Hollow Crown (6 page)

‘Don’t be so silly, Leo. There’s nothing worth anything in this house. You’re too mean to put in proper heating even. I’m freezing.’ She wrapped herself in
her arms dramatically.

‘Well, you should wear more clothes. Our fathers and grandfathers dressed in several layers of good English worsted before they ventured out so they did not need mollycoddling with heated
pipes and radiators.’

Edward thought the conversation was getting a little too acerbic for comfort – no one likes being called mean – so he hurriedly broke in with a story of how as a child his father had
allowed them all to freeze in sympathy with the troops at the front. It was ridiculous, Edward knew, but all the time he was talking he was imagining what it would be like to take Dannie in his
arms and make violent, passionate love to her. This woman had only to utter a few banalities and it made the blood pump through his veins and all powers of intelligent conversation left him. There
was something pagan . . . elemental about her which intrigued and baffled him. He thought of Rider Haggard’s
She
, a favourite book of his when he had been a child.

Lord Benyon, half annoyed and half amused, saw what was happening and relinquished Edward to the siren with some degree of disappointment. He hoped the young man, whom he had liked on sight, was
not going to be led astray by this strange-looking woman. He would ask Inna what she thought. He usually found his wife percipient about the love lives of their friends. Molly too watched Edward
intently. Her face was drawn and her brow furrowed. She was clearly unhappy. Edward caught her eye and his heart almost failed him as he remembered why he was here at Haling. He shivered. How pale
and wan Englishwomen, even Molly Harkness, seemed in Dannie’s presence.

Before long, Scannon dismissed the party to rest and change for dinner. ‘Pickering will show you your room, Corinth,’ he said, escorting him to the foot of the stairs where a grave,
bespectacled man awaited him. ‘The gong goes at seven and we foregather here for cocktails. It’s my custom to take anyone who wishes it on a guided tour of the house after dinner. In
spite of what Dannie says, I do at least have a picture or two which might interest you. Oh, by the way, the party’s not yet complete. We’re being joined by Sir Geoffrey and Lady
Hepple-Keen and Mr Larry Harbin, the American millionaire. Harbin’s a most interesting man. I met him in New York last year and we found we had much in common. He’s a close friend of
President Roosevelt. I shall be interested to hear what you make of him.’

‘And Hepple-Keen? He’s one of your lot, isn’t he, Leo?’ Edward said.

‘My lot? Oh, yes. He’s MP for Leicester North and a coming man. The PM thinks well of him.’

‘No, I mean he’s an admirer of the Führer, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, he was one of our little party in Berlin for the Games. Does that bother you? I know you do not share our admiration for what the Reich Chancellor has achieved. Hepple-Keen had a
very good war, you know, Corinth. He knows what it is to have Germany as an enemy but, like me, he now thinks we ought to make it our friend and ally.’

‘I understand the Führer also had “a good war”, as you put it. So good he wishes to repeat it.’

Scannon looked at Edward with distaste. He hoped his guest was not going to be a bore about politics. He said, ‘That’s nonsense. The Führer wants to be our friend if only
warmongers like you would let him. He admires the British Empire. His enemies should be ours.’

Realizing he was becoming shrill, Scannon said more quietly, ‘By the way, I make it a rule in this house to keep off politics when the ladies are present. Perhaps over a cigar and a brandy
we might try and convert you, Corinth, but . . . ’ he lowered his voice so only Edward could hear, ‘we mustn’t let anything distract you from . . . from your real reason for being
here.’

Pickering escorted him to his bedroom on the front of the house. Fenton had unpacked and laid out his clothes for the evening. ‘Arctic, eh, Fenton?’ he said, rubbing his hands.

‘My lord?’ Fenton inquired.

‘This room . . . it’s icy. Is that all the heating there is?’ He pointed to a single bar electric fire which glowed feebly in the fireplace.

‘Yes, my lord. I inquired whether it might not be possible to light a fire in the grate . . . ’

‘It’s big enough.’ The electric fire was lost in a gaping aperture in which a huge metal grid, resembling some instrument of medieval torture, stood gleaming with lack of
use.

‘Yes, my lord. Unfortunately, Mr Pickering informed me the bedroom fires are never lit for fear of causing a conflagration which might endanger the house.’

