Famous Last Words (51 page)

Christie and Sir Harry Oakes were seated then, squished in between two ladies each, and I know that Oakes had Elsa Maxwell on one side. The chairs they were given, of necessity, were small, and the pieces of silver set for them were

only for the entree and the compote coming later of mangoes, melons and Kirsch. And they only received the briefest visit from the steward: droplets of wine that barely wet the

glass…,

It was a nightmare then to the end of the meal. I don’t know what precisely Christie knew. But he must have known his friend had aces up his sleeve and was going to play them one by one till he’d got the effect he wanted. Still, I had the impression he was just as mystified and ultimately alarmed as the rest of us, watching and listening to Oakes as he produced each card and scored each coup.

“How are you, Harry?” said the Duke. “Sorry we went

ahead without you…” And he lighted his eighteenth or nineteenth cigarette.

“From what I hear,” Sir Harry said, “Your Royal Highness means to go ahead without us all. But Her Grace, of course, will go with you…”

Wallis passed. I passed. The Duke passed.

Elsa looked puzzled.

“Trips?” she said to Wallis, attempting to sparkle.

Wallis gave warning with a look: the subject was taboo.

“Trips is an interesting word, Miss Maxwell,” Sir Harry said. “Thing is, some trips are journeys—and other trips are falls.” He laughed. The most unpleasant laughter I have ever heard.

“Horses trip,” said the Duke. “I’ve had a lot of falls that way…”

“Yes,” said Oakes. “I remember one you had. I was there.”

He looked around the table. “King of England, down on his arse.”

The table froze.

Finally, Elsa broke the silence.

“Better down on his arse than on his luck,” she said.

All eyes—Elsa’s too—looked over at the Duke.

“Yes,” said the Duke. “Ha-ha.”

I had never, till then, heard a person actually use the words ha-ha. It made me laugh. Then Wallis laughed. Then everyone. The ice—for a moment—melted.

After the thaw, however, Oakes went at it again. “Any of you people seen the big silver yacht offshore the last two evenings?”

No they had not—and yes they had. It was roughly half

and half.

“Won’t come in, so I’m told. Stays out there the legal mile and won’t come in. Just sits. Sometimes she sits all night—

and I see her in the morning. Other times…”

Wallis cut in. “Surely it’s just another of those Cuban millionaires. They sit out there and take the best fish and then move off to the Keys and take the best fish there. So I’m told,” she added hastily. “They can’t get landing papers anywhere, you know. I mean they never come and shop and spend their millions—all they do is sit out there and…”

“Wait,” said Sir Harry.

Wallis had walked right in—and knew it. Her complexion reddened.

Then Sir Harry said, “I’d wait, too, if I knew what kind of fish I was going to catch out there. Anyone knows we got the best there is. Unique.” He ate a little food and went on talking, chewing with his mouth open. “Night fishing’s dangerous, though. Never know what you might pick up on the

end of your line. Sharks, sting rays, subs… .”

“What’s a sub?” someone said. “I’ve never heard of subs.”

It was natural—normal, I suppose. There are fish called “bottles” and “skates” and “stockings”. Why should there not be fish called “subs”?

Harry Oakes did not laugh this time. This time he looked across at whoever it was who had spoken and “Madam,”

he said—or “Sir—if you have never heard of subs, then you have never heard of Hitler, either. Or the war.”

367

Wallis laid aside her fork and summoned the steward.

“Clear…” she said. I heard her. “And have Mister Howard come down.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I began to panic in earnest. Everything that Oakes was

saying was proof that he’d not only listened on the telephone but had also followed me to Rawson Square and Harry.

The steward set his staff to clearing away the course in preparation for the compote and he himself went off to fetch Mister Howard.

“I’m sure we don’t want to talk about the war,” said Wallis.

“Let’s change the subject to something closer to home.”

“You can’t get much closer to home than that. Your Highness,”

said Oakes. And all at once, the anger he had withheld

so far, exploded. Rising, he banged the table with his fist and all the little dogs went rushing into the corner to hide.

“The S.S. Munorgo and silver ships and German subs…”

Elsa muttered in my ear, “I thought he was going to end with sealing wax and kings…” and chortled. She was greatly enjoying herself.

“You can’t,” said Oakes, “get any closer to home than

that!” He suddenly pointed at Wallis and shouted, spitting—

“And you damn well know it!”

Wallis did not even blink.

“Oh, I think we can,” she said.

Mister Howard came in and leaned towards the Duchess.

Buzz-buzz.

, “Yes, ma’am.”

Mister Howard left the room.

The compote arrived.

