Abdication: A Novel

by Juliet Nicolson

  Evangeline was unable to look away. Hand in hand the couple disappeared below deck, as Evangeline stared after them. Suddenly there was a movement in the shadows opposite. Muffled in a blanket, a bowl of yoghurt and a thermometer on the table beside her, Lady Diana Cooper was looking over at Evangeline and smiling very broadly indeed. Evangeline, flattered by the invitation to conspiracy, smiled back.

  A sailor was polishing the handrail near the ladder up which Georgio and his friend had recently climbed. Evangeline thought she recognised May’s brother from the day when May had pointed him out at the maiden voyage of the Queen Mary.

  “Sam?” she said enquiringly.

  “Oh, Miss Nettlefold, what a nice surprise it is to see you!” Sam knew how fond his sister was of this large American lady and how kind she had been to May after the accident with the dog.

  “Sam, what in the world are you doing here?” she asked.

  He explained that he was one of several sailors who had been brought aboard from the Glow Worm and the Grafton to help out with the evening’s dinner party.

  “Oh you have come from what Lady Diana calls the ‘nanny boats’?” Evangeline asked, looking over to Lady Diana with a smile, emboldened by her recent overture of friendliness.

  But Sam was beginning to look uncomfortable. The family blush seeped up from his neck.

  “Oh right. That’s good. And it’s very bald to be here. I mean nice.” Sam was mumbling. “Sorry, Miss Nettlefold. I hope you will excuse me. I must get on.”

  As Evangeline went to her room in the former library to change for dinner and to contemplate the art of erotic arousal, she tried to work out exactly what Sam had said. Only when looking in the mirror for any horrible sign of sunburn did his words become clear. Appalled by her reflection, she opened the door to an urgent knock. Georgio was grinning as he held up what looked like a small limp black rodent.

  “Lady Diana. She find it,” he explained, handing over the wig.

  The king of Greece and his own house party were to arrive for dinner on the Nahlin from a nearby island, escorted across the water in a square scarlet gondola rowed by two oarsmen from the nanny boats. Edward VIII’s own piper stood on deck playing “Over the Sea to Skye,” one of the few tunes in his limited repertoire.

  The king of England was the last member of the party to appear on deck. He was wearing a natty pair of white flannel trousers, blazer and a yachting cap and looked terrific. Wallis appeared equally glamorous, in an ankle-length white pleated skirt and a cream silk short-sleeved shirt with a square nautical collar edged in brilliant blue ribbon. Evangeline had not seen Wallis in the same outfit twice throughout the cruise except at lunchtime when a sunhat of white broderie anglaise resembling a baby’s bonnet would make its appearance as protection against the full glare of the sun. Beneath the rickrack trimming, Wallis’s adult face looked frankly absurd. One morning the bonnet was in its customary place at breakfast and, as Lady Diana Cooper’s glance travelled swiftly across the table from the bonnet to Evangeline, the two women’s eyes were, for a second, locked in a conspiratorial mirth born out of mutual contempt. Evangeline had felt a brief surge of hope that this beautiful, intimidating, clever, funny woman might wish to deepen her acquaintance with Evangeline into something bordering on friendship.

  Wallis had been so caught up with the king throughout the cruise that Evangeline continued to question what she was doing on board the Nahlin at all. During long airless nights in the old library she considered whether the invitation to join the yacht had been borne out of nothing more than Wallis’s guilt. The idea that Evangeline was some sort of pitiable figure, the charity child that Lady Myrtle had so cruelly identified, did little for her confidence. Rather than enjoying herself on the cruise, her perceived ostracism only exacerbated her resentment of her old school friend. Evangeline was determined to make further affable overtures to Lady Diana.

  As the piper continued with his wailing tune, Sam stood to attention with the other sailors, his skin once again restored to its usual pale and unblemished state. The king of Greece’s party had almost reached the Nahlin and Wallis tried to stand up, ready with her greeting. But the hem of her skirt had become caught on a leg of her chair and she fell suddenly and awkwardly backwards. Sam moved forward to the deck to release the trapped material but was beaten to it. As the king of England scrabbled on the deck, crumpling the knees of his perfectly laundered trousers, Wallis hissed at him loudly enough for everyone on deck to hear her.

