“Would you care for a glass of champagne?” said Hazel as she arrived back at her husband’s side.
By 7:45 most of the guests had arrived, and Ted was chatting to Mick Flaherty when Hazel touched him on the elbow. He glanced toward her.
“I think we should go and fetch him now,” she whispered.
Ted nodded and asked the chief justice to take over the welcoming of the guests. They wove a path through the chattering throng and climbed the great staircase. When they reached the door of the Queen Victoria Room, they paused and looked at each other.
Ted checked his watch—7:50. He leaned forward and gave a gentle tap. Carruthers immediately opened the door to reveal Mountbatten attired in his third outfit of the day: full ceremonial uniform of an Admiral of the Fleet, three stars, a gold-and-blue sash and eight rows of campaign decorations.
“Good evening, Your Excellency,” said Mountbatten.
“Good evening, sir,” said the governor, star struck.
The admiral took three paces forward and came to a halt at the top of the staircase. He stood to attention. Ted and Hazel waited on either side of him. As he didn’t move, they didn’t.
Carruthers proceeded slowly down the stairs in front of them, stopping on the third step. He cleared his throat and waited for the assembled guests to fall silent.
“Your Excellency, Prime Minister, Mr. Mayor, ladies and gentlemen,” he announced. “The Right Honorable the Earl Mountbatten of Burma.”
Mountbatten descended the stairs slowly as the waiting guests applauded politely. As he passed Carruthers, the butler gave a deep bow. The governor, with Hazel on his arm, followed two paces behind.
“He must know,” whispered Hazel.
“You may be right. But does he know we know?” said Ted.
Mountbatten moved deftly around the room as Ted introduced him to each of the guests in turn. They bowed and curtsied, listening attentively to the few words the admiral had to say to them. The one exception was Mick Flaherty, who didn’t stop talking and remained more upright than Ted had ever seen him before.
At eight o’clock one of the under-butlers banged a gong, which until then neither the governor nor his wife had even realized existed. As the sound died away, Carruthers announced, “My Lord, Your Excellency, Prime Minister, Mr. Mayor, ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served.”
If there was a better cook on St. George’s than Mrs. Travis, no one at the head table had ever been fed by her, and that evening she had excelled herself.
Mountbatten chatted and smiled, making no secret of how much he was enjoying himself. He spent a long time talking to Lady Cuthbert, whose husband had served under him at Portsmouth, and to Mick Flaherty, to whom he listened with polite interest.
Each course surpassed the one before: soufflé, followed by lamb cutlets, and an apricot hazelnut meringue to complete the feast. Mountbatten remarked on every one of the wines, and even called for a second glass of port.
After dinner he joined the guests for coffee in the drawing room and managed to have a word with everyone, even though Colonel Hodges tried to buttonhole him about defense cuts.
The guests began to leave a few minutes before midnight, and Ted was amused to see that when Mick Flaherty bade farewell to the admiral, he bowed low and said, “Goodnight, My Lord. It has been an honor to meet you.”
Dotty was among the last to depart, and she curtsied low to the guest of honor. “You’ve helped to make this such a pleasant evening, Lady Cuthbert,” Mountbatten told her.
If you only knew just how much, thought Hazel.
After the under-butler had closed the door on the last guest, Mountbatten turned to his hostess and said, “Hazel, I must thank you for a truly memorable occasion. The head chef at the Savoy couldn’t have produced a finer banquet. Perfect in every part.”
“You are very kind, sir. I will pass your thanks on to the staff.” She just stopped herself from saying “my staff.” “Is there anything else we can do for you before you retire?”
“No, thank you,” Mountbatten replied. “It has been a long day, and with your permission, I’ll turn in now.”
“And at what time would you like breakfast, sir?” asked the governor.
“Would 7:30 be convenient?” Mountbatten asked. “That will give me time to fly out at nine.”
“Certainly,” said Ted. “I’ll see that Carruthers brings a light breakfast up to your room at 7:30—unless you’d like something cooked.”
“A light breakfast will be just the thing,” Mountbatten said. “A perfect evening. Your staff could not have done more, Hazel. Goodnight, and thank you, my dear.”
The governor bowed and his lady curtsied as the great man ascended the staircase two paces behind Carruthers. When the butler closed the door of the Queen Victoria Room, Ted put his arm around his wife and said, “He knows we know.”
“You may be right,” said Hazel. “But does he know we know he knows?”
“I’ll have to think about that,” said Ted.
Arm in arm, they returned to the kitchen, where they found Mrs. Travis packing dishes into a crate under the supervision of Lady Cuthbert, the long lace sleeves of whose evening dress were now firmly rolled up.
“How did you get back in, Dotty?” asked Hazel.
“Just walked round to the backyard and came in the servants’ entrance,” replied Lady Cuthbert.
“Did you spot anything that went badly wrong?” Hazel asked anxiously.
“I don’t think so,” replied Lady Cuthbert, “Not unless you count Mick Flaherty failing to get a fourth glass of Muscat de Venise.”
