This Was a Man

by Jeffrey Archer

  “Good, then that’s settled,” said Virginia, as a footman came out carrying a suitcase which he placed in the boot of the car.

  “I’ll say goodbye now, your grace.”

  “Not quite yet, Mr. Poltimore,” said Virginia, who joined him in the back. She waited until they had set off down the drive before whispering, “If the duke were to decide to sell the vases, how would you recommend he go about it?”

  “If our expert confirms they are Ming Dynasty, we would advise you which sale would be most appropriate for a piece of such historic importance.”

  “If possible, I’d like to sell them with the minimum of fuss and the maximum discretion.”

  “Of course, your grace,” said Poltimore. “But I should point out that if the Hertford name were attached to the vases, one could expect them to fetch a far higher price. I’m sure you’re aware that two things really matter when a discovery of this potential importance comes up for auction: provenance, and when the piece last appeared on the market. So if you can combine the name of Hertford with three hundred years of history, frankly it would be an auctioneer’s dream.”

  “Yes, I can see that would make a difference,” said Virginia, “but for personal reasons, the duke might want to remain anonymous.”

  “Whatever you decided we would, of course, abide by your wishes,” said Poltimore as the car drew up outside the station.

  The chauffeur opened the door to allow the duchess to get out.

  “I look forward to hearing from you, Mr. Poltimore,” she said, as the train pulled into the station.

  “I’ll call you as soon as I have any news, and whatever decision you make, be assured that Sotheby’s will be proud to serve you with the utmost discretion.” He gave a slight nod before climbing aboard.

  Virginia didn’t return to the car, but crossed the footbridge to platform number two, and only had to wait for a few minutes before the London train pulled in. When she waved to the duke, he rewarded her with a huge smile.

  “Good of you to come and meet me, old gal,” he said, bending down to kiss her.

  “Don’t be silly, Perry, I couldn’t wait to see you.”

  “Has anything interesting happened while I was away?” the duke asked as he handed the stationmaster his ticket.

  “I’ve planted a bed of fuchsia, which should flower in the summer, but frankly I’m more interested in hearing everything that happened at your regimental dinner.”

  * * *

  Poltimore was as good as his word, and rang the following afternoon to let Virginia know that Mr. Li Wong, Sotheby’s Chinese expert, had studied the photographs of the vases, and in particular the distinctive markings on their bases, and was fairly confident that they were Ming Dynasty. However, he stressed that he would need to examine them in person before he could give his final imprimatur.

  Li appeared a fortnight later, when the duke was visiting his doctor in Harley Street for his annual checkup. He didn’t need to stay overnight, as a few minutes was quite enough to convince him that the two vases were works of genius which would ignite global interest among the leading Chinese collectors. He was also able to add one corroborative piece of scholarship.

  After spending a day at the British Museum, he had come across a reference which suggested that the fourth Duke of Hertford had led a diplomatic mission to Peking sometime in the early nineteenth century, on behalf of His Majesty’s government, and the two vases were probably a gift from the Emperor Jiaqing to mark the occasion. Li went on to remind the duchess, more than once, that this historical evidence would add considerable value to the pieces. A gift of two Ming vases from an emperor to a duke who was representing a king would have the auction world buzzing.

  Mr. Li Wong was clearly disappointed when Virginia told him that if the duke were to part with the vases, it was most unlikely that he would want the world to know he was selling off a family heirloom.

  “Perhaps his grace would agree to the simple nomenclature, ‘the property of a nobleman’?” suggested the Chinese expert.

  “A most satisfactory compromise,” agreed the duchess, who didn’t accompany Li to the station, as he would be safely back in London long before the duke boarded his train for Hertford.

  * * *

  As Virginia knocked on the door of the duke’s study, it brought back memories of being summoned by her father to be given a lecture on her shortcomings. But not today. She was about to be told the finer details of Perry’s will.

  He had asked her during breakfast to join him in his study around eleven, as he was seeing the family solicitor at ten to discuss the contents of his will, and in particular the wording of the proposed codicil. He reminded Virginia that she still hadn’t told him if there was anything she would particularly like as a keepsake.

  As she entered her husband’s study, Perry and the solicitor immediately rose from their places and remained standing until she had taken the seat between them.

  “Your timing couldn’t be better,” said Perry, “because I’ve just agreed the wording of a new codicil that concerns you, and which Mr. Blatchford will attach to my will.”

  Virginia bowed her head.

  “I fear, Mr. Blatchford,” said the duke, “that my wife finds this whole experience a little distressing, but I have managed to convince her that one has to deal with such matters if the taxman is not to become your next of kin.” Blatchford nodded sagely. “Perhaps you would be kind enough to take the duchess through the details of the codicil, so we need never refer to the subject again.”

  “Certainly, your grace,” said the elderly solicitor, who looked as if he might die before Perry. “On the duke’s demise,” he continued, “you will be given a house on the estate along with the appropriate staff to assist you. You will also receive a monthly stipend of five thousand pounds.”

  “Will that be enough, old gal?” interrupted the duke.

  “More than enough, my darling,” said Virginia quietly. “Don’t forget that my dear brother still provides me with a monthly allowance, which I never manage to spend.”

  “I understand,” continued Blatchford, “that the duke has asked you to choose some personal memento to remember him by. I wonder if you have decided what that might be?”

  It was some time before Virginia raised her head and said, “Perry has a walking stick that would remind me of him whenever I take my evening stroll around the garden.”

  “Surely you’d like something a little more substantial than that, old gal?”

  “No, that will be quite enough, my darling.” Virginia was quiet for some time before she added, “Although I confess there are a couple of old vases gathering dust below stairs that I’ve always admired, but only if you could bear to part with them.” Virginia held her breath.

  “There’s no mention of them in the family inventory,” said Blatchford, “so with your permission, your grace, I’ll add the walking stick along with the pair of vases to the codicil, and then you can engross the final copy.”

  “Of course, of course,” said the duke, who hadn’t been below stairs since he was a boy.

  “Thank you, Perry,” said Virginia, “that’s so very generous of you. While you’re here, Mr. Blatchford, could I ask for your guidance on another matter?”

  “Of course, your grace.”

  “Perhaps I should also be thinking about making a will.”

  “Very wise, if I may say so, your grace. I’ll be happy to draw one up for you. Perhaps I can make an appointment to see you on some other occasion?”

  “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Blatchford. I intend to leave everything I possess to my beloved husband.”

  33

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER an ambulance, siren blaring, pulled up outside the castle gates.

  Two orderlies, under the direction of Virginia, followed her quickly up to the duke’s bedroom. They lifted him gently onto the stretcher and then proceeded slowly back downstairs. She held Perry’s hand and he managed a weak smile as they lifted him into
the ambulance.

  Virginia climbed in and sat on the bench beside her husband, never letting go of his hand as the ambulance sped through the countryside. After another twenty minutes they arrived at the local cottage hospital.

  A doctor, two nurses, and three orderlies were waiting for them. The duke was lifted onto a trolley which was wheeled through the open doors to a private room that had been hastily prepared.

  All three doctors who examined him came to the same conclusion, a minor heart attack. Despite their diagnosis, the senior registrar insisted that he remain in the hospital for further tests.

  * * *

  Virginia visited Perry in hospital every morning, and although he repeatedly told her he was right as rain, the doctors wouldn’t agree to release him until they were convinced he had fully recovered, and Virginia made it clear, in Matron’s hearing, that he must carry out the doctors’ orders to the letter.

  The following day she telephoned each of the duke’s children, repeating the doctors’ diagnosis of a minor heart attack, and as long as he took some exercise and was careful with his diet, there was no reason to believe he wouldn’t live for many more years. Virginia emphasized that the doctors didn’t feel it was necessary for them to rush home, and looked forward to seeing them all at Christmas.