  “David! What are you doing? This is the most extraordinary performance I have ever seen! Are you mad?” Catching hold of his hand, she gripped it fiercely.

  The king rose from the floor, his crestfallen expression bearing the mark of Wallis’s rebuke as he picked up one of Mrs. Simpson’s fingers and, bringing it up to his open mouth, kissed it.

  Guests and crew alike had watched the humiliating episode, wondering with some foreboding where all this kingly subservience was leading. The attention of the foreign press on the king and Mrs. Simpson could perhaps be contained from the British public for a while, but small public indiscretions such as witnessed on the deck of the Nahlin only contributed to an ever-widening circle of gossip.

  Eventually after one long sunny and largely indolent month the cruise came to an end and the guests dispersed in different directions. For Evangeline the magnificence of the Parthenon remained with her as the best moment of her holiday, a day when even she had managed the long climb up the Acropolis to the summit. In the sweltering heat of the last day of August she had reached the walls of the astonishing temple, so settled in its ancient place. Wandering into the vast open space of the Parthenon, built by an ancient civilisation for the virgin goddess Athena, she noticed Lady Diana and, eager for the chance to put the wig incident behind them, walked quickly towards her elegant straw-hatted figure. But she was not fast enough. Lady Diana’s husband had beaten her to it. Together the pair stood, their backs to Evangeline, presenting a unity that was unmistakably intimate. Evangeline moved away from them and looked out at the sea. The colour of the water reminded her of the glitter of the sapphire brooch that Wallis often wore, fashioned from her favourite gemstone.

  “It matches the colour of my eyes so well, don’t you think, Vangey?” Wallis had asked with a coy little smirk.

  Dragging her thoughts away from the woman who had puzzled and influenced her since her schooldays, Evangeline wondered if she would be able to find the right words to evoke the visual power of Greece, or to convey something of the extraordinary beauty of Athens. She knew who it was she so desperately wished to impress with her observations. But the prospect of warm baths and steady land beneath her feet convinced Evangeline that the end of the holiday had arrived not a moment too soon. It was already September by the time they disembarked from the Nahlin for the last time. Evangeline and Wallis continued their journey to Paris while the king returned to London alone. He intended to spend the last two weeks of the month up at Balmoral and hoped his decision would please Queen Mary, a stickler for all traditions, especially the royal family’s annual Scottish break. His relationship with his mother had deteriorated over the past few months as Queen Mary made her disapproval of Wallis increasingly obvious. Her son hoped he might be able to repair the damage although he was not looking forward to returning to “real life.”

  “Striped trousers and coats again. Back to school,” he grimaced to Wallis and Evangeline, as he said his goodbyes.

  As soon as Wallis and Evangeline arrived at the Meurice, a hotel familiar to Wallis from a couple of visits to the Parisian dressmaker earlier in the year, Wallis succumbed to an extreme tiredness. She had planned to visit the Avenue Georges V salon of her favourite couturier, Mainbocher, but she announced apologetically that a day or two to rest and recover her health was in order. The holiday seemed to have exhausted rather than energised her. The elasticity of her wide grin had sagged and she was even thinner than usual. Her quick wit and high spiritedness had noticeably ebbed over
the past two weeks and been replaced with frequent outbursts of irritability, largely directed at the king himself.

  “I am in such a gale, Vangey darling. I have a mountain of correspondence to deal with, and a difficult letter to write, so will you forgive me if I leave you to your own devices for the evening? If anyone asks, tell them I have a cold. Matter of fact, I am feeling pretty ropey. Overdone things a little, I guess.”

  Several large envelopes addressed to Wallis in her aunt Bessie’s handwriting were awaiting her arrival at the hotel. Evangeline’s brother had also sent over a small packet of cuttings from the Baltimore and New York papers, among them a photograph of a scene on board the Nahlin of Wallis’s manicured hand resting gently on the king’s naked forearm. Goodness knows where the photograph had originated but the intimacy between the pair was undeniable. An accompanying note from Evangeline’s brother informed her that a New York publishing company already had a biography of Wallis in the works, titled From Baltimore to Balmoral.

