by Rhys Bowen
“And may I introduce my daughter, Georgiana?” My mother gestured to me.
“Don’t be ridiculous, you are not old enough to have a daughter out of nappies.”
“You are such a flatterer,” she said. “You know I positively adore you.”
“Not as much as I adore you.”
I looked around to escape from this orgy of adoration and beat a tactful retreat toward the hallway. Hanni was standing surrounded by a group of young men.
“I like English parties,” she said to me as I joined them.
Noel Coward reappeared, having apparently torn himself away from my mother. He eyed us both appraisingly. “What lusciously virginal apparitions,” he said. “So ripe and absolutely begging to be deflowered instantly. I almost feel I should take up the challenge myself, if it wouldn’t make a certain person insanely jealous.”
I thought for a moment that he was referring to my mother, but I saw him glance across the hallway to where a man was leaning against the wall, watching him with a frown on his face. I reacted with surprise as I recognized the person. It was the king’s youngest son, Prince George, currently an officer in the Guards. He noticed me at the same moment and came over to me.
“Georgiana. What a pleasant surprise.” His hand firmly gripped my elbow and he steered me away. “For God’s sake don’t mention to my parents that you saw me here, will you? There would be a frightful row. You know what father is like.”
“My lips are sealed, sir,” I said.
“Splendid,” he said. “Let me get you a drink.”
I accompanied him to the bar. Noel Coward had now taken over at the piano. He was singing, in that peculiar clipped, bored voice of his, “It’s a silly little ditty, and it really isn’t pretty, but one really can’t be witty all the time....”
“I get another drink too.” Hanni had appeared beside us at the bar. “I like cocktails.” She pronounced it in the American manner—“cacktails.”
“They are rather delicious, aren’t they?” I agreed. They did seem to be slipping down remarkably easily.
“And so many sexy guys,” she said. “The dark one. He said his name was Edward, but everyone is calling him Lunghi.”
“It’s a nickname, because he’s just come back from India.”
“India?”
“Yes, a lunghi is apparently what they wear there.”
“Ah. He is sexy guy, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I suppose he is.” I looked around for him and then froze. Lunghi was now perched on the arm of my mother’s chair and she was gazing up at him. As I watched, he took the cherry from his glass and placed it in my mother’s mouth. I was wondering how to distract Hanni from this embarrassing scene but she had already given an excited little squeak. “And there is the man from the park.”
Chapter 14
My heart leaped. I was sure she meant Darcy, but instead, standing in the doorway was the young man from the communist rally. He was not wearing threadbare clothes tonight, however, but a dinner jacket like everyone else. He looked positively civilized. Hanni rushed straight up to him. “Hiya, baby. What a kick to see you.”
“Roberts just walked in,” I heard Gussie say to Lunghi. “Did you invite him?”
“Had to, old chap. He’s harmless enough, isn’t he? Pretty much housetrained. Won’t pee on the carpet.”
“Yes, but, I mean to say . . . Roberts and the prince at the same party. Shows how broadminded we are, what?”
“Who exactly is this Roberts?” I asked Gussie. “Hanni and I saw him at a communist rally in Hyde Park.”
“Doesn’t surprise me at all. Terribly earnest is our Sidney. Good causes and rights for the masses and all that. Of course he came from the masses, so one can understand, I suppose.”
“He’s a GSB,” Lunghi added, coming to stand beside us. “But a good enough chap, in his way.”
“GSB?” I asked.
“Grammar School Boy,” Gussie said, grinning. “He was at Cambridge with us, on a scholarship. Terribly bright. He got me through Greek.”
“Hanni seems to like him,” I commented as I saw them dancing together.
“I don’t think the King of Bavaria would approve if his daughter went to live in a semidetached in Slough,” Gussie muttered to me.
I laughed. “You’re an awful snob.”
Noel Coward’s song finished to a burst of laughter and applause. Gussie took a long draw on his cigarette. “Born to it, my dear. Snobbery is in the blood, like hunting, as you very well know.”
The band struck up another dance number and the floor filled with couples again. Tubby Tewkesbury stumbled past us clutching an empty glass. “Dying of thirst. Need refill,” he muttered.
“Now, he’d make a good match for some poor girl,” Gussie said. “Rolling in money, the Tewkesbury family. And of course he’ll inherit Farringdons. You should snap him up.”
I looked at the sweating back of Tubby’s neck. “I don’t think I could marry anybody just to inherit something.”
“Plenty of girls do,” he said. “Plenty of boys do it too. Money is a useful commodity, isn’t it, Tubby, old bean?”
“What?” Tubby turned blurry eyes onto us and tried to focus.
“I said money comes in useful at times.”
“Oh, rather.” Tubby beamed. “If I were penniless, I’d never be invited to parties like this. No girl would dance with me. As it is I have a hard enough time . . . want to hop around again, Georgie? This one’s a foxtrot, I think. I can manage that.”
“All right.”
He gave me a pathetically grateful smile. He was a nice enough boy. A lot of them were. So why couldn’t I be practical and settle down as the Marchioness of Tewkesbury in that lovely old house?
In the middle of the dance I was aware of someone standing in the doorway, watching me. I looked around and Darcy was leaning nonchalantly against the doorpost, smoking a black cigarette while he studied me with amusement. I went on dancing, horribly conscious of Tubby’s big, sweaty hand on my back, undoubtedly leaving a mark on the taffeta, and of his scary wiggles that passed for moving to the music. I forced myself to carry on chatting merrily and thanked him kindly when the dance was over.
“Now that’s what I call charity,” Darcy murmured, coming up behind me.
“He’s a nice enough chap,” I said. “And rich, and has a lovely family home. The ideal match for someone like me.”
Darcy still looked amused. “You can’t tell me you’re seriously considering it?”
“I don’t know. I could do worse. He has some redeeming qualities.”
“Apart from the money and the house?”
“He’s loyal, like a British bulldog. You can rely on someone like Tubby. He’s not here today and gone tomorrow like some people.” I gave him a meaningful stare.
“Ah, well, I’m sorry about that, but something came up unexpectedly and I’ve been out of town for a while.” Darcy looked uncomfortable.
“Something with long dark hair and good legs. I saw her at the Savoy with you.”
“Well, actually,” he began but got no further as Hanni burst in, almost flinging herself upon Darcy.
“It is the kind man who saved my life in the park,” she said. “I kept telling Georgie that I wanted to meet you again. Now my wish has been granted. I am so happy!”
She was gazing up at him with such open admiration that I thought that no man could resist. Darcy certainly couldn’t. “I came to the party hoping to run into you again, Your Highness,” he said. “What are you drinking?”
“Cocktails. I just love cocktails,” she said. “The ones with cherries in them. You can get me another one. My glass is empty.”
And off they went together. Lunghi Fotheringay had now taken over at the cocktail shaker. Interested though I was in observing how Hanni would handle flirting with the two young men she seemed to fancy at the same time, I was not going to stand in the hallway like a wallflower. I made my way back toward the dancing. There wa
s no sign of Belinda anywhere, nor of my mother, Noel Coward or Prince George. The band was playing a lively syncopated number and couples were dancing wildly. I picked out Tubby leaping around shaking like a large jelly, then I noticed Hanni and Darcy come into the room and start dancing together. After a few moments the beat changed to a slower tempo and Hanni draped herself all over him. He didn’t seem to be objecting.
Suddenly I felt horribly alone and out of place. What was I doing here? I didn’t belong with the smart set and I certainly didn’t want to stay and watch Hanni seducing Darcy, or vice versa. The effect of at least four cocktails was beginning to make itself felt. As I started to move toward the door, the whole room swung around alarmingly. This is terrible, I thought. I can’t be drunk. I tried to walk in a controlled manner as I fought my way through the crowd and out to the balcony. There I leaned on the rail, taking great gulps of fresh air. Far below me Green Park stretched out in darkness, and the noise of the traffic along Piccadilly seemed muted and far away. It took me a while to realize I wasn’t alone out there. Sidney Roberts, the earnest communist, was standing at the rail beside me, staring out into the night.
