Abdication: A Novel (25 page)

However, during the demanding schedule of the working week, May’s mood remained buoyant. She was enjoying getting to know Sir Philip, whose extracurricular legal work had also increased twofold since the beginning of the year. He had been appointed to help advise the new king’s legal team and May felt the privilege of trust when handling the related documents. She looked forward to the evenings when she joined the other chauffeurs who waited for their bosses to emerge from the House of Commons. Many of the drivers had been initially dismissive of a woman in their line of work but May’s extensive knowledge of the machinery that formed the nuts and bolts of their profession soon silenced the sceptics among them. Even taxi drivers knew about Miss Thomas and occasionally wound down their window
at a traffic light and invited her into one of the green-painted cabman’s shelters for a cup of tea. The elder drivers saw to it that no impropriety was ever ventured, although the level of flirtation was not insignificant. Between themselves all the drivers agreed that Miss Thomas was a bit of all right.

Most evenings May would stand by the passenger door of the Rolls-Royce, her cap in hand, waiting for Sir Philip, who would rush out from the Commons main door, the
Evening Standard
under his arm, and almost fall onto the leather seat of the Rolls. When he was on his own he chose to sit up in the front beside May, who sometimes caught a look of surprise on the faces of passers-by. At times he would be consumed by a story in the newspaper, and at others he would look directly ahead in silence. May had come to interpret his moods. He could give the impression of aloofness, even arrogance. But there was nothing in him of the smug, self-satisfied ways of his children. He often asked how May was getting on. She had told him of her pride at how Sam had been selected as part of the naval volunteer team on the imminent maiden voyage of the
Queen Mary
. He was to join the crew of a naval launch bringing an admiral from Portsmouth to Southampton in preparation for his transatlantic voyage on the new liner.

Sir Philip was delighted to hear the news of Sam’s advancement. The launching of the
Queen Mary
promised to be the last word in magnificence. Sir Philip had been discussing the ship with Duncan Grant at a recent party in Sussex. Grant was a most engaging man who lived near Cuckmere at Charleston, a farmhouse cocooned by the embracing sweep of the surrounding South Downs. He shared the house with the artist Vanessa Bell, and the Cunard directors had commissioned paintings from them both to decorate the vast amounts of wall space that lined every floor of the ship. As part of her contribution, Vanessa had painted a scene set near a fountain in London’s Kensington Gardens, inspired by a memory of that park near where she and her two
brothers and her sister, Virginia, had grown up. The quintessentially English painting with two children and their nanny playing on a summer’s day at the foot of a fountain was to be hung in a private dining room on board the ship’s first-class accommodation. Mr. Grant, on the other hand, had fallen out badly with the Cunard authorities after they rejected his nude murals as “inappropriate for the elegant taste of the new vessel,” and at the party Sir Philip had been left in no doubt of the painter’s outrage at such censorship.

On the day of
Queen Mary
’s maiden voyage May drove the Rolls-Royce down to the Southampton docks. Lady Joan had been invited as one of several MPs’ wives who were making up a party of distinguished guests. She had invited Evangeline to join her, knowing that the occasion promised to be the sort of British outing that Miss Nettlefold enjoyed so much.

Mrs. Simpson regretted she would not be joining them in Southampton.

“She is remaining in London to help the king put the finishing touches to an important dinner planned for tonight at York House,” Miss Nettlefold explained to Lady Joan in the car on the way to Harrods to collect their new hats for the ceremony. “Of course, I quite understand why at the last minute Wallis feels there is no room for me at the dinner. The king already has his full complement of guests, what with the Duff Coopers, the Mountbattens, Lady Cunard and the prime minister himself. But Wallis has told me that the king intends to introduce Mr. Baldwin to ‘his future wife’!”

May listened to Miss Nettlefold’s newly animated chatter through the not-quite-closed glass partition. The American woman had been noticeably subdued over the past few weeks, her buoyant mood dipping at the same rate as the number of visits to the Fort had dwindled. She confided to May that she had looked into the price of a ticket to
sail back to New York on the new ship but that it was beyond her reach, and anyway there wasn’t really anything to return to America
for
. Her brother wrote her the occasional postcard, but the cards never convinced her that her family were missing her very much. Looking on the bright side, however, Mrs. Simpson had mentioned something about spending a few weeks in the Mediterranean later on in the summer and Miss Nettlefold was hoping the invitation would soon be confirmed.

“I always say it is the things that you don’t do in life that you regret, May,” she had said with a girlish little jump before climbing into the backseat of the car beside Joan.

They had reached the outskirts of Southampton in good time. May had eased the car onto the narrow wooden deck of the Woolston Floating Bridge and to the sound of clanking chains and the hiss of steam, the Blunt party had remained in the car as they floated across the River Itchen to the port on the opposite bank. The
Queen Mary
was scheduled to depart at 4:30 p.m., allowing time for lunch beneath the Tudor beams of the old Court Room in the Red Lion Inn. A table had been reserved in the very room where, five hundred years earlier, traitors plotting against the life of Henry V had been found guilty and sentenced to death.

“How quaint this is!” Miss Nettlefold had exclaimed. “Don’t you applaud a grim death for those who deserve it, May?” she continued, as Lady Joan teased her for looking in the corners for signs of dried blood.

“Shall we have a good talk about everything when we get home, Evangeline, darling?” May heard Lady Joan ask. “You seem worried about something, and I want to help if I can.”

May saw Miss Nettlefold nod and rest her hand gently on Lady Joan’s arm.

“I would like that very much,” Miss Nettlefold replied quickly. “The sooner the better. I do feel a bit uncertain about things.”