  For the whole of the next day Wallis refused to see anyone. She remained in her room, ordering room service to bring her plates of cold trout and salad and ears of American corn that were then left half-eaten on trays outside her bedroom door for every passer-by to see until the waiter came to remove them. The following morning Evangeline knocked on Wallis’s door and, not hearing an answer, turned the handle. Wallis was still in bed, her usually immaculate centre parting marking an untidy line across her scalp. She was wearing a pale, peach-coloured bed jacket made of a silky material and edged in swans’ down. The washed-out colour emphasised the sallowness of her complexion. Wallis had long suffered from terrible skin problems and Evangeline knew that the celebrated smoothness of her face was courtesy of Mrs. Gladys Furlonger, a queen in her own right, not of a kingdom but of the art of facial massage. In Mrs. Furlonger’s hands lay the secret to eternal youth, until the effect of her pricey ministrations wore off. Denied Mrs. Furlonger’s healing magic and exposed to undue amounts of Mediterranean sun despite the baby bonnet, Wallis looked worn out, unattractive and beaten. For a moment Evangeline felt a combined surge of pity and affection.

  “Vangey, come and sit here,” Wallis said softly, patting a coverlet almost invisible beneath the mass of newspaper clippings scattered across it. “Thank the Lord you are here. You are my oldest and dearest friend, especially now that rat Mary has betrayed me.”

  Evangeline folded her arms across her chest, determined not to allow her hands to be caught in that claustrophobic knuckly grip. Wallis had begun to sniff and soon tears were running with abandon down her cheeks, making little rivulets through a thick coating of Elizabeth Arden foundation.

  “What is it, Wallis darling?” Sensing an imminent confession, Evangeline’s lovely voice was full of compassion.

  “I just can’t do it, Evangeline. Do you hear me? I cannot and I will not.”

  There was a pause followed by an extended indrawn sigh. Evangeline waited.

  “The date for my divorce hearing has already been fixed for late next month. Ernest has agreed to some sort of arrangement suggested by the king and both men assure me all is amicable between them. Ernest is too sweet to make any fuss, though I confess I sometimes wish he would. But Vangey, I don’t think I can go through with it. Ernest and I belong together. Mary means nothing to him, I know that much. And I also know some people consider Ernest a bit dull, but for me he is a safe pair of hands. We get along together just fine.” Wallis went on, her voice emphasising the inflexibility of her resolve. “That’s it. Ernest gives me security. That is definitely what he gives me. So I must escape from David as soon as possible. I never ever meant it to go as far as this. Never.”

  “Surely you cannot mean this?” Evangeline interrupted, her own voice now trembling a little but Wallis waved her silent, struggling to steady herself as she continued with her extended confession.

  “He keeps quoting the Bible at me, Vangey. He says there is a time to weep, a time to smile, a time to rend, a time to sew … and …”

  And breaking off for a surprisingly fierce laugh, Wallis continued.

  “And he does not mean those damn tapestries that he is always stitching away at. Anyway, he says there is a time for everything and that now is his time to marry. God help me, Vangey, but what kind of a mess have I gotten myself into here? I feel I am going to go mad! In fact, I think I am getting ill again. Not just this damned cold but all those stomach troubles that I had earlier in the year have returned.”

  Wallis fell back against the pillows as if defeated by life. Both women were shocked into silence by the implications of what Wallis was saying.

  “Pass me my sable wrap from over there, Vangey, will you, there’s a dear.” Wallis instructed eventually, indicating a chair with a feeble wave of the hand.

  The knuckly fingers were naked of their usual cluster of rings but as Wallis pulled the fur around her bony shoulders she seemed to gather a new strength.

  “I want to add one more thing, Evangeline, in case you are in any doubt about my intentions. I want you to know that I am convinced of one unshakeable truth. David and I as a married pair would create disaster together!”

  She reached over to the small table beside the bed and picked up a sealed blue airmail envelope. Her voice was much calmer now.

  “I am going to tell you a secret, Vangey. I want you to know that I have broken the whole thing off. Matter of fact, I have written to David to tell him that this is the end of it.” Wallis waved the blue envelope at Evangeline. “I have told him that we would never make each other happy. The money and the jewels, well, most of the jewels, perhaps not the sapphires, will be sent back to him. And when I get back to England I am going to return to Ernest and then we will all go back to America and you will come with me and we will find you another Wiggle as a reward for being the most stalwart of all friends. Perhaps the king would still let you have Slipper’s puppy. What do you say, darling Vangey?”

  The tears had dried and the old familiar confidence had returned as unexpectedly as the appearance of stars on a cloudy night. Evangeline was so taken aback by this dramatic turn of events that she could only stare at Wallis openmouthed. Of course she had not been the only cruise member to notice the signs that all was not right between Wallis and the king, but this momentous decision was a volte-face that even Evangeline had not anticipated. The idea of giving up the unconditional adoration of a man was inconceivable to Evangeline, in any circumstances. But to give up the love of a king was something that only a lunatic would consider.

  And yet Evangeline found herself moved by Wallis’s confession and by the trust Wallis had placed in her by making it. The two of them would be proper friends again. They could make plans together. Their lives would be set in some kind of direction. Rapidly Evangeline thought through some of the consequences of Wallis’s decision. Evangeline was certain that the king would put up a pretty fierce fight to keep Wallis. She had seen too often the way he looked at her. Despite (or was it because of?) the firm way in which Wallis treated him there was no question that he was deeply in love with her. Nevertheless, Wallis was stubborn. Whatever obstacles the king might put in her way, Wallis would triumph. Of that Evangeline was certain.

  Evangeline felt an unfamiliar rush of relief. It had been a difficult year but one which she would look back on with much affection especially for the time spent with the Blunts before Joan’s terrible illness. She wondered how she could have doubted the loyalty of her old school friend. In an unprecedented gesture, Evangeline found herself stretching out her own plump hand and giving Wallis’s naked knuckles a reassuring squeeze. It felt like gripping a leftover Sunday joint after poor Wiggle had chewed all remaining flesh from it.

  “I admire you, Wallis,” she said, overcoming the impulse to withdraw her hand. “Most women would not have the courage that you have just demonstrated. And I want you to know you can count on my friendship. Your trust in confiding in me will never be forgotten.”

  After retur
ning to England, Evangeline heard nothing from Wallis for more than two weeks. She was not concerned. She knew that patching up things with Ernest and the unravelling of all the legal procedures previously set in motion for the divorce would take a while. And then there would be the business of moving back into number 5 Bryanston Court from the house in Regent’s Park that Wallis had taken after the temporary rupture with her husband. She expected that Wallis had already booked the passage for the three of them to New York. Wallis had promised they would all sail on the new Queen Mary as a treat.

  One evening Evangeline was dining alone in St. John’s Wood with Philip. She had stopped reading all the newspapers, even the clippings sent by her brother from America. She was tired of all the false rumours that swirled through the European and American press and the British papers were so self-censorious about what they could and could not print that she saw no point in reading them either. The wireless had become her favourite means of staying in touch.

  With a smug sense of knowing better, she listened to Philip mentioning stories that Wallis had been in Scotland with the king, the Mountbattens and those old friends of hers, the Hunters. The rumours had been confirmed in yesterday’s Times Court Circular, he said. There had been some critical muttering in the House that the king had begged off an official “kinging” engagement while up in Scotland, only to be seen by a press photographer driving himself to Aberdeen railway station to meet “a special guest.” Philip had also heard that the tartan halls of Balmoral, still decorated with the original plaids chosen by Queen Victoria, had witnessed quite unprecedented levels of gaiety over the past two weeks. With a knowing smile, Evangeline assured Philip that the rumours were definitely unfounded. The Times Court Circular must have included Wallis’s name by mistake. Tapping the side of her nose Evangeline apologised that she could not fill him in any further on Wallis’s plans as she was sworn to secrecy.