“Terribly stuffy in there, isn’t it?” he said. “And loud too. Not really my thing at all but old Lunghi insisted that I come and he was dashed good to me at Cambridge, so I thought why not?” I could see that he had also been drinking quite a bit and had reached the maudlin phase. “Being a communist is a worthy cause, you know,” he went on, more to himself than to me. “I mean, it’s not right that people like Gussie and Lunghi can fritter a few thousand pounds on a party while the masses are out of work and starving, and one should do something to make the world a fair place. But the communists are so deadly dull. No parties. No laughter. Hardly any booze. And just occasionally one longs for fine wines and beautiful women.”
“You’re really one of us at heart,” I said, laughing. “A true communist would be happy with a pint of bitter on Saturday nights.”
“Oh, dear, do you think so?” He looked worried. “I’m not so sure. Even in Russia there are those who eat caviar. We just need a form of government that doesn’t come from the ruling classes. Representation by the people and for the people.”
“Isn’t that what they have in America? I can’t say it’s working well there.”
He looked worried again.
“Besides, the British would never accept anything too extreme,” I said. “And most people like things the way they are. The crofters on our estate love being part of the Rannoch family. They enjoy serving us.”
“Has anyone actually asked them?” he demanded, then drained the rest of his glass.
“They could leave any time they wanted,” I said hotly. “They could work in a factory in Glasgow.”
“If there was any work for them.”
“What’s going on out here?” Gussie appeared with a drink in either hand. “Not interrupting a tryst, am I?”
“No, an argument about communism,” I said.
“Too serious. No earnest talk allowed tonight. Strictly reserved for merriment and mayhem. What you need is another drink, old chap.”
“Oh, no, thanks. I’m not much of a drinker,” Sidney Roberts said. “I’ve already had enough.”
“Nonsense. There is no such word as enough,” Gussie said. “Go on. Take it. Down the hatch.”
“I really shouldn’t, but thanks all the same,” Sidney said as Gussie tried to force it on him.
“If he doesn’t want it, then I’ll do him a favor and drink it for him.” Tubby had come out onto the balcony. His face was now beetroot red and he was sweating profusely. Not a pretty sight, in fact. He grabbed the nearest glass from Gussie and drained it in one swig. “Ah, that’s what I needed,” he said. “Hair of the dog.”
“I think you’ve had enough, old man,” Gussie said. “You are seriously blotto.”
“Not me. Cast-iron stomach. Never met a drink I didn’t like,” Tubby said with a distinctly slurred chuckle. Then he swayed, lost his balance and staggered backward.
“Look out!” Sidney shouted as there was a splintering sound and part of the railing collapsed.
As if in slow motion Tubby fell backward off the balcony— arms and legs spread like a starfish, his mouth and eyes opened wide with surprise—and disappeared into the night.
Chapter 15
For a second the three of us stood there, frozen with the horror of what had just happened.
“We must call an ambulance,” I said, trying to make my legs obey me and walk back into the room.
“No bloody use calling an ambulance,” Sidney said. “We’re six floors up. The poor chap’s a goner.”
Gussie looked as if he might vomit any second. “How could that have happened?” he said. “How could it have happened?”
“He did weigh an awful lot,” I said, “and he fell against the railing with all his weight.”
“Oh, my God,” Gussie said. “Poor old Tubby. Don’t let them know in there what happened.”
“They’ll have to know. You’ll have to call the police,” I said.
“You saw it. It was an accident,” Gussie said. “A horrible accident.”
“Of course it was. You’re not to blame.”
“It’s my party,” Gussie said bleakly. “I shouldn’t have let people out on the balcony drunk.”
I took his arm and led him back inside.
“What’s up?” Darcy grabbed my arm as I stumbled past. “Are you all right? Have you been drinking too much?”
