“That’s not fair. Surely you could ask someone else. Freddie—”
“I don’t want Freddie. I want you.” He stood. “I don’t see the problem. I want a weekend with my brothers, and I want you there. If you can’t come, there’s really no point.”
Thelma knew David wasn’t bluffing: he would follow through on his threat to cancel the party altogether if Thelma stood her ground.
And all because you’re afraid to meet his sister-in-law. Was her discomfort really worth spoiling David’s first party at the home he’d worked so hard to build?
“It really means that much to you, if I come?” she said.
“Yes,” said David. He returned to the sofa and sat beside her, resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t want to go it alone,” he said. “Bertie and Elizabeth, they always look so happy...and Father makes no secret of the fact that he prefers Bertie. I want to show them all that I can do something right.”
“All right,” she said.
David looked up. “You promise?”
Thelma sighed. “I suppose I do,” she said, “although I’m not so sure the duchess and I will get along as well as you think.”
He kissed her firmly on the lips. “You’re so good to me,” he said. “I would be hopeless without you, truly I would.”
Thirty
They left for the Fort in David’s convertible early on Friday morning, Thelma half sleeping in the passenger seat, a silk scarf bundled like a pillow between her cheek and the window. She’d barely slept the night before—despite David’s assurances that he wanted the weekend to be informal, Thelma fretted over the menus, the weather, the room assignments.
She now understood why Gloria had been so nervous about hosting David at Three Gables. Though she could win over David’s brothers with charm and good humor, Thelma knew she was at a distinct disadvantage with the Duchess of York. Thelma suspected she would be reporting back to the king and queen on David’s new home—and on his mistress.
David, thankfully, let her doze. He drove at a leisurely enough speed for Thelma to enjoy the sun on her face, the gentle movement of the car pulling her into occasional wakefulness.
“We’re here,” said David, patting Thelma’s leg as they passed the newly restored gates.
The car crept up the drive, and Thelma marveled as Fort Belvedere came into view. The front entrance, which had once been a courtyard overrun with weeds and piles of loose cobblestones, was now a pristine drive centered on an elegant wrought-iron sundial. Ivy climbed attractively along the Fort’s brick walls and the Gothic windows gleamed in the sunlight. For the first time, Thelma could see what David had seen in the place so many months ago: it looked liveable—comfortable. A ruin brought back to life.
David parked and stepped out of the car as two small blurs came shooting onto the drive—his terriers—followed by a butler in a dark tailcoat.
“Your Royal Highness,” he said, bowing as David opened Thelma’s door.
“Kept the place standing, I see,” said David. He held out a hand for Thelma and she stepped onto the pea-gravel drive, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Osborne, this is Lady Furness,” David said.
“How do you do, Lady Furness?” said Osborne. “Welcome to Fort Belvedere.”
“Thank you,” said Thelma. She had spoken to the butler several times over the past few days, telephoning him when she changed her mind about what to serve for dinner. Osborne looked much as Thelma expected—young enough to indulge David’s extravagances, but with the composure required of a butler in service to the Prince of Wales.
“Well?” said David, hugging Thelma to his side. “What do you think?”
Thelma cast an appraising eye over the newly planted greenery. “Very nice,” she said. “Though the tour’s far from over.”
David looked up at the tower with pride. “Let’s see if the rest of the house passes muster.”
* * *
David had done everything he said he would, and more besides, to make the Fort a comfortable country retreat. Every room had modern conveniences: call buttons in the bedrooms to the servants’ quarters; hot water in every bathroom.
“I think we may lose you to this place,” Thelma murmured, sweeping aside a heavy curtain in the drawing room to look at the vast grounds beyond. The drawing room was the heart of the Fort: a cozy octagonal space with wood-paneled walls and windows on five sides that flooded the dark space with light.
“Marvelous, isn’t it?” said David, wrapping his arms around her waist. He nestled his chin in the hollow of her shoulder.
“Too marvelous. I worry I’ll never see you in London again,” said Thelma. She could see the top of the tennis court, its posts just visible past the ramparts that hemmed the lawn into a wide semicircle. “I’ll know where to look if I lose you at the Ritz.”
He pointed to the treetops beyond the lawn. “I’ve an aerodrome just past there,” he said, his breath spiced with tobacco, “so I can get here from anywhere in Britain. And from most places in Europe, too. I’ll be able to bypass London entirely.”
“Your father let you put an aerodrome in Windsor Great Park?” said Thelma, but even the mention of the king couldn’t put David in a bad mood.
“He wasn’t exactly part of the decision. I had my men clear a landing strip weeks ago. Father’s not caught wind yet, but better to beg for forgiveness than ask permission.”
“So you’ve an airplane, now?”
“A little Gypsy Moth. I had Legh arrange it. I pick it up in a few weeks—won’t be flying solo yet, but it’s only a matter of time. I’ll take you up one day, it’s the most incredible feeling.”
Thelma laughed, thinking of herself in the back of an airplane piloted by David, her face hidden beneath a bulky helmet and goggles.
“How very unconventional,” she said. “Just like you.”
“Just like us. I plan to have you here with me, as often as you can come. I need you.”
