Abdication: A Novel (34 page)

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.