“That chap I was dancing with,” I whispered. “He just fell off the balcony. Gussie’s gone to phone the police.”
“Holy Mother. Then we’d better get Her Highness and yourself out of here while there is still time,” Darcy said.
“But I should stay to answer questions,” I said. “I saw him fall.”
“You were out there alone with him?”
“No, Gussie was out there, and a chap called Sidney Roberts. It was horrible. He’d had far too much to drink. He staggered backward against the railing and it collapsed and he just went over.”
“You’re as white as a sheet.” Darcy took my arm. “You need a good stiff brandy.”
“Oh, no more alcohol, thank you. I’ve already drunk too much.”
“All the more reason for spiriting you out of here. You don’t want that to get back to the palace, do you?”
“No, but wouldn’t it look odd if we fled?”
“Certainly not. You didn’t push him, did you?”
“Of course not, but I know my duty...”
“Then you stay if you feel you must but someone should get the princess out of here. I’ll take her home if you like.”
“Oh no,” I said. “I’m supposed to be chaperoning her. I wouldn’t trust you to behave yourself. I’ve seen you looking at her.”
“Just being friendly to foreigners.” Darcy managed a grin. “Come on, let’s go and find her before the police arrive.”
We split up and looked around the flat. She wasn’t in the main drawing room. I pushed open the door to the kitchen. It was as modern as the rest of the flat, with white painted cabinets and a large, impressive refrigerator. Several people were seated at the kitchen table and they looked up as I came in. Hanni was one of them. I went over and took her arm. “Hanni, we have to go home now. Come along quickly.”
“I don’t want to leave. I like it here. These nice guys are going to let me try what they are doing,” Hanni said.
I stared at the table. It looked as if someone had spilled a line of flour across it.
“Get her out of here,” Darcy hissed, taking Hanni by the arm.
“But I want to stay. I’m having fun,” she complained loudly. It was clear that the drink was affecting her too.
“You wouldn’t be having fun in prison, I assure you,” Darcy said as he dragged her out of the door.
“What do you mean?” I whispered. “Why should Hanni go to prison?”
“My dear, you are a c
omplete innocent, aren’t you?” Darcy said. “They were sniffing cocaine in there. Hardly the sort of party the queen had in mind for her. And you can’t afford to have your names plastered all over the front page of tomorrow’s newspapers.”
“Why would they put our names in the newspapers?” Hanni demanded.
I went to say something but saw Darcy’s warning look.
“If the police raid the party,” he said quickly. He steered a swaying Hanni toward the lift.
She was crying now. “I don’t want to go home. I want to stay and drink cocktails,” she was whimpering.
“What about Belinda?” I hadn’t actually seen her since I arrived.
“Belinda can take care of herself, I guarantee,” Darcy said. He bundled us into the lift, then quickly found us a cab.
“Are you not coming with us?” Hanni asked with obvious disappointment as Darcy gave the driver our address.
“No, I think I’d better go my own way,” Darcy said. “I’ve a couple of things I should be doing. But I’m sure we’ll meet again soon, Princess.” He took her hand and kissed it, but his eyes met mine as his lips remained on her hand.
“I’ll be seeing you soon,” he said. “Take care of yourself, won’t you?”
“That was fun,” Hanni said as we drove off. “Why did we have to leave? I would have liked a police raid. Like Al Capone. Will the police have machine guns?”
“No,” I said. “In England the police don’t carry guns at all.”
“How silly,” she said. “How do they catch the crooks?”
“They blow a whistle and the crooks give themselves up,” I replied, thinking that this did sound rather silly.
“But Mr. O’Mara says he will see us again soon. That is good news, no?”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” I replied mechanically. I stared out of the window, watching the lights of Piccadilly flash past us. The shock of Tubby’s death, mixed feelings about Darcy, combined with the effect of those cocktails, was just beginning to hit me. I felt that I might cry at any moment. I fled to my room as soon as we got home.