After leaving the women to their lunch, sisterly pride fluttered through May as she watched her brother march smartly along the dock towards her, smoothing down the front of his blue naval trousers. The cut was difficult to get used to but he had found that the uniform with its white, sharp-edged collar and side fastening buttons had an instant effect on girls. Sam had been given half an hour of free time to meet up with his sister before rejoining his colleagues for the moment of the sailing. An hour earlier he had stood to attention at the bottom of the gangplank with the rest of the small naval party, as the admiral had boarded the ship. Sam had been permitted to take the suitcases to the admiral’s first-class stateroom and his glimpse of the grandeur and comfort inside the ship was, he told his sister, something he had never seen before.

“Bit of a change from what we sailors are used to. Not a bunk in sight!”

Now the brother and sister stood side by side on the quayside staring up at the two thousand inaugural passengers who were already leaning elbow to elbow along the upper rails. Even at a distance their faces demonstrated the novelty of being celebrities for one afternoon.

At a thousand feet long, the word was that if one of the three funnels was placed on its side six locomotive engines would be able to pass through abreast. May wondered what their father would think of the vessel people were calling “not so much a ship as a gesture.” The newspapers had been full of extravagant statistics for days and May, whose interest in machines did not stop at cars, had been gobbling up every detail she came across. Nat had been given a hand-me-on copy of the
Illustrated London News
by his butler friend and last week’s full-colour commemorative issue had been devoted to the anticipation of the maiden voyage. Not only did the ship weigh more than that of the combined fleet of the Spanish Armada but the throb of the engines was so powerful that reporters feared that a well-shaken martini would spill
over the edge of its glass with the vibrations. There were decks as long as entire village streets. As well as including hundreds of photographs of the interior, the magazine had commissioned drawings of the layout of the different classes of accommodation. A side view section of the ship indicated not only the whereabouts of the sleeping cabins, the libraries, and the drawing rooms but also the position of the two acres of sports and recreation decks, the garage with its capacity for three dozen cars, the two swimming pools, the hospital, the printers’ shop (for the daily newspaper, the menus and entertainment programmes), the cinema and the hairdresser. The ship’s gardener was to make sure that the hundreds of potted plants were well watered while the promenade deck for pets came complete with a convenient lamppost, although curiously the kennels were to be overseen by the ship’s butchers. The memory of Wiggle momentarily interrupted May’s concentration. But turning to the next page of the magazine she came to the diverting charts that showed the huge quantities of linen on board, including twenty-one thousand table cloths and thiry-one thousand pillow cases, and a larder containing vats of caviar.

The clever illustrator had shown how, with its funnels stretching up to two hundred feet from the ship’s keel, the
Queen Mary
would have reached a height of more than thirty feet above Lord Nelson’s tricorn on top of his plinth in Trafalgar Square. An ingenious sketch of the ship’s dining room demonstrated that the
Mayflower
would have fit into just a corner of the new saloon.

On the quayside the Portsmouth division of the Royal Marines were standing to attention. Decked out in white helmets that shimmered like full moons above the red, blue and gold uniform, some of the smaller band members looked as if they might be toppled not only with the weight of the huge drums hung around their necks but with the self-importance that the day’s role had thrust upon them. Many of the buildings that ranged around the dock seemed taller that day,
extended vertically by thousands of spectators who had crowded onto every square foot of roof available in order to get a better view. It was already four o’clock and May hugged Sam goodbye before hurrying back to her seat in the cordoned-off area for chauffeurs near the packed VIP box. Below them Sam’s svelte figure had taken up its place among the small group of naval officers who stood to attention, wishing the admiral Godspeed. May managed to catch Miss Nettlefold’s eye, who beamed back at her after spotting May proudly identifying her brother.

Soon a huge cheer went up from what the wireless had estimated would be a quarter-of-a-million-strong crowd, accompanied by “Rule Britannia” oom-paahing out from the band on the quayside. Flags were flicking in the air, hats were waved and handkerchiefs contributed to the breeze-borne flutterings. Everyone hoped the rain would hold off. Seaplanes skimmed the surface of the water and touch-landed with the agility of dragonflies before lifting off again. Small aeroplanes equipped with cine cameras buzzed in low circles through the threateningly grey sky. Pathé News had guaranteed that the resulting haul of footage would appear on the cinema screens within three days.

Almost imperceptibly the gap between the ship and the quayside increased. Smoke started to appear from the huge funnels. Bunting-draped vessels varying in size from large yachts to the most diminutive of rowing boats, sounded their horns to wish the
Queen Mary
well on her way. A small cry coming from the VIP box distracted May’s attention from the colour and drama of the scene. Leaning forward as far as she could she was just in time to see Lady Joan fall sideways into Miss Nettlefold’s arms. Quickly May clambered over the partition wall to reach the still figure of Lady Joan.

“I had a fearful feeling that something like this might happen,” puffed Miss Nettlefold, who was scarlet in the face with the effort of lifting her limp godmother to a chair. “She has been feeling rather off-colour these past few days. I had a word with Cook about tempting her
with some special dishes but for the life of me I could not get Joan to touch anything. Philip has been beside himself with worry. You should have seen the chocolate tart that came up from the kitchen yesterday but all Joan would do is shake her head at it.”

One look at the colour of Lady Joan’s face and her badly distorted mouth had alerted a steward to go and fetch help. With the lower part of her face fixed in a twisted grimace and two buttons of her silk blouse missing after it had been urgently loosened, Lady Joan was laid at an awkward angle on top of a stretcher, carried down the stairs and out of the back entrance. Once Lady Joan was settled gently in the back of the car and Miss Nettlefold had taken the passenger seat, May set off slowly for the journey back to London.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN