How long could Emily and her cohort keep Simpson away? Simpson, after all, was capable of any rudeness, including pushing past her hostess, or even shouting above the cocktail party chatter.
She glanced around, as if the guests were irritating bees, and not a bowl of the Asparagus Cream Soup of Society containing one extremely angry American wasp. ‘We can’t talk with all these wretched people.’ She gave him the enchanting smile it had taken three days of practice before the war to perfect. ‘Shall we be naughty and escape? Escape to somewhere private, where we’re not on show.’ She let the smile become a grin. ‘Somewhere the hyenas can’t find us! Follow me,’ she whispered. It was a command, a seduction, and a children’s game. She gave him a careful glance. Which one would work?
‘Sophie, we can’t —’ But he was grinning too, suddenly genuinely enjoying himself. And now she knew the key to capturing a king. David would respond to her command, but that would leave him open to Simpson’s counter-commands later. Seduction made him nervous. But she had seen his eyes widen at the hint of a game, remembering those brief moments when childhood had been fun, and not humiliation.
She continued to grin back at him. When had someone last grinned at this poor king? They’d smiled at him, fawned at him, and ordered him. But she doubted anyone had grinned since perhaps their last meeting at Shillings.
‘Of course we can. I dare you! Come on!’ This time she grabbed his hand as if he was ten years old.
James’s sketch of the house had shown her the small door by the fireplace, shut now. She opened it, slipped through it with David, then closed it again, lifting her finger as if to say, ‘Hush!’
He laughed. ‘Sophie, you are impossible!’
‘Shh! Someone may hear us. But then, you are the king now. If anyone interrupts us you can send them to the Tower of London.’
‘I wish I could.’ His tone had a note of grimness and reality that almost broke the spell. She did not extend it by replying, but led him down the corridor they were standing in then through a second door.
It was a writing room in which guests might jot down little notes. A fire burned warmly, intimately. The air was fragrant with hothouse lilies, the curtains drawn. And it had a door that could be locked. Ah, clever Emily.
David stared as Sophie turned the key, held it up triumphantly, then pressed it down her neckline into the grasp of her corset.
‘There! We are safe from all the buzzing bees. How do you stand them all, David?’
‘I don’t know,’ he admitted, his eyes still following the path of the key.
She perched on the edge of a chair, still holding his hand. It was a posture that said, ‘I am beautiful and I am already yours, and have been for many years, so there is no need to prove it.’ Then she let herself burst into tears. Two tears she let trickle, then a sob she muffled with her hand. A true sob, for she had been scared and was still deeply, horribly uneasy about what she was doing, and what might come of it. But David of course would assume another cause.
‘Sophie!’
‘I thought you . . . you liked me. You asked me to . . . but I was married and it was impossible . . .’
His arms went round her. ‘Sophie, don’t cry.’
‘I’ll cry if I want to!’
She felt him smile at that, the confident smile of a man in control. ‘Yes, of course you may cry, Sophie.’ He reached for his handkerchief.
‘You wonderful man, to have a handkerchief.’ She wiped her eyes, then looked up at him, made sure her eyes captured him, took his hand and pressed it to her silken shoulder. ‘I don’t think I knew how much I had missed you till I saw you just then. I thought you were like a case of measles, that I could get over. But you’re . . . you’re more like leprosy, impossible to recover from.’
He gave a shout of delight, surprising even himself. ‘Leprosy! Sophie, really.’
She gave him a look of mischievous apology. ‘Does one get sent to the Tower for saying that?’
‘You might have thought of a more dignified ailment.’
‘Gout? Consumption?’
‘Behave yourself,’ he said grinning.
‘David, I’m sorry. I think I am trying to pretend to myself you’re not king, because now I will only ever see you for precious moments like this.’
He took both her hands in his, then kissed each one. ‘I will always have time for you, Sophie.’
‘Time.’ She shook her head, and sighed. ‘It is the one thing one can’t order, isn’t it? Waiter, I want an extra order of time to spend with my dearest friend. Bring me a spare two hours, nicely chilled. The year 1924 was a good one, I think. Two hours of the best of 1924.’