Then Wallis said, “For instance, you could tell us all about Sydney, Sir Harry.”

Harry Oakes’ mouth dropped open.

“Do,” said Wallis, smiling. “It’s such an intriguing story.”

“Sydney?” said Oakes. He really did seem lost and puzzled.

He looked across at Harold Christie. Then at me. And

then, again, at Wallis. “What about him?”

But I could see the fear in his eyes. Wallis had touched

the one dear thing—and dangerous—in his heart: the subject of his children. I could even see the prayer go up: don’t iet her say it, please…

And then she did. She said it, leaning forward, looking at Elsa. “Sydney Oakes has been having an affair with…”

“Freddy?” said Elsa.

Harry Oakes sat down.

For a moment, we were safe.

At the close of the meal, Wallis said to me: come—and it was now I discovered what she had been up to with Mister Howard.

We crossed the hall to the Council Chamber. On the table was a richly shining leather box. Mister Howard, with a pistol in his hand, was standing in front of it. Wallis dismissed him and he went away—though not before he handed

her a chain of keys.

Wallis took me closer and unlocked the box. Inside, against a velvet cushion, lay a necklace with pendant, earrings and brooches of the most exquisite emeralds I had ever seen.

“These,” she said, “were left to the Duke by Queen Alexandra.

Now they are mine—though the present Queen

insists they be returned… .” She lifted the necklace up for me to see against her neck—and laying it back on the velvet, fingered the brooches and earrings.

Wallis said, “These are the loveliest things I own and it would break my heart to part with them. But, still…” She looked at me and shut the lid decisively. “I am sending Harry Oakes to you here. And if—when he is gone and I

return—these emeralds have disappeared, they will have served their purpose.”

Quickly, as if afraid she might change her mind, she hurried to the double doors and opened them both.

“Maubie…?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Save us. If you can.”

I nodded.

Wallis left, and I turned back to gaze at the emeralds. Now,

I thought, lifting the lid, I am playing d’Artagnan. And the Queen of France depends on my finesse.

Oakes, when he entered, was hardly my image of the evil Lady de Winter, but he would do as one whose machinations could destroy a Royal House. On the other hand, I thought I knew him better than to think he could be bribed. I would hold the jewels in reserve for this encounter. Though I might have to use them, I would only use them as a last resort.

I offered him some port from the sideboard.

No thankyou.

Yes; he was going to be difficult.

“I’ve been asked to speak with you,” I said.

“So I gathered,” he replied. “But I’m not obliged to listen.”

“No. But I think you’d be very unwise—I think you would regret it if you didn’t,”

“Oh? Regret it? That sounds kind of like a threat, Mister Mauberley.”

“It is,” I said. “But not of the deadly kind.” I became inspired. I knew exactly what to say—and how to use the emeralds.

“Listen, Sir Harry,” I said. “You’ve hit upon an intrigue in a most unfortunate way. It is true, the Duke and Duchess are departing…”

“Hah!” he roared. “Hah-hah!” And he did a sort of little dance.

I said; “please do be quiet and hear me out. You’ve no

idea at all what you’ve put in jeopardy here. And you just may be dancing on someone’s grave.”

This sobered him, at least for the moment.

“All right,” he said. “Speak.”

“The Duke,” I said, “is ill.”

“You’re god damn right he is,” said Oakes. “The impotent twit!”

“He’s physically ill,” I persisted, “and requires a most delicate operation in order to save his life.”

Oakes paled. “His life is in danger!”

“Yes,” I said. “Imminent.” And left it at that for the moment, letting it swim around in Sir Harry’s brain.

Then, just at the very moment I could see he was ready

370

to believe, I went across to the leather box and sadly, with a heavy heart, I lifted the lid.

Oakes stared.

“There’s a surgeon in Boston who can save him,” I said.

“But it’s very touch and go. The Duke cannot be flown—and therefore he must go by ship. Of course, it would never do to have it known he was leaving the island by ship, lest the Germans send a U-boat and sink him. Therefore, it’s all being done under cover of darkness. Except that…somehow…”

I did not say how, in order to shame him that he had followed me “…you, of all people, fell upon the plan and, for whatever reason, misinterpreted…”

“Oh, dear me,” said Oakes, whose eye was on the emeralds.

“What have I done?”

“Whatever you have done,” I said, “can only be undone

if you promise never to mention it again. The best and only ally we have, is silence.”

Oakes sat down. And then I played the emeralds.

“These,” I said, “have been donated by the Duchess as

payment for the surgeon, but if you will accept the brooches in lieu of what is already owed you…” I was gambling, of course, outrageