A Royal Pain (13 page)

Belinda plunged right in, sailing up to the bar. “What are we making tonight, darlings?” she asked. “Can we manage a sidecar? Oh, and make it a double while you’re about it, there’s an angel.”

She looked back at Hanni and me, still standing just inside the front door.

“Come on. What are you drinking?”

“I try some moonshine,” Hanni said. “That is what Edward G. Robinson drinks.”

“Hanni, this is England. Drinking is legal here. We don’t need moonshine,” I said.

At that moment the dance number ended and Gussie Gormsley came out of the drawing room, dabbing at his face with a red silk handkerchief. “My God, it’s like a Turkish bath in there,” he said. “A drink, my good man, and rapidly.” Then he saw us and looked genuinely pleased. “Hello, Georgie, hello, Belinda. You came. Splendid. Hoping you would.” Then his eyes moved to Hanni. “And who is this delightful creature?”

“This is Princess Hannelore of Bavaria,” I said. “She’s staying with me. I hope you don’t mind that we brought her along.”

“Not at all. Delighted. Most welcome, Princess.”

“Call me Hanni,” she said, graciously extending a hand to him.

“Hanni, this is one of our hosts, Augustus Gormsley,” I said.

“Call me Gussie, everyone else does. And we’re having a positively royal evening. Half the crowned heads of Europe will be here before the night is over. But where are my manners? You ladies need a drink before I introduce you.”

He went up to the bar and handed us something pink with a cherry in it. “That will put hair on your chest,” he said.

“But I do not wish hair on my chest,” Hanni said, causing a general laugh.

“I’m sure your chest is absolutely beautiful the way it is,” Gussie replied, studying it earnestly. “Come on in and meet people.”

“It’s awfully loud,” Belinda said. “I’m surprised the police haven’t shown up yet.”

“Already been and gone, old thing,” Gussie replied with a grin. “And we have the helmet to prove it. We did send the poor chap off with ten quid to keep him happy, however.”

He took Hanni and me by the arm and steered us into the drawing room. “Look what I just found out in the hall,” he called to Lunghi Fotheringay.

Introductions were made. Lunghi made a beeline for Hanni and steered her out to the balcony to see the view.

“He doesn’t waste any time, does he?” Gussie said, looking a little disappointed. “Now, let’s see. Who do you know?”

“I’m sure nobody,” I said. “I don’t exactly mix with the smart set.”

“Nonsense,” Gussie said. “I’m sure you know old Tubby, don’t you? Tubby Tewkesbury? Everyone knows old Tubby.”

A large, red-faced fellow turned at the sound of his name. That face lit up when he saw me. “What-ho, Georgie. Didn’t expect to see you at a bash like this. In fact, I haven’t seen you since you came out. Down in London for a while, are you?”

“I’m living here now. Attempting to make my own way in the world.”

“Splendid. That is good news. Although you don’t want to get mixed up with this lot. They’ll lead you down the road to perdition, you know.”

“Ah, but think of the fun she’ll have along the way,” Gussie said. “Come on, drink up.”

The band struck up again and Tubby dragged me onto the dance floor. His gyrations were even more dangerous than those around us and I was lucky to come out of the dance with no black eyes or broken toes. “Another drink, I think,” he said, as the sweat ran down his face. “Same for you, old thing?” and he took my glass for a refill before I could answer.

I stood alone, looking around the room, trying to recognize faces in the dark, and found myself looking directly at a face I knew only too well.

“Mother!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Having fun, darling, the same as you,” she said. She was reclining in one of the low leather armchairs, a cigarette holder held nonchalantly in one hand, a cocktail glass in the other. “Dear Noel insisted on bringing me.”

“Noel?”

“Noel Coward, darling. You must have heard of Noel. Everybody knows Noel. He writes the most divine plays and acts in them too. So talented. And he positively adores me.”

“Mummy, so he was the man who was making you think of ditching Max?”

She laughed. “Oh no, no, no. He doesn’t adore me in that way, I assure you, darling. But he’s trying to persuade me to return to the stage. He wants to write a play especially for little
moi.
Isn’t that touching?”

“Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking of returning to the stage?”

She looked coy. “Noel has been absolutely begging me. And I have to admit, it might be fun.”

“You should take him up on his offer,” I said. “You can’t go on relying on men to support you for the rest of your life, you know.”

She laughed, that wonderfully melodious peal that made heads turn throughout a room. “You are so sweet. If I were desperate I believe I’m still officially married to a deadly dull Texan millionaire and I could go and live on a ranch for the rest of my days. If not he, then several others are lining up for the position, you know. But as it happens, I’m not desperate. I do have a teeny bit tucked away for a rainy day, and that sweet little villa outside Cannes that Marc-Antoine gave me.”

“Marc-Antoine?”

“The French racing driver who was so tragically killed at Monte Carlo. I truly believe I could have been happy with him for the rest of my life.” An expression of grand tragedy covered her face, then the smile broke through again. “Well, maybe not. All those exhaust fumes. So bad for the complexion.”

“So you’re seriously considering going back on the stage?”

“I’m sorely tempted,” she said. “But I can already hear the whispers: ‘She started off as a duchess and it’s been all downhill from there on.’ ”

“As if you worry what people say,” I said. “There must have been a good deal of talk during your life.”

She laughed again. “You’re right. To hell with what people say. And speaking of what people say, you missed the grand entrance of the evening.”

“Grand entrance and it wasn’t yours?”

“The Prince of Wales, darling, with the dreadful American woman clinging to his arm.”

“He brought her here with Mr. Simpson in tow?”

“He did indeed.”

“The queen will be furious,” I said. “Where are they now?”

My mother was positively gloating. “The spider-woman took one look at me and announced that the party wasn’t her thing. ‘You didn’t tell me that the riffraff would be here, David,’ she said and stalked out.”

“Damned cheek.”

“That’s what I thought, considering I have legitimately been a duchess and she hasn’t risen above the rank of American housewife. But they left and I stayed, which I consider a victory, darling.” She sat up, suddenly alert. “Ah, there Noel is now, darling. Noel, have you brought me another drink, my sweet?”

The suave and elegant figure whom I recognized from the pages of countless magazines glided toward us with a glass in each hand and an ebony cigarette holder balanced between his fingers. “Your wish is my command, as you well know,” he said. “Here’s to us, darling, the two most beautiful and talented people in the room.”

“And may I introduce my daughter, Georgiana?” My mother gestured to me.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you are not old enough to have a daughter out of nappies.”

“You are such a flatterer,” she said. “You know I positively adore you.”

“Not as much as I adore you.”

I looked around to escape from this orgy of adoration and beat a tactful retreat toward the hallway. Hanni was standing surrounded by a group of young men.

“I like English parties, “ she said to me as I joined them.

Noel Coward reappeared, having apparently torn himself away from my mother. He eyed us both appraisingly. “What lusciously virginal apparitions,” he said. “So ripe and absolutely begging to be deflowered instantly. I almost feel I should take up the challenge myself, if it wouldn’t make a certain person insanely jealous.”

I thought for a moment that he was referring to my mother, but I saw him glance across the hallway to where a man was leaning against the wall, watching him with a frown on his face. I reacted with surprise as I recognized the person. It was the king’s youngest son, Prince George, currently an officer in the Guards. He noticed me at the same moment and came over to me.

“Georgiana. What a pleasant surprise.” His hand firmly gripped my elbow and he steered me away. “For God’s sake don’t mention to my parents that you saw me here, will you? There would be a frightful row. You know what father is like.”

“My lips are sealed, sir,” I said.

“Splendid,” he said. “Let me get you a drink.”

I accompanied him to the bar. Noel Coward had now taken over at the piano. He was singing, in that peculiar clipped, bored voice of his, “It’s a silly little ditty, and it really isn’t pretty, but one really can’t be witty all the time. . . .”

“I get another drink too.” Hanni had appeared beside us at the bar. “I like cocktails.” She pronounced it in the American manner—“cacktails.”

“They are rather delicious, aren’t they?” I agreed. They did seem to be slipping down remarkably easily.

“And so many sexy guys,” she said. “The dark one. He said his name was Edward, but everyone is calling him Lunghi.”

“It’s a nickname, because he’s just come back from India.”

“India?”

“Yes, a lunghi is apparently what they wear there.”

“Ah. He is sexy guy, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I suppose he is.” I looked around for him and then froze. Lunghi was now perched on the arm of my mother’s chair and she was gazing up at him. As I watched, he took the cherry from his glass and placed it in my mother’s mouth. I was wondering how to distract Hanni from this embarrassing scene but she had already given an excited little squeak. “And there is the man from the park.”

Chapter 14

My heart leaped. I was sure she meant Darcy, but instead, standing in the doorway was the young man from the communist rally. He was not wearing threadbare clothes tonight, however, but a dinner jacket like everyone else. He looked positively civilized. Hanni rushed straight up to him. “Hiya, baby. What a kick to see you.”

“Roberts just walked in,” I heard Gussie say to Lunghi. “Did you invite him?”

“Had to, old chap. He’s harmless enough, isn’t he? Pretty much housetrained. Won’t pee on the carpet.”

“Yes, but, I mean to say . . . Roberts and the prince at the same party. Shows how broadminded we are, what?”

“Who exactly is this Roberts?” I asked Gussie. “Hanni and I saw him at a communist rally in Hyde Park.”

“Doesn’t surprise me at all. Terribly earnest is our Sidney. Good causes and rights for the masses and all that. Of course he came from the masses, so one can understand, I suppose.”

“He’s a GSB,” Lunghi added, coming to stand beside us. “But a good enough chap, in his way.”

“GSB?” I asked.

“Grammar School Boy,” Gussie said, grinning. “He was at Cambridge with us, on a scholarship. Terribly bright. He got me through Greek.”

“Hanni seems to like him,” I commented as I saw them dancing together.

“I don’t think the King of Bavaria would approve if his daughter went to live in a semidetached in Slough,” Gussie muttered to me.

I laughed. “You’re an awful snob.”

Noel Coward’s song finished to a burst of laughter and applause. Gussie took a long draw on his cigarette. “Born to it, my dear. Snobbery is in the blood, like hunting, as you very well know.”

The band struck up another dance number and the floor filled with couples again. Tubby Tewkesbury stumbled past us clutching an empty glass. “Dying of thirst. Need refill,” he muttered.

“Now, he’d make a good match for some poor girl,” Gussie said. “Rolling in money, the Tewkesbury family. And of course he’ll inherit Farringdons. You should snap him up.”

I looked at the sweating back of Tubby’s neck. “I don’t think I could marry anybody just to inherit something.”

“Plenty of girls do,” he said. “Plenty of boys do it too. Money is a useful commodity, isn’t it, Tubby, old bean?”

“What?” Tubby turned blurry eyes onto us and tried to focus.

“I said money comes in useful at times.”

“Oh, rather.” Tubby beamed. “If I were penniless, I’d never be invited to parties like this. No girl would dance with me. As it is I have a hard enough time . . . want to hop around again, Georgie? This one’s a foxtrot, I think. I can manage that.”

“All right.”

He gave me a pathetically grateful smile. He was a nice enough boy. A lot of them were. So why couldn’t I be practical and settle down as the Marchioness of Tewkesbury in that lovely old house?

In the middle of the dance I was aware of someone standing in the doorway, watching me. I looked around and Darcy was leaning nonchalantly against the doorpost, smoking a black cigarette while he studied me with amusement. I went on dancing, horribly conscious of Tubby’s big, sweaty hand on my back, undoubtedly leaving a mark on the taffeta, and of his scary wiggles that passed for moving to the music. I forced myself to carry on chatting merrily and thanked him kindly when the dance was over.