He laughed. She counted to five (always wait for the person who initiated the laugh to know they own it, before you join in) then laughed with him.
‘David, seriously, if you could sneak away for a whole day just for yourself, a day just for total and absolute fun, what would you do?’
Fast cars or aeroplanes, she thought. But instead he surprised her by laughing again. ‘Can I tell you a secret?’
‘Always.’ She leaned forwards, a partner in play, not seduction.
‘When I was a little boy, I wanted to ride a penny farthing bicycle from London to Brighton.’
Her laugh of sudden delight had taken a whole week of training to perfect. But she had not forgotten the art. ‘David, only you would think of something as glorious as that. But why not do it? You are king! You can order The Great Penny Farthing Race to celebrate your coronation. The press would adore it, and the people would adore you even more.’
He blinked at her. ‘You know, I never considered . . .’
‘Will you do it? It would be more fun even than fireworks. You will start the race, then fire the starting pistol, and everyone will follow. We could even have different races all over the Empire. A bagpipe race in Scotland . . .’
‘And a kangaroo race in Australia? All those leathery colonials bouncing like kangaroos!’
She made herself ignore the touch of cruelty in the words. ‘David, I am a leathery colonial!’
‘Never. You are nothing like those appalling people. You are the magic Sophie, who comes from the moon.’
She shook her head. ‘The moon is too far away to race to. David, please, can we have races for your coronation? All the bonfires and fireworks as well, of course, but truly fun races as well as the ceremonial stuffiness?’
‘By Jove, why not? But only if you’ll organise them with me.’
As if organising it would mean more than telling his equerry, ‘See that it is done.’
‘Of course I will. Will it be grown-ups only, or may my children enter? Though maybe we could have shorter children’s races. I take my two to the park every morning.’
‘Little Rose and Danny?’
‘You remember them!’
His face softened, and she remembered why she had once liked him. For David did love children, would play with them for hours, answer questions. But of course, he was a child himself . . .
‘I . . . David . . . could you bear to meet my brats?’
He smiled down at her. ‘We may not be able to ride a penny farthing to Brighton tomorrow, but we can go to the park. I’ll bring sailing boats. We can all sail them together.’
Sailing boats in November! She’d have to make sure the children wore their woollen combinations as well as two pairs of stockings. But even as she thought it, she laughed. ‘Really! Oh, David, that would be magic. Only you could think of it! Do you know, I have always wanted to sail a toy boat.’ She bent and whispered, ‘Girls are not allowed to. But you are the king, so you can order it.’
‘I hereby order every girl in the Empire to sail a toy boat whenever she feels like it! And I will make those pompous asses make it law, too.’
His hands were warm in hers now, and relaxed. He looked happy; a simple emotion, but a hard one to achieve for a prince or king, in his family, at least.
‘Rose and Danny must meet my nie
ces, Lilibet and Margaret Rose. After all, your children are my godchildren.’
Two among many, who he had forgotten about until now. But she kept her face smooth, and smiling, smiling, smiling. ‘Won’t their parents mind?’
‘Darling, I am the king. If I wish to bring friends to play horses with my nieces then I shall. Besides, they will be enchanted by you.’
They will be enchanted by anyone who is not Simpson, she thought. And possibly had already been briefed by James. She had a feeling the Duke of York was no fool, nor his wife. They would not be bystanders in this game.
‘You played horse with Danny and Rose the last time we were at Shillings together, remember? Oh, David, it was so much fun. I don’t think I have laughed so much since.’
‘Nor have I,’ he said, a touch of wonder in his voice. He gazed at her, lost in the joy of the past, caught in the possibility of joy in the future, too, and she knew that it was true.
Take that, Wallis Simpson, she thought. I have caught your fish within twenty minutes, your Peter Pan. His other mistresses had tried to seduce David into normality. Simpson saw that David could never go there. Simpson had kept him her servant, forever needing to placate her with jewels or money, this boy who had been ordered around by his father all his life.