She watched a goshawk soar over the woods. “A married woman, hosting your parties,” she said. “Won’t the neighbors talk?”
David kissed her. “So leave your husband. Marry me.”
The goshawk circled a copse of pine trees, its small body stiffening as it saw something on the forest floor. It pulled in its wings and dove, disappearing into the green. “Just like that?” she said, attempting to match David’s levity.
David kissed her neck. “Just like that. Why not?”
Thelma was silent. She could hear footsteps in the hallway outside—Osborne, perhaps, putting his ear to the door to see if David needed anything. “I’m married,” she said in an undertone. “I’m a divorcée, David, I—I’m American, for goodness’ sake.”
“So?” said David. “It wouldn’t matter. Not really—not once I’m king.”
She ought to have felt something—elation, joy—but she was numbed by sheer incredulity. She twisted out of David’s grasp and faced him head-on.
“Do you really mean it?” she said.
David smiled, his tired eyes twinkling. “Well, not today,” he replied. “There are complications to consider—your husband, my father... It would take time, but I’m mad about you, darling. Think of it—you and me, taking on the Fort. Taking on the country...”
Thelma sat, warmth—panic—seeping into her chest. “Did you just propose?” she said. “Was that your plan all morning?”
David’s smile faltered. “Well—no,” he said, and Thelma fought a dark urge to laugh. “It was—more of a suggestion, really. It certainly couldn’t happen until after Father goes...” He trailed off, and took Thelma’s hand. “I can see I’ve upset you. Perhaps it’s something to think about?”
“David, I’m not ready to think about it,” said Thelma. “I’ve got my family. I’ve got Tony—”
“But what about me?” said David.
The thought of
a life with David was a good one. David as he was here, now, at the home he’d built—a home they might share together, if reality, plain reality, weren’t to intervene.
“If you were my only consideration, I’d marry you tomorrow,” said Thelma, and the concern on David’s face melted away. “But I’ve got responsibilities—and so do you.”
He exhaled, nodding. “So we do,” he said, and Thelma wondered if some part of him was relieved. “I’m sorry, darling. I got carried away. Let’s not mention it again.” He glanced over his shoulder at the brilliant morning outside. “What do you say we go for a walk in the grounds? I can go down to the kitchens, ask them to pack us a picnic lunch.”
Thelma nodded and David jogged out of the room. Thelma relaxed her hold on the cushion and stood, her heart sinking back into her chest.
* * *
Thelma and David walked back from Great Windsor Park in the long shadow of the Fort, thrown across the grounds by the deepening sunlight, the last reminder of a brilliant spring day. They’d spent their afternoon well, wandering along the banks of Virginia Water, stopping to picnic at a curious set of Roman ruins, mottled and discolored with age.
They talked about David’s brothers; about Gloria’s most recent letter, sent from Cannes where she was holidaying with Nada. It felt right, after David’s careless proposal and Thelma’s delicate refusal, to keep to lighthearted topics—to pull back from the edge toward which they’d strayed.
They reached the lawn leading to the back door and David, holding the picnic basket in the crook of one arm, gave his free hand to Thelma. Like the rest of the house, the lawn had undergone a transformation: it was level with fresh sod, a dozen newly painted sun chairs standing in a neat row.
“You’ve done really well,” said Thelma, looking up at the tower as they passed. “I’m impressed.”
“It’s all exactly how I want it,” said David. He knocked dust from his shoes and opened the back door. “Informal, homey—that’s how I want to feel when I’m here.” They walked toward the staircase and David glanced at his watch. “The others will be arriving soon—best get dressed. You remember where your room is? You’ll be pleased with it, I think.”
He kissed her on the cheek and set off down toward the kitchen with the picnic basket. Thelma knew Osborne would have gladly taken it if David had left it at the back door, but she suspected David was keen to see the kitchen once more, with its gleaming new stoves and counters.
She went up to the guest bedrooms, opening each door in turn to see the changes made, saving her own room until last.
It looked exactly as she’d hoped, its gay shades of pink and cream providing a bright, feminine contrast to the rest of the house. She walked to the window, toying with the curtains as she searched for their picnic site.
Elise had already unpacked Thelma’s suitcase and had hung a satin evening dress on the wardrobe door, but the buttons down the back of her day dress were tricky to undo alone. She pressed the call button on the wall before opening a jar of scent, setting it on the corner of the table: the room still smelled of new paint, clean yet chemical, and the perfume filled the room with the rich, flowery scent of jasmine.
Is he mad? she wondered. Surely, he understood the obstacles involved; the opposition that he—they—would face.
A divorcée as queen. She rouged her cheeks, coaxing color from cream. He couldn’t have meant it seriously. Once he had time to think about it he would come to the same conclusion that Thelma, immediately, had made. It was impractical, unconscionable, to think that theirs was a relationship that would be anything more than an affair. A loving affair—long-lasting—but an affair nevertheless.
There was a knock at the door and Thelma called out an invitation to enter.
It was David, dressed splendidly in a Balmoral kilt and barathea coat, silver buttons studding two broad lines down his front.