  A diet of watermelon, boiled fish, and green salads with no dressing didn’t improve the duke’s temper, and when he was finally released after a week, Matron presented Virginia with a list of “dos and don’ts”: no sugar, no carbohydrates, no fried food, and only one glass of wine at dinner—which was not to be followed by brandy or a cigar. Just as important, she explained, was that he should take a walk in the fresh air for an hour a day. Matron gave Virginia a copy of the hospital’s recommended diet, which Virginia promised she would give to Cook the moment they got home.

  Cook never caught sight of Matron’s diet sheet, and allowed the duke to start the day as he always had, with a bowl of porridge and brown sugar, followed by fried eggs, sausages, two rashers of bacon, and baked beans (his favorite), smothered in HP Sauce. This was accompanied by white toast with butter and marmalade and piping hot coffee with two spoonfuls of sugar. He would then retire to read The Times in his study, where a packet of Silk Cut had been left on the armrest of his chair. At around eleven thirty, the butler would bring him a mug of hot chocolate and a slice of coffee cake, just in case he felt a little peckish, which kept him going until lunch.

  Lunch consisted of fish, just as Matron had recommended. However, it wasn’t boiled but fried in batter, with a large bowl of chips near at hand. Chocolate pudding—Matron had made no mention of chocolate—was rarely turned down by the duke, followed by more coffee and his first cigar of the day.

  Virginia allowed him an afternoon siesta, before waking him for a long walk around the estate so he could work up an appetite for his next meal. After he’d changed for dinner, the duke would enjoy a sherry, perhaps two, before going through to the dining room, where Virginia took a particular interest in selecting the wines that would accompany their meal. Cook was well aware that the duke liked nothing better than a rare sirloin steak with roast potatoes and all the trimmings. Cook felt it was nothing less than her duty to keep his grace happy, and hadn’t he always had second helpings of everything?

  After dinner, the butler would dutifully pour a balloon of brandy and clip the duke’s Havana cigar before lighting it. When they eventually retired to bed, Virginia did everything in her power to arouse the duke, and although she rarely succeeded, he always fell asleep exhausted.

  Virginia kept to her routine slavishly, indulging her husband’s slightest whim, while appearing to any onlooker to be caring, attentive, and devoted. She made no comment when he could no longer do up the buttons on his trousers, or dozed off for long spells during the afternoon, and told anyone who asked, “I’ve never seen him fitter, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he lived to a hundred,” although that wasn’t quite what she had in mind.

  * * *

  Virginia spent some considerable time preparing for Perry’s seventy-second birthday. A special occasion, was how she described it to all and sundry, on which the duke should be allowed, just for once, to indulge himself.

  After enjoying a hearty breakfast, Perry went off to shoot pheasants with his pals, carrying his favorite Purdey shotgun under his arm, and a flask of whisky in his hip pocket. He was on top form that morning and bagged twenty-one birds before returning to the castle, exhausted.

  His spirits were lifted by the sight of guinea fowl, sausages, onions, fried potatoes, and a jug of thick gravy. Could a man ask for more, he demanded of his chums. They agreed wholeheartedly, and continually raised their glasses to toast his health. The last of them didn’t depart until dusk, by which time he had fallen asleep.

  “You take such good care of me, old gal,” he said when Virginia woke him in time to change for dinner. “I’m a remarkably lucky man.”

  “Well, it is a special occasion, my darling,” said Virginia, presenting him with her birthday present. His eyes lit up when he tore off the wrapping paper to discover a box of Romeo y Julieta cigars.

  “Churchill’s favorites,” he declared.

  “And he lived to over ninety,” Virginia reminded him.

  During dinner, the duke looked a little tired. However, he managed to finish his blancmange before enjoying a glass of brandy and the first of the Churchill cigars. When they finally climbed the stairs just after midnight, he had to cling onto the bannister as he struggled to mount each step, his other arm firmly around Virginia’s shoulders.

  When they finally reached the bedroom, he only managed a few more paces before collapsing onto the bed. Virginia began to slowly undress him, but he’d fallen asleep before she’d taken off his shoes.

  By the time she had undressed and joined him in bed, he was snoring peacefully. Virginia had never seen him looking so contented. She switched off the light.

  * * *

  When Virginia woke the following morning, she turned over to find the duke still had a smile on his face. She pulled back the curtains, returned to the bedside, and took a closer look. She thought he looked a little pale. She checked his pulse, but couldn’t find it. She sat on the end of the bed and thought carefully about what she should do next.

  First, she removed any signs of the cigar and the brandy, replacing them with a bowl of nuts and a carafe of water with a slice of lemon. She opened the window to allow in some fresh air, and once she had checked the room a second time, she sat down at her dressing table, checked her makeup, and composed herself.

  Virginia allowed a few moments to go by before she took a deep breath and let out a piercing scream. She then rushed to the door and, for the first time since she’d married Perry, left the bedroom wearing a dressing gown. She ran down the wide staircase and the moment she saw Lomax, her voice breaking, she said, “Call an ambulance. The duke has had another heart attack.”

  The butler immediately picked up the phone in the hall.

  Dr. Ainsley arrived thirty minutes later, by which time Virginia had dressed and was waiting for him in the hall. She accompanied him to the bedroom. It didn’t take a long examination before he told the dowager duchess something she already knew.

  Virginia broke down in tears and no one was able to console her. However, she did manage to send telegrams to Clarence, Alice, and Camilla, after ordering the butler to move the two blue and white vases from the servants’ corridor and place them in the duke’s bedroom. Lomax was puzzled by the request, and later that evening he said to the housekeeper, “She’s not herself, poor thing.”

  The chauffeur was even more puzzled when he was instructed to take the vases down to London and drop them off at Sotheby’s before going on to Heathrow to pick up Clarence and bring him back to Castle Hertford.

  The dowager duchess wore black, a color that suited her, and over a light breakfast she read the duke’s obituary in The Times, which was long on compliments, while being short on acco
mplishments. However, there was one sentence that brought a smile to her face: The thirteenth Duke of Hertford died peacefully in his sleep.

  34

  VIRGINIA HAD GIVEN considerable thought to how she should conduct herself during the next few days. Once the family had gone their separate ways after the funeral, she intended to make some fairly radical changes at Castle Hertford.

  The fourteenth duke was the first member of the family to arrive, and Virginia was standing on the top step waiting to greet him. As he walked up the steps, she gave a slight curtsey, to acknowledge the new order.

  “Virginia, what a sad occasion for all of us,” said Clarence. “But it’s at least a comfort for me to know that you were by his side to the last.”

  “It’s so kind of you to say so, Clarence. What a blessed relief it is that my dear Perry suffered no pain when he passed away.”

  “Yes, I was relieved to hear that Papa died peacefully in his sleep. Let’s be thankful for small mercies.”

  “I hope it won’t be too long before I join him,” said Virginia, “because, like Queen Victoria, I will mourn my dear husband until the day I die.” The butler and two footmen appeared and began to unload the car. “I’ve put you in your old room for the time being,” said Virginia. “But of course I will move out to the Dower House, just as soon as my dear Perry has been buried.”

  “There’s no hurry,” said Clarence. “I’ll be returning to my regiment after the funeral, and in any case we’re going to have to rely on you to keep things ticking over in my absence.”

  “I’ll be happy to do whatever I can. Why don’t we discuss what you have in mind once you’ve unpacked and had something to eat?”

  The duke was a few minutes late for lunch, and apologized, explaining that several people had telephoned, requesting to see him urgently.

  Virginia could only wonder who had called, but satisfied herself with saying, “I thought we should hold the funeral on Thursday, but only if that meets with your approval.”