Sophie Higgs-Vaile had given him laughter, and children to play with, just as he was still a child himself, who had never had a chance to play.
‘I have a meeting I can’t get out of tomorrow afternoon. But tomorrow evening . . .’
His face clouded. He has remembered Simpson, she thought. Has realised she is outside, fuming. But surely Simpson would have the sense not to make a scene tonight, because to make him choose between her and Sophie in either public or privately would be to admit that a choice might be made, that he was not irrevocably hers.
Simpson would claim him first thing tomorrow, though. Nor did Sophie have Simpson’s easy access to him — yet.
But David was smiling at her again. ‘I will tell everyone I have an early meeting with the Greek ambassador tomorrow morning. He is always so obliging as an alibi. Shall we meet in the park at ten? And I will come to Vaile House tomorrow night as soon as the wretched meeting with Baldwin is over.’
She did not ask what the meeting was about. She was offering him play, not politics. She was sure David was still, at heart, apolitical. He had given Wallis Simpson fascism just as he had given her jewels paid for by the British public’s taxes, and with as little thought for the consequences. ‘Come to Vaile House early and we can toast crumpets and pretend it is our own nursery tea. With honey.’ She stroked his cheek gently with her finger. It was the act of a mistress, but one who also made no sexual demands. ‘Do you remember the Shillings honey, David?’
‘I remember every moment with you,’ he said. She saw his world contract till there was only her.
Of course you do, she thought. You just most carefully forgot. ‘Do you still play the bagpipes darling?’
He grinned at her. ‘Not for ages!’
‘You must play them for us tomorrow night. Please! Rose and Danny will be entranced.’ He moved to sit in the chair she had perched on, her silken shape outlined by the fire behind her — one of her first lessons from Miss Lily had been on the flattering properties of indirect light. ‘You never did tell me how you learned to play so brilliantly.’
He laughed again, and began the story. She listened, her body swan-like, her mind focused on keeping this room a nation of two, with a king who relaxed and could laugh.
Chapter 26
Would it surprise you to know that I regard the act of sexual congress as sacred, a gift and a promise of commitment between two people? I who teach you how to use that gift and manipulate it? I also regard human life as sacred. But there are circumstances such as in defence of others or my country under which I would take human life or help others to do so. But neither the sexual act nor the taking of life should ever be done lightly.
Miss Lily, 1912
Wallis Simpson had left by the time they emerged. So, in fact, had almost all the guests, though they had stayed far longer than Mrs Simpson, who it seemed had remembered a pressing engagement five minutes after the king had vanished. Wallis Simpson was far too canny to force a public scene with a man who might well emerge from a corridor on another woman’s arm. Wallis Simpson would choose her own battlefields.
Emily’s cocktail party however, had probably been the longest in London history, as guests waited for either the king, or the countess, or both, to emerge. Tonight had been a social as well as a political triumph for Emily. The Upper 600 would be talking about it for weeks. Sophie imagined that Wallis Simpson expected the king to seek her out tonight and grovel.
Wallis Simpson was in for a shock. For at exactly midnight, the King of Great Britain and the Colonies was going to bed alone, and at three am exactly, telephone the Dowager Countess of Shillings, who would read him a bedtime story. ‘For it simply isn’t fair that grown-ups don’t have them too, don’t you think so, David? The more responsibility a grown-up has, the more they deserve a bedtime story.’
David had agreed.
It was illicit, secret, with hints of a childhood midnight feast. It also cast Wallis Simpson in the role of nasty nursie, who must be evaded.
Sophie had lingered before being farewelled by Emily and Colonel Sevenoaks, drawing the king into the shadows of an alcove. ‘Tonight at three,’ she whispered. ‘It will be our secret. And then tomorrow . . .’
He stepped out of the shadows and kissed her hand, considered briefly then kissed her deliberately on the lips, in front of the Sevenoaks. It was a declaration. She tried not to think of kings who kissed princesses and turned into toads — no, it was the other way around . . .