“Mrs. Travis,” said Ted, “the head chef at the Savoy couldn’t have produced a finer banquet. Perfect in every part. I do no more than repeat Lord Mountbatten’s exact words.”
“Thank you, Your Excellency,” said Mrs. Travis. “He’s got a big appetite, hasn’t he?” she added with a smile.
A moment later, Carruthers entered the kitchen. He checked around the room, which was spotless once again, then turned to Ted and said, “With your permission, sir, we will take our leave.”
“Of course,” said the governor. “And may I thank you, Carruthers, for the role you and your amazing team have played. You all did a superb job. Lord Mountbatten never stopped remarking on it.”
“His Lordship is most kind, sir. At what time would you like us to return in the morning to prepare and serve his breakfast?”
“Well, he asked for a light breakfast in his room at 7:30.”
“Then we will be back by 6:30,” said Carruthers.
Hazel opened the kitchen door to let them all out, and they humped crates full of crockery and baskets full of food to the waiting cars. The last person to leave was Dotty, who was clutching the silver pheasant. Hazel kissed her on both cheeks as she departed.
“I don’t know how you feel, but I’m exhausted,” said Ted, bolting the kitchen door.
Hazel checked her watch. It was seventeen minutes past one.
“Shattered,” she admitted. “So, let’s try and grab some sleep, because we’ll also have to be up by seven to make sure everything is ready before he leaves for the airport.”
Ted put his arm back around his wife’s waist. “A personal triumph for you, my dear.”
They strolled into the hall and wearily began to climb the stairs, but didn’t utter another word for fear of disturbing their guest’s repose. When they reached the landing, they came to an abrupt halt, and stared down in horror at the sight that greeted them. Three pairs of black leather shoes had been placed neatly in line outside the Queen Victoria Room.
“Now I’m certain he knows,” said Hazel.
Ted nodded and, turning to his wife, whispered, “You or me?”
Hazel pointed a finger firmly at her husband. “Definitely you, my dear,” she said sweetly before disappearing in the direction of the Nelson Room.
Ted shrugged his shoulders, picked up the admiral’s shoes, and returned downstairs to the kitchen.
When Mountbatten returned to the Admiralty in Whitehall the following Monday, he made a full written report on his visit to St. George’s. Copies were sent to the Queen and the foreign secretary.
The admiral told the story of his visit at a family gathering that Saturday evening at Windsor Castle, and once the laughter had died down, the Queen asked him, “When did you first become suspicious?”
“It was Carruthers who gave it away. He knew everything about Sir Ted, except which regiment he had served in. That’s just not possible for an old soldier.”
The Queen had one further question: “Do you think the governor knew you knew?”
“I can’t be certain, Lillibet,” replied Mountbatten after some thought. “But I intend to leave him in no doubt that I did.”
The foreign secretary laughed uproariously when he read Mountbatten’s report, and appended a note to the last sheet asking for clarification on two points:
a. How can you be certain that the staff who served dinner were not part of the Governor’s entourage?
b. Do you think Sir Ted knew that you knew?
The Admiral replied by return:
a. After dinner, one of the maids asked Lady Barker if she took sugar in her coffee, but a moment later she gave Lady Cuthbert two lumps, without needing to ask.
b. Possibly not. But he certainly will on Christmas Day.
Sir Ted was pleased to receive a Christmas card from Lord Mountbatten, signed, “Best wishes, Dickie. Thank you for a memorable stay.” It was accompanied by a gift.
Hazel unwrapped the little parcel to discover a tin of Cherry Blossom shoe polish (black). Her only comment was, “So now we know he knew.”
“Agreed,” said Ted with a grin. “But did he know we knew he knew? That’s what I’d like to know.”
YOU’LL NEVER LIVE TO REGRET IT
And so it was agreed: David would leave everything to Pat. If one of them had to die, at least the other would be financially secure for the rest of their life. David felt it was the least he could do for someone who’d stood by him for so many years, especially as he was the one who had been unfaithful.
They had known each other almost all their lives, because their parents had been close friends for as long as either of them could remember. Both families had hoped David might end up marrying Pat’s sister Ruth, and they were unable to hide their surprise—and in Pat’s father’s case his disapproval—when the two of them started living together, especially as Pat was three years older than David.
For some time David had been putting it off and hoping for a miracle cure, despite a pushy insurance broker from Geneva Life called Marvin Roebuck who had been pressing him to “take a meeting” for the past nine months. On the first Monday of the tenth month he phoned again, and this time David reluctantly agreed to see him. He chose a date when he knew Pat would be on night duty at the hotel, and asked Roebuck to come around to their apartment—that way, he felt, it would look as if it was the broker who had done the chasing.
David was watering the scarlet clupea harengus on the hall table when Marvin Roebuck pressed the buzzer on the front door. Once he had poured his visitor a Budweiser, David told him he had every type of insurance he could possibly need: theft, accident, car, property, health, even holiday.
“But what about life?” asked Marvin, licking his lips.
“That’s one I don’t need,” said David. “I earn a good salary, I have more than enough security, and on top of that, my parents will leave everything to me.”
“But wouldn’t it be prudent to have a lump sum that comes to you automatically on your sixtieth or sixty-fifth birthday?” asked Marvin, as he continued to push at a door that he had no way of knowing was already wide open. “After all, you can never be sure what disaster might lie around the corner.”
David knew exactly what disaster lay around the corner, but he still innocently asked, “What sort of figure are you talking about?”
“Well, that would depend on how much you are currently earning,” said Marvin.
“$120,000 a year,” said David, trying to sound casual, as it was almost double his real income. Marvin was obviously impressed, and David remained silent as he carried out some rapid calculations in his head.
“Well,” said Marvin eventually, “I’d suggest half a million dollars—as a ballpark figure. After all,” he added, quickly running a finger down a page of actuarial tables he had extracted from his aluminum briefcase, “you’re only twenty-seven, so the payments would be well within your means. In fact, you might even consider a larger sum if you’re confident your income will continue to rise over the next few years.”
“It has every year for the past seven,” said David, this time truthfully.
“What kind of business are you in, my friend?” asked Marvin.
“Stocks and bonds,” replied David, not offering any details of the small firm he worked for or the junior position he held.
Marvin licked his lips again, even though they had told him not to do so on countless refresher courses, especially when going in for the kill.
“So what amount do you think I should go for?” asked David, continuing to make sure it was always Marvin who took the lead.
“Well, a million is comfortably within your credit range,” said Marvin, once again checking his little book of tables. “The monthly payments might seem a bit steep to begin with, but as the years go by, what with inflation and your continual salary increases, you can expect that in time they will become almost insignificant.”
“How much would I have to pay each month to end up getting a million?” asked David, attempting to give the impression he might have been hooked.
“Assuming we select your sixtieth birthday for terminating the contract, a little over a thousand dollars a month,” said Marvin, trying to make it sound a mere pittance. “And don’t forget, sixty percent of it is tax deductible, so in real terms you’ll only be paying around fifteen dollars a day, while you end up getting a million, just at the time when you most need it. And by the way, that one thousand is constant, it never goes up. In fact it’s inflation-proof.” He let out a dreadful shrill laugh.
“But would I still receive the full sum, whatever happens to the market?”
“One million dollars on your sixtieth birthday,” confirmed Marvin, “whatever happens, short of the world coming to an end. Even I can’t write a policy for that,” he said, letting out another shrill laugh. “However, my friend, if unhappily you were to die before your sixtieth birthday—which God forbid—your dependents would receive the full amount immediately.”
“I don’t have any dependents,” said David, trying to look bored.
“There must be someone you care about,” said Marvin. “A good-looking guy like you.”
“Why don’t you leave the forms with me, Mr. Roebuck, and I’ll think about it over the weekend. I promise I’ll get back to you.”
Marvin looked disappointed. He didn’t need a refresher course to be told that you’re supposed to nail the client to the wall at the first meeting, not let them get away, because that only gave them time to think things over. His lips felt dry.
Pat returned from the evening shift in the early hours of the morning, but David had stayed awake so he could go over what had happened at the meeting with Marvin. Pat was apprehensive and uncertain about the plan. David had always taken care of any problems they had had in the past, especially financial ones, and Pat wasn’t sure how it would all work out once David was no longer around to give his advice. Thank God it was David who’d had to deal with Marvin—Pat couldn’t even say no to a door-to-door brush salesman.
“So, what do we do next?” asked Pat.
“Wait.”
/> “But you promised Marvin you’d get back to him.”
“I know, but I have absolutely no intention of doing so,” said David, placing his arm round Pat’s shoulder. “I’d bet a hundred dollars on Marvin phoning me first thing on Monday morning. And don’t forget, I still need it to look as if he’s the one who’s doing the pushing.”
As they climbed into bed, Pat felt an attack of asthma coming on and decided now was not the time to ask David to go over the details again. After all, as David had explained again and again, there would never be any need for Pat to meet Marvin.
Marvin phoned at 8:30 on Monday morning.
“Hoped to catch you before you went off to sell those stocks and bonds,” he said. “Have you come to a decision?”
“Yes, I have,” said David. “I discussed the whole idea with my mother over the weekend, and she thinks I should go for the million, because five hundred thousand may not turn out to be such a large sum of money by the time I reach sixty.”
Marvin was glad that David couldn’t see him licking his lips. “Your mother’s obviously a shrewd woman,” was his only comment.
“Can I leave you to handle all the paperwork?” asked David, trying to sound as if he didn’t want to deal with any of the details.
“You bet,” said Marvin. “Don’t even think about it, my friend. Just leave all that hassle to me. I know you’ve made the right decision, David. I promise you, you’ll never live to regret it.”
The following day, Marvin phoned again to say that the paperwork had been completed, and all that was now required was for David to have a medical—“routine” was the word he kept repeating. But because of the size of the sum insured, it would have to be with the company’s doctor in New York.
David made a fuss about having to travel to New York, adding that perhaps he’d made the wrong decision, but after more pleading from Marvin, mixed with some unctuous persuasion, he finally gave in.
Marvin brought all the forms to the apartment the following evening after Pat had left for work.
Twelve Red Herrings Page 16
