Gloria crooked a finger round the arm of her sunglasses and slid them down her nose. “You think Mamma lets her play with other children?”
Thelma laughed as a footman opened the patio door and Mamma Morgan came out.
“Is that woman here?” she asked, looking out from beneath the wide brim of her hat. Thelma stood and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek, pulling back with the salty residue of sweat on her lips. No wonder she was in a mood, thought Thelma, looking at the heavy wool of Mamma’s dress. She must be sweltering.
Gloria stretched farther, twisting her torso with the lithe movement of a cat. “Nada is at the casino,” she said. “And I’d remind you that this is her house, and her hospitality.”
Mamma exhaled through her nose. “So it is,” she said. She looked at Thelma. “Caro. It’s good to see you.” She settled onto a chair next to Gloria, fanning herself. “Your daughter had to use the facilities after our walk over. I worry about her kidneys, I really do.”
“Her kidneys are fine, Mother,” said Gloria. “I wish you wouldn’t coddle her.”
“She deserves coddling,” said Mamma. She turned to Thelma as the door opened once more. “You’ve not visited in weeks.”
Little Gloria had grown in the three months since Thelma had last seen her, her arms and legs skinny after a growth spurt. She had Gloria’s full lips and Reggie’s dark eyes, her round face flushed in the summer sun. She stood uncertainly in the doorway, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
Beside her, Nurse Kieslich looked from Thelma to Gloria and back again, disapproving, no doubt, of the sight of them in bathing suits. Thelma was surprised that Gloria hadn’t mentioned Little Gloria’s visit earlier—she would have changed.
Gloria turned onto her side, peering over the lounger.
“Querido. Go say hello to your mother and auntie,” said Mamma, beckoning to Little Gloria.
Little Gloria shuffled closer to Nurse Kieslich and reached for her hand. She looked uncertainly from Gloria to Thelma.
Kieslich gently prized Little Gloria’s fingers from her own. “Go say how-do-you-do,” she said.
Little Gloria walked forward, her white shoes scuffing across the flagstones. She paused, looking at Gloria and Thelma in turn. With a sinking feeling, Thelma realized that the child couldn’t tell them apart.
She got out of her chair and crouched down. “Good gracious—that can’t possibly be my niece,” she said.
The child’s face cleared; she walked to Thelma and curtsied. “How do you do, Auntie,” she said.
“Very well,” said Thelma. “Look at you. You can’t possibly be four years old—you’re far too big!”
“I’m not four,” she said, a shy smile on her face. “I’m nearly six.”
“Nearly six. Well, you’re almost a lady,” said Thelma. “Now go say hello to Mother.”
Gloria swept her daughter into a hug, leaving a sheen of coconut oil on the child’s arms. “Aren’t you lovely,” she said. “How was the beach? Did you enjoy the present Lady Milford Haven sent you?” Gloria patted the end of her lounge chair and Little Gloria perched, her feet brushing the ground; she looked at Nurse Kieslich, who nodded once, curtly.
“I’ve news for you, my darling—we’re going to go live in England! What do you think of that?”
Mamma looked up. “When was this decided?”
Gloria gathered Little Gloria into her arms, her voice soft. “We’ll live in the country, and have horses like Papa used to. What do you think of that?”
Little Gloria frowned. “Can’t we stay here?” she said.
“Oh, no, darling. It’s no fun once the summer’s over. All our friends will leave. We want to go with them.”
“To England? With that woman?” said Mamma. Thelma watched a bead of sweat work its way down her cheek.
“If you must know, Mamma, I think it would be a good thing for Little Gloria’s health,” said Gloria, stroking her daughter’s hair. Little Gloria squirmed but stayed put, her pursed lips giving her an uncanny resemblance to Nurse Kieslich. “You’re the one who’s constantly telling me how sick she is. Won’t the country air do her some good?”
Mamma’s frown deepened as she exchanged a glance with Kieslich.
“And we’ll see so much more of Auntie Thelma and Cousin Tony and all of our friends in England. It will be a perfect autumn.” She kissed Little Gloria on the top of her head. “A perfect end to the year.”
* * *
When Thelma returned to London the town house was nearly empty, Williams greeting her in a quiet voice that echoed through the entrance hall. She walked to her dressing room, where a magnificent vase of red roses sat on the table, overpowering the small space with their scent.
She reached for the card set amid the blooms, smiling in anticipation of the prince’s blockish handwriting.
Hope you enjoyed your week in Cannes—London wasn’t the same without you.
With great affection,
Duke.
She ran her finger along the edge of the card. Duke hadn’t sent her flowers in ages—not since Tony was born, and he was nearly six months old now. Were things going poorly, perhaps, between him and his latest mistress? Was it a gesture born of jealousy?
Or perhaps, Thelma told herself, it’s a genuine gift from a husband to his wife. She set the card down, staring absently at the roses before walking to her bedroom.
Twenty-Two
The trees had begun to turn when Gloria invited Thelma for her first weekend party in the country. True to her word, Gloria had rented a house in Windsor Great Park: Three Gables, a Tudor-style home with large bedrooms and an unused stable at the back of the estate. When Thelma asked about the horses that Gloria had promised her daughter, Gloria frowned.
“It’s the strangest thing—when I brought it up again Little Gloria burst into tears. Kieslich tells me she’s terrified of the creatures, but remember how pleased she was at Burrough Court? In any case, I didn’t want to press. Mamma can’t stand the smell, and truthfully it’s not worth the additional expense.”
The expense, Thelma knew, was not insignificant. Along with the rent for the Paris town house, which Gloria had kept throughout their stay in Cannes, Three Gables would put Gloria at the upper limit of what she could afford on the income from Little Gloria’s inheritance. It was reckless, and Thelma had said so—but Gloria waved off her concerns. “After losing Friedel,” she said, “you can be sure I’ll spend every last penny available.”
When the weekend arrived, Thelma arrived early to help Gloria prepare. She found her in the dining room, flowers scattered across the table as she arranged bouquets. Without preamble, Thelma set down her handbag and removed her gloves, picking up a sprig of sweet pea and severing the end with a pair of garden shears.
“Consuelo and Benny are arriving on the 4:15...with Nada and George, that’s all six accounted for,” said Gloria, pushing a pile of discarded leaves aside to make room for a bunch of roses tied with twine. She tore the bouquet apart and began placing buds in a vase filled with baby’s breath. “Little Gloria is in Berkshire—I thought it best, she won’t get in the way. Do you think Consuelo will want to see her? Should I arrange for her to visit?”
Though Benny, Consuelo’s husband, was stationed in Oslo, Consuelo had told Thelma that he would soon be transferred to the embassy in London. It would be a respectable promotion for Benny and a thrill for Thelma, to have one sister living in the same city. Along with Nada and George, Consuelo and Benny would serve as the weekend’s chaperones—respectable married couples who could vouch for the propriety, real or imagined, of the company as a whole.
“I wouldn’t bother,” said Thelma. She lifted a finished vase from the dining room table and placed it on the sideboard for the help to move into the sitting room. “Where are we putting the prince?”
“In the second bedroom up the
stairs. Yours is next to it—or should they be at opposite ends of the house? I don’t know how these things are arranged—”
“Don’t fret,” said Thelma, amused at Gloria’s sudden attack of nerves. “David doesn’t stand much on ceremony.”
“But I haven’t met him yet. What if he’s temperamental, you know, like Mrs. Vanderbilt? What if he’s friendly with you but ghastly to newcomers...”
“Really, Gloria—shouldn’t I be the one worrying?” said Thelma. She pressed a set of ferns into Gloria’s hand to trim, and the ends hit the table like pennies. “It will all be fine.”
She was surprised, in fact, at how calm she felt. She knew what the weekend would hold, if she so wished. It hadn’t gone far past hand-holding yet, murmured affections and kisses in the backs of cars, but after spending the night together, the tone between them would change, for good or ill. And despite Duke’s continued permissiveness, an actual affair risked consequences beyond Thelma’s control.
