be heard above the noise of the party. Oil paintings hung on the wood-panelled walls and twin staircases fanned up to the next floor.

James handed his hat to a girl and followed a small group towards the next room. He gave his name to the butler on the door, who was obviously expecting him, and found himself in a large, packed ballroom.

A jazz orchestra was playing at the far end and some of the more adventurous guests were dancing. Most people, however, were simply standing and chatting at great volume. James made his way slowly into the adjoining room that turned out to be a dining room. There was indeed a cold buffet, but it went far beyond anything he had imagined.

The table was near to collapsing beneath the weight of huge sides of meat, whole salmon, lobsters, game birds, bowls of seasoned rice, potatoes, every type of salad you could imagine, as well as cheese and fruit and trifles and huge glistening cream cakes and chocolate gateaux.

James carried on exploring. The next room he came to was a library, where older men with wide bellies and bald heads sat smoking cigars and drinking brandy. Then there was a billiards room, after that a formal sitting room, then a conservatory, then a smaller sitting room. Finally, James found himself back in the hallway.

He wondered, not for the first time, what he was doing here and looked longingly at the open front door. He appeared to be the youngest person at the party and felt completely out of place among the dukes and duchesses and millionaires. He wouldn’t be missed if he went home now. With all these people here Mr Langton-Herring would never even know if he had arrived or not.

He was just thinking about doing one final circuit before departure when he heard a familiar voice call out to him and he spotted Miles coming awkwardly down one of the staircases on his crutches.

‘James,’ he said, hobbling down the last few steps and coming over to shake him warmly by the hand. ‘I’m so glad you made it. Father will be so pleased.’

‘Are you sure? It looks like he has some far more important guests than me here.’

‘He loves to throw a party,’ said Miles. ‘The house was only recently finished and he’ll snatch any opportunity to show it off. Now then, have you had something to eat?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Oh, but you must. There’s some rather superior beef from our farm in Hereford so tender you can cut it with a fork.’

James smiled. How strange that he should be pleased to see this boy, who before had been nothing but an irritation. Ah well, any old port in a storm. He let Miles prattle on about the food as they went into the dining room and filled their plates. The food at Codrose’s was the worst in Eton and although the boys could make up for it by buying extra things for their tea, he was never really satisfied. He had to admit that this spread was a welcome change.

He and Miles went and sat on the stairs to eat their food and they chatted about this and that and not very much, and James began to think that maybe the party wouldn’t be such a bore after all.

Afterwards they went into the ballroom to watch the band.

‘How’s the leg, by the way?’ James asked.

‘Not so bad. The cast will be off in a couple of weeks. No dancing for me tonight, though.’

‘Me neither,’ said James, backing out of the way as a young man in baggy trousers swung a startled girl across the dance floor. Another group of guests parted to give the dancers room and James caught sight of Miles’s father, who, at almost the same moment, spotted James.

James was struck once again by how much the man resembled some wild furry animal, with his bushy moustache and side burns and mane of unruly hair.

‘Aha, the man of the hour,’ said Mr Langton-Herring, and he clapped his big hands together. ‘I was just looking for you, young Bond. They told me you had arrived in one piece, but I could find neither hide nor hair of you. Follow me!’

So saying, Mr Langton-Herring cleared a path to the stage, barking good-natured commands to his guests to get out of the way. James and Miles fell in behind him and they made their way across the dance floor in a small procession.

As Mr Langton-Herring approached the band he bellowed at them to stop playing. The bandleader hastily brought the song to an end and Mr Langton-Herring took the stage. He raised his hands for quiet and a hush slowly descended on the room.

James looked around. More guests were filtering in from the other rooms and all eyes were on the stage.

‘It’s time for the speeches, I’m afraid.’ Langton-Herring’s voice boomed out and there were theatrical groans from his audience. ‘It’s a good lesson to learn,’ he said. ‘We must pay for our pleasures. And your payment tonight is to listen to old windbag Langton-Herring give one of his infamous orations!’

Now James knew where Miles got his talkative habits. Though he hadn’t quite the charm of his father.

‘Tonight is a very special night for me,’ Langton-Herring went on, ‘because I have not one but
two
guests of honour, and I should like to say a few short words about each of them. Actually I should like to say a great many long words about them, but I fear I might be shot.’

A ripple of laughter passed through the guests.

‘My first guest of honour is a man whom you all know, and whom you will one day know even better. He is my neighbour, and it is my great privilege to call him my friend, but to you lot, you unruly rabble, he is your Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, our future King, Edward.’

A roar of approval filled the room. There were shouts of ‘Hurrah’ and ‘God save the King’ and a scattering of applause.

‘As I say, it is my very great honour to have him here tonight. So would you all raise your glasses… To the Prince!’

‘To the Prince!’ went up a great shout and two hundred glasses of champagne were up-ended.

‘My second guest of honour tonight is someone you won’t know,’ Langton-Herring continued once he had everyone’s attention again. ‘Although I am quite sure that he
too
is destined for great things. He is a boy. A boy at my son’s school. A boy called James Bond. Where are you, James? Come up here, lad.’

Miles shoved James forward and he stumbled on to the stage, wishing more than ever that he had not come tonight. He hated being the centre of attention.

He stood there looking out over the ranks of grinning faces.

Mr Langton-Herring put an arm round his shoulders. ‘Some of you may have heard the story,’ he said, ‘and most of you will have seen poor Miles hopping about the place on his crutches. He had a nasty accident on a mountainside in Austria and his friend, James Bond, saved his life. He brought him down the mountain at great risk to himself, and it is entirely due to his efforts that Miles is here with us tonight. So please raise your glasses in a second toast… to James Bond…’

James hoped he wasn’t blushing to his roots. He felt desperately uncomfortable as everyone lifted their glasses towards him and shouted ‘James Bond!’ before emptying them.

Everyone that is, apart from one man, who stood out from the crowd by remaining completely still. He simply stared at James with empty, lifeless eyes, and James stared back.

It was Graf von Schlick.

What the devil was
he
doing here?

James realised that Langton-Herring was still speaking, and he tore his eyes away from the blank-faced man in the crowd and turned to his host.

‘Miles tells me you have no watch, James,’ he was saying. ‘So I’d like you to have this as a small token of our gratitude, for saving our son’s life.’

Langton-Herring passed James a velvet pouch, inside which was a beautiful watch.

‘It’s a diving watch. The very latest thing,’ said Langton-Herring as James studied it. ‘A Mido Multifort, the first automatic, waterproof and shock-resistant watch on the market. I guarantee you’ll be the only boy at Eton with one of these on his wrist.’

‘It’s really quite something,’ said James, turning the watch in his hand. It was simple and tough-looking, with a brown leather strap.

‘It’s waterproof to a depth of 100 feet,’ said Langton-Herring. ‘Should be sufficient for you, eh?’

‘You really shouldn’t have,’ said James.

‘Oh, but I should,’ said Langton-Herring with a grin. ‘It’s the very least I can do. Miles tells me you’re quite a sporting lad and a keen swimmer. Go ahead, try it on.’

James strapped the watch on. It could have been made for him. For a moment he forgot all about the other guests, and when he raised his head he realised that they were no longer looking his way, and had gone back to enjoying the party. There was no sign of Graf von Schlick.

He stayed on the stage talking to Miles and his father for a few more minutes, and when he finally went down the steps to the dance floor he found his path blocked by two pretty girls.

‘This is Tillie and Maya,’ said Miles. ‘They are friends of a cousin, or cousins of a friend – I can never remember which. They came with Mrs Dudley Ward. I think they’d like to meet you.’

James shook their hands. They were staring at him with awe.

‘Are you famous?’ said Tillie, the older of the two.

‘Not really,’ said James.

‘You’re a hero,’ said Maya.

‘No, I’m not,’ said James and he tried to walk away. When he turned round he saw that they were following him.

‘It seems you have some fans,’ said Miles.

‘Tell me,’ said James. ‘I thought I spotted the Graf von Schlick earlier. Was I seeing things?’

‘No, he’s here all right,’ said Miles. ‘As you know, he was in the clinic with me and it turns out he knows the Prince of Wales. I suppose they’re probably related – the von Schlicks were originally from Germany, like our own royal family.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Maya, who had popped up at Miles’s elbow. ‘Our royal family aren’t German, they’re English.’

‘Queen Victoria was a Hanover,’ Miles explained. ‘And the Hanovers were a German royal dynasty, who came over here in 1714. Then, when Victoria married Prince Albert she became a Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. But during the Great War it didn’t look good for the British royal family to have a German surname, so Victoria’s grandson, George, changed the family name to Windsor, after the town. The royals are all Windsors now, and I don’t suppose that they will ever change back again.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ said Maya.

‘I did,’ said Tillie.

‘You’re just showing off,’ said Maya.

As the two girls began to argue James saw his chance to escape. He slipped away and went off to find a lavatory.

There were so many rooms in the house, however, that it was difficult to know where to start. One likely-looking door led to a servants’ stairway, another opened into a closet full of hunting equipment. As he came out he found his way blocked by a young man with a big grin and a small notebook.

‘Hi,’ he said, ‘I’m Parker Liautaud, European correspondent for
Time
magazine. I wonder if I could ask you a few questions about your recent adventures in Austria.’