But not tonight.
‘Tomorrow we are allowed to play,’ he said softly, and kissed her hand again. She curtseyed to him, laughing, but deferential too.
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
Both Daniel and Lily looked at her far too patiently. Damn having a psychiatrist fiancé and a . . . a . . . whatever Lily was: both were far too understanding.
‘Tea,’ murmured Miss Lily.
‘Chicken soup,’ said Daniel.
‘Cocoa,’ commanded Ethel, suddenly appearing. Sophie blinked. She hadn’t noticed her, apparently disguised as a sofa, in a dress of much the same size and pattern. ‘Get the girl some cocoa.’
‘Ethel, what are you doing here?’ demanded Sophie.
‘James,’ explained Ethel briefly.
James had not spoken apart from a brief ‘Well done, my dear’ as he dropped her back at Vaile House. James did not have to ask any questions. He had seen Wallis Simpson storm off, had seen David’s face as he farewelled Sophie, and yet James had seemed surprised, even disconcerted by her success.
He didn’t think I could do it, thought Sophie, still shaking, though she didn’t know why she trembled. Nor did she want to think about the cause.
Ethel pulled the bell. ‘Cocoa and toast, and don’t spare the butter,’ she said when Hereward appeared. ‘You need summat to settle your tum, Sophie old girl. Well, did you net him?’
‘Yes,’ said Sophie tiredly. She glanced at Daniel, then at Lily. ‘No seductions. None of your Krafft-Ebing, either. I gathered the king as soon as he and Simpson entered and took him off to plan play dates. He is going to ring here at three am and I will read him a bedtime story. The Magic Pudding,’ she added. ‘David has never read it.’
She still didn’t know what she felt; distaste, certainly, because no matter how good the cause, she had been just like Wallis Simpson tonight, playing a game to capture a king. Triumph, because she had won, as least the first match. Shame, because she knew exactly the kind of carelessly cruel man David was, a man who had not even cared tonight that he had left the woman he supposedly adored alone, exposed to the titters of society while he reminisced with Sophie. And sorry for him too, because he was at heart a small, lonely man searching for certain
ty, love and kingship in a world he did not understand, a three-year-old child given control of a racing car, with no limits of how far it could go.
‘You found exactly what he needed,’ said Lily softly.
‘Wallis Simpson left furious and humiliated,’ added James, still distracted. ‘Accompanied by the delighted titters of society. The news will be all around London by breakfast.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I will need to make some calls.’
Sophie shook her head, wonderingly. ‘Is there anyone at all in England who actually likes Wallis Simpson? Beyond those in the German Embassy. Apart from David.’ I left him feeling like a bull at the Royal Easter Show, she thought. A royal show indeed. ‘David and I will play sailboats with the children tomorrow in the park . . .’
‘A very public place . . .’ murmured Lily. ‘Excellent. Nor one where Mrs Simpson can intrude, unless she can borrow some children.’
‘And he is coming here tomorrow night after his meeting with the prime minister. I presume he will stay to dine, and after that? I have no idea.’ She shook her head. ‘I should say something clever about bedtime stories, but I am too tired and too —’
‘Shocked,’ said Ethel. ‘You’re in shock, Sophie my girl. You just remember you’ve been doing good tonight, and for others, millions of others, not yourself. Poke the fire up, man,’ she said to Daniel. ‘Here!’ She put a lap rug around Sophie’s shivering shoulders. ‘Ah, cocoa. The best stuff in the world. Get that into you. And that toast, please.’
‘Excuse me. I need to make those calls.’ James hesitated, then bent and kissed Sophie lightly on the forehead. ‘You were amazing,’ he said quietly, and left the room.
It was as if Sophie were back in 1917, doing the unthinkable, seeing the unwatchable, coping with it all, as long as there was cocoa and toast at the end or maybe a bun if she was lucky.
She drank, ate, realised that she had been nauseous but the nausea had eased, stopped trembling at last, then finally looked at Lily’s face, then Daniel’s.
Lilies, Lies and Love Page 14