“A weekend with Gloria? How nice,” Duke had said over drinks a few nights before Thelma was to leave. “Am I invited or is this strictly a family occasion?”
“Just me this time, I’m afraid,” said Thelma, mixing Duke a whiskey and soda. “And a few other guests.”
“Oh? Who?”
“Consuelo and Benny—you know them—and Nada and George Mountbatten, they’re good friends with Gloria. I stayed with them in Cannes—”
“I know Nada and George,” said Duke quietly.
“And the prince,” Thelma finished, her voice faltering slightly as she handed Duke his drink.
“Oh?” he replied.
“You don’t mind?” she said, brushing condensation from her empty hands.
“No...no, of course not. Why would I?” He tipped back his drink and finished it in two long, rolling swallows, his disapproval as present as an echo in the room. “Must be off. Meeting G,” he said, standing.
“At this time? What for?” asked Thelma.
Duke pressed his fingers to his eyelids. “I don’t ask your business—please don’t inquire about mine,” he said. He turned to leave but paused at the door. “Those—those flowers,” he said, knocking his hand rhythmically against the doorjamb. “An apology, of sorts. We’ve gone off the rails, you and me.”
An apology. There was something pathetic in the gesture—a sad return to the hearts and flowers of the past.
Thelma had all but admitted to her planned infidelity, while he strove to build a bridge back to her—and yet, she thought, musing on that bizarre exchange, she didn’t feel guilty.
Gloria fixed a stray freesia into the last bouquet and transferred it to the sideboard. “Let’s see we have all we need by way of cocktails,” she said.
They left the dining room, their offcuts strewn across the table for the servants to clear.
* * *
David was the first to arrive, pulling up in a two-seat roadster ahead of his luggage and staff. He waved at Thelma and Gloria and opened his car door: two wiry dogs, frantic after being cooped up in the automobile, tumbled out and began running circles, barking at their sudden freedom.
“Your Royal Highness,” said Gloria.
David removed his driving goggles and let out a sharp whistle. “Jaggs! Cora!” The terriers ignored him and shot past Thelma’s legs. “I do hope you don’t mind. They love the countryside.”
Gloria smiled. “Not at all, sir,” she replied, watching them tear through the flower bed. “Dear little things.”
David looked at Thelma, a smile playing on his dusty face. “Hello, you,” he said.
Thelma smiled back, pleased—absurdly so—that he’d truly come. “Hello yourself,” she replied. “How was your drive?”
“It was perfect. Such a lovely day, it would have been a shame to spend it in a train carriage,” he said, pocketing his driving gloves. “I thought I might check up on progress at the Fort tomorrow. I’m told the renovations are coming along nicely—plumbing in every bedroom.” Gloria’s butler stepped forward and David passed him his overcoat, looking up hopefully at the leaded windows of the Three Gables. Thelma could hear the terriers within, their nails scratching along the wooden floors.
“Not here yet, I’m afraid, sir,” said Gloria, “but we’ve got electric lights and a working telephone.”
The other guests arrived shortly after David. Consuelo and Benny, fresh from Oslo, came from the train station in a taxicab, their luggage tied to the roof of the motorcar. Nada and George, hoping for a more dramatic entrance, snuck through the servants’ quarters to surprise Gloria as she led the others through for cocktails in the drawing room, jumping out from the staircase.
Despite her earlier composure, Thelma was excruciatingly aware of David’s presence during dinner: where he sat, how he laughed. How on earth would she keep him entertained over forty-eight long hours?
After their meal, the women left the men to their cigars and went into the drawing room to set up a game of cards. They hadn’t made it through the first hand of bridge before George and David came in, followed by Benny, casting a sheepish glance at Consuelo.
“The separation of the sexes after dinner is an antiquated practice,” said George, lifting the deck of cards out of Thelma’s hands.
Grinning, Nada turned on the gramophone. She chose a record Thelma hadn’t heard before and grabbed Gloria’s hand, leading her in a dance to a jumpy, offbeat tune as George sank into a nearby couch and lit a cigar.
“Do you know this one?” David asked, coming to stand beside Thelma.
“I don’t,” she said.
He took her hand. “Brilliant—neither do I. Let’s give it a go, shall we?”
They began to dance, mirroring Gloria’s and Nada’s footsteps with clumsy success. Beside them, Consuelo laughed, resting a hand on Benny’s chest.
After several more dances the prince relinquished his hold on Thelma in favor of a few turns around the drawing room with Gloria. Her face flushed, Thelma sat down next to Consuelo, who sent Benny to fix her a drink.
“Something new,” called Consuelo. “I’m sick of martinis. And one for Thelma as well.”
Benny jammed his cigar between his teeth, cracking his knuckles in mock anticipation of the challenge. Consuelo nudged Thelma as David glanced over his shoulder at her with a smile.
“He’s enchanted by you,” said Consuelo. “It’s charming, really.”
“Am I mad?” said Thelma in an undertone. “I keep thinking I must be, to go ahead like this.”
Consuelo sighed, leaning back. “You’re not mad,” she replied. “Not so long as you keep your eyes open.” She lowered her voice further. “At the risk of sounding like our mother, I hope you realize what an opportunity this could be. The most powerful man in the world is falling for you. This could open doors for you. For all of us.”
“It’s not about that,” Thelma began, but Consuelo stopped her.
“I know—it’s about love,” she said. She glanced at Benny, who was making drinks at the cocktail table. “I understand that better than most.”
David handed Gloria off to George for the next song. He looked over at Thelma before Nada, trailing a hand up the back of his suit jacket, distracted him.
“You’re fond of him. I can see that,” Consuelo continued, “but don’t lose sight of the complications involved. You can’t afford to mistake this for ordinary romance.”
“There’s hardly a chance of that,” said Thelma. “He could never be mistaken for ordinary.”
“But he wants to be,” said Consuelo. “Don’t you see? That—” she nodded at the prince, who was allowing Nada to lead him in a tango “—is a man who craves normalcy in a world determined to prove he’s different from the rest of us. Use that to your advantage.”
Nada released David’s hands and spun toward the couch, collapsing with a huff of exhaustion. Th
elma met David’s eyes, her heart thrumming as he walked over with a hopeful, careless but not-quite-carefree smile. She didn’t say a word but held out her hand, allowing him to pull her close—closer than they could ever hope to be at the Embassy Club or Ciro’s; close enough that she fancied she could feel the layers of his evening dress beneath her fingers: jacket, vest, shirt, undershirt, skin.
“You’re in the room next to mine,” she whispered, allowing the music to mask the sound of her voice.
She could feel him smile against her cheek. “Am I?” he said. “How nice.”
* * *
Thelma’s bedroom was dimly lit, an electric lamp on the nightstand illuminating the center of the room and casting the corners into darkness. She sat at her dressing table, twisting her hair into a low chignon: wearing nothing but a silk negligee, she was chilly, but refused to spoil the effect with a dressing gown. She ran a hand down her stomach; though she’d long since lost the baby weight, she still worried at what he would think of her. She worried about what she’d think of herself, in the morning. She listened for the sound of footsteps down the hall as she dabbed her pulse points with perfume, filling the room with the scent of jasmine.
David slipped into the room without knocking, carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses. “Thank God,” he said, “I was worried I’d chosen the wrong room. Would have been a sorry thing to have ended the night with Benny.” He lingered in the doorway and Thelma stood, realizing he was just as nervous as she felt.
“It would have been a nasty shock for Benny, I bet,” she said, moving to sit on the end of the bed. “If you’d found George and Nada’s room, though, I’m sure they would have told you to climb on in.”
He held up the champagne. “I pinched it from the bar,” he said, sounding almost apologetic. “Thought we might do with a nightcap.”
The champagne was already uncorked, and he poured two glasses before sitting next to Thelma. She shifted toward him and he rested his hand on her leg; somehow, the gesture put her more at ease.
The Woman Before Wallis Page 14