“Are you coming in or staying out?” said Thelma, admiring his attire. David had specified more casual wear for the weekend, but Thelma suspected that he would be the only one wearing Highland dress as opposed to black tie. His eye for clothing was a trait not shared, Thelma knew, by his brothers.
“I was walking through the servants’ hall when the bell rang, and I told Elise to stay and finish her tea,” he said. “Your room looks nice.” He stepped inside and shut the door.
“It does, doesn’t it?” said Thelma as she leaned forward to apply her lipstick. “A bit too feminine, perhaps, for a bachelor’s home?”
Thelma caught his expression in the mirror. “It’s perfect,” he said. He rested his hands on Thelma’s shoulders, his thumbs brushing against the cloth-covered buttons on the back of Thelma’s dress. “May I?”
Thelma nodded, lifting her hair from the nape of her neck and David began to loosen the buttons, his fingers grazing against the silk of her slip. She held her breath, watching his reflected progress in the mirror.
He stepped back and Thelma stood, letting the dress fall to the floor.
She turned to face him. “The slip,” she said. “In the wardrobe.”
David went to retrieve it. Thelma could feel her face reddening; they had been together nearly a year now, but it was thrilling, and wonderfully intimate, to watch him sort through her underclothes.
“This one?” he said. Thelma nodded, removing her slip as David came forward with the new one. She put in on, letting the silk slide down her body.
“The dress now,” she said, and David retrieved the evening gown from its hanger as Thelma changed her earrings. David bundled the dress in his hands and helped Thelma step into it, pulling it up inch by inch before settling the straps on her shoulders.
“There,” he said quietly. He pulled her close and ran his hand down her shoulders; the dress was high in the front and low in the back, gathering in folds around her waist before falling to the floor, and his touch made her want to leave David’s brothers to fend for themselves until Monday.
If they were married, this is what they would do: dress together, host weekend parties, walk the grounds. Make love, leaving dirty breakfast trays in the halls, playing hide-and-seek through the empty bedrooms. Would it really be so different, if they were married? Would it really matter?
* * *
Unbeknownst to Thelma and David, Prince George had arrived while they were dressing. He was bent over the cocktail table when they entered the drawing room.
“Osborne let me in. Is that his name, Osborne?” he said, stirring a lethal-looking concoction with a toothpick. He dropped onto the sofa, crossing one leg over the other. “Thelma, darling, you look smashing. And the Fort, quite the transformation. One could almost forget this room was once—a barracks?”
“A watchtower,” said David, examining a box of records next to the phonograph-radio.
“Watchtower,” said George, raising his eyebrows in mock interest. The white noise of the phonograph filled the room and David dropped the needle on a Fred Astaire record. “And its function now?”
“Used solely for the purposes of drinking.” David replied. “Thelma? Gin and tonic?”
“Please,” she said.
Osborne came in and cleared his throat. “Sir, Colonel Legh has arrived,” he said, and David whirled around.
“Excellent! I’ll go show him in, shall I?” he said, halfway down the hall before the butler could answer.
“I think,” said George, smirking, “he’s excited about playing house.”
“I’ve never seen him so happy,” said Thelma, rising to finish the drinks David had abandoned. “He’ll want to show you the kitchens.”
“The poor cook. Well, we all need our hobbies,” George replied. “David’s got this place—you’ve got David.”
“And yours?” asked Thelma.
George examined the crystal cut of his cocktail glass. “Hardly a subject for polite society.”
D
avid returned to the room a quarter of an hour later, looking flushed. “It was Piers,” he said. “He’s upstairs getting changed. I put him in the blue room, darling. I hope that’s all right. I helped him with his bags,” he said, with something of a boast. “Osborne turned on the electric lights in the front drive, did you see them?”
“How do they look?” asked Thelma, handing him a martini.
“Like lights,” George muttered.
“They’re wonderful, come see.”
“I’ll entertain myself, shall I?” called George, his voice carrying as David led Thelma out to the front drive.
The lights, in Thelma’s opinion, were slightly excessive: the Fort had been lit by low floodlights, placed every few feet in the gardens to give the building a ghostly glow in the mist.
“See the effect on the tower?” said David. He held up his hand, sweeping it along the Fort’s silhouette. “The lights illuminate it, just so. Really gives you a sense of the atmosphere, doesn’t it?”
“You’ve got them around the back as well?”
“I’ll have them at the swimming pool and tennis court, so we can use them in the evenings,” he said, looking around as a car turned onto the drive. “There they are! I was beginning to worry.”
Thelma’s heart sank. She had hoped to meet the duke and duchess in the comfort of the drawing room—not lurking on the front drive like some vagrant. She hesitated, wondering whether she could slip inside unnoticed, but the car wheeled round the sundial, catching David and Thelma in its headlight glare.
David stepped forward and opened the passenger-side door. “Trust you to be late, Elizabeth.”
The duchess was small, made smaller still by the profusion of furs and fabrics which, despite the warmth of the season, she had worn for the drive over. She stepped out and tilted her chin, offering her cheek for David to kiss.
“I know.” She clasped David’s arm. “It takes me so long to go anywhere these days, me the size of a Spanish galleon.”
The Woman Before Wallis Page 20