‘Well, we don’t want that, I suppose. Throw me my dressing gown, will you,’ he said, taking off his jacket. ‘I suppose one can have a bath?’

‘Yes, my lord. There is a bathroom at the end of the passage. I deferred drawing a bath for you, my lord, until you came up as I understand it is shared with two other guests on this
corridor, Mrs Harkness and Mr Harbin. If I may say so, I would advocate having your bath in good time, my lord. Mr Pickering indicated to me that the plumbing is . . . antiquated and the hot water
is not to be relied upon.’

‘I see. Well, yes, poor Mr Harbin. After Mrs Harkness and I have bathed I doubt there will be anything for him. As I remember it, she was quite happy to rough it for days at a time but
when she is in civilization, so to speak, she likes to indulge herself. By the way, Fenton, where is her room? I would like to have a chat with her . . . a private chat.’

Fenton raised an eyebrow – a liberty permitted by his long and intimate connection with his master which, on occasion, went beyond that of master and servant to trusted aide and partner in
the detection of crime.

‘Don’t try my patience,’ Edward said irritably. ‘My interest in Mrs Harkness is purely business.’

‘Indeed, my lord,’ Fenton said hastily. ‘Her room is next to yours. Indeed, there is a connecting door behind the screen but the door is locked so it is necessary to go out
into the passage.’

Edward went over to the corner where a chinoiserie screen of surpassing ugliness made an unavailing attempt to suppress a draught or two. He peered behind it and saw a stout door which looked as
if it had not been opened in years. He did not try it because if Fenton said it was locked, then it was. It was typical of the man’s efficiency that he had surveyed his master’s
sleeping quarters so carefully. Edward noticed that, rather unusually in a country house, his bedroom door had a key in it.

‘What’s your room like?’ Edward asked.

‘Modest, my lord, but, if I may say so, more comfortable than this one. It is on the top floor where the other servants sleep.’

‘Well, you’d better go and draw my bath then. Though wait a moment, perhaps it would be polite if I first discovered whether Mrs Harkness wanted to bathe now or later. I’ll
just knock on her door.’

Molly answered his knock after a moment’s struggle with the doorknob. She was still fully clothed and said she was going to rest on her bed before having her bath so Edward put his head
back round his own door and told Fenton to go ahead.

‘Come and sit down over here, Edward dear,’ she said when he had returned. ‘Would you like a snifter?’ She waved a silver flask at him.

‘Where did that come from?’ Edward asked admiringly.

‘Oh, I have stayed with Leo before and, knowing how cold this house is, I took the precaution of bringing my own supplies of warmth. I can’t rely on you providing bodily warmth, can
I?’

Edward knew she was alluding to their nights on the veldt when they had clung together against the wind that chilled the marrow in their bones, and he smiled.

‘What is it? Brandy? Yes please, Molly, just a drop. Is Leo really hard up or just a skinflint?’

‘The latter. He’s rolling in it. Come and make yourself comfy on the bed, darling.’

‘Do we use these?’ Edward brought over two water glasses that stood beside a carafe on the bedside table. In companionable silence he watched her pour two inches from her flask in
each glass.

‘Chin-chin,’ she said, and they touched glasses.

Edward drank, spluttered but felt with gratitude a warm tingle spread through his stomach. ‘More please! Have you got enough?’

‘Yes, here.’ She passed him the flask. ‘Hey, not too much. I must keep some for later. You know Pickering can’t bring us booze without his master’s express
permission. Leo keeps the keys to the tantalus himself. Isn’t that the limit? By the way, you
are
coming to see me later?’

‘Well, yes, I do want to talk to you. Perhaps just before we turn in?’

‘’Talk? I never understand why we only talked when we were in Africa. I suppose it was my fault. I was still feeling ghastly over that business with Raymond. You were so sweet to
me.’ She came up close to him and Edward knew she wanted him to kiss her.

‘Hey, steady on, old girl,’ he said, choosing his words to sound as unenthusiastic as possible. ‘I thought we agreed we would just be good pals?’

‘Oh, that was in Africa. It’s different now.’

‘But surely, I mean, a beautiful woman like you . . . ’

‘You think I must have lovers?’ she said bitterly. ‘I could have. I did have. Don’t you read the papers? But at the moment I’m – what do they say? –
fancy-free.’

‘Well, yes. That’s what I need to talk to you about . . . later.’

‘What?’ she said, suddenly suspicious.

‘Lovers, ex-lovers.’

‘You don’t have a message for me from
him
, do you?’

She was suddenly breathless and her pupils dilated.

‘Not exactly,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Tell me something, Molly. How was it you met the Prince of Wales? I mean, to put it crudely, you weren’t moving in those sort of
circles in Kenya. That man you were consorting with – what was his name, Davenant? He wasn’t exactly out of the top drawer if you’ll forgive me for saying so.’

‘Douglas? Yes, he was rather awful, wasn’t he? He couldn’t stay in the colony after Raymond shot himself – not without marrying me and neither of us wanted that. I
don’t hold it against him. We never pretended we loved each other or anything like that. We were lovers, yes, but only because we were so bored. Raymond was such a swine . . . ’

‘You loved him once,’ Edward said reprovingly.

‘I know I did,’ she said sombrely, ‘but he was so weak. Drunkards are such bores, aren’t they, darling? I thought I could make him something important in the colony
– top dog – but he was too idle, too bloody weak.’

She spoke with a contempt which chilled Edward. He now remembered why they had never become lovers. He had been sorry for her, he had admired her spirit – she was as brave as a lion and
flew totally without fear – but she was cold. She had never spoken of her own childhood but it cannot have been happy. She had never managed to learn how to love. That was Edward’s
diagnosis. Freud might have been interested in her, he thought. She was seductive, she could pretend to love but poor Raymond had not lived up to her expectations and had been humiliated by her. He
must have known long before he found her in bed with the odious Douglas Davenant – a remittance man of the worst kind who had never done a day’s work in his life – that she was
cuckolding him. She had driven the man to drink and suicide. It was as simple as that and yet, as soon as she got back to England, she had been taken up by the Prince and his circle. Edward knew he
had some pretty raffish friends but it needed some explaining.

‘Raymond left me quite well off, you know,’ she said, looking at him speculatively.

‘Yes, but how did you meet the King – or rather the Prince as he was then?’

‘I met this very sweet man in Cape Town. Lewis Van Buren. I don’t know whether your paths have ever crossed?’ He shook his head. ‘Well, he was an absolute dear. He took
charge of me and took me back home and introduced me to David.’

‘Were you and this man lovers?’ he inquired brutally.

She blushed and Edward felt he had been a cad.

‘Sorry, my dear, but you do attract men, don’t you?’

‘Well, if you want to know, we were lovers, very briefly. He’s a diamond merchant – very rich.’ She opened her eyes wide. ‘I mean
very
rich. A Jew but a nice
Jew. I liked him. I felt . . . I felt safe with him.’

‘And he introduced you into royal circles?’ Edward said ironically.

‘Yes, I think he had lent the Prince money . . . anyway, he knew him very well. He said the Prince would love me . . . and he did,’ she said simply.

Edward understood that Van Buren was one of those useful men who hang about the rich and famous – lend them money, find them women and do their dirty work. He wondered if Verity might find
out something about him through the paper.

‘I see. Look, Molly, there are things we have to talk about. I know it’s not my business but, as a friend, I hate to see you get into trouble . . . ’

‘Oh God, Edward, you’re not going to lecture me, are you? Anyway, I’m not the one who’s going to get into trouble. I’ve seen a lot of things and I could tell a lot
of tales . . . but I don’t want to. I just want to be treated . . . fairly. I’m not just a whore to be chucked out with the garbage . . . ’

At that moment, to Edward’s relief, there was a light knock on the door and Fenton informed him his bath was ready for him.

‘Molly, I’d better go and do my ablutions, don’t y’know,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Let’s talk after dinner. There are things I want to say to you – not
a lecture, I promise, but not just now . . . Fenton, my man, tells me the hot water system in this place is suspect so I ought to go. See you later, eh?’

The bath was a huge ornate affair and the taps were in the shape of dolphins and difficult to manoeuvre but the water was warm enough – just. As he lay looking at the peeling paint on the
ceiling, he wished he was in his rooms in Albany. But then his heart beat a little faster. Despite the horror of having to break bread with men like Scannon and his cronies, despite having to
extract a lover’s letters from a woman betrayed, there was the sheer excitement of being in the same house as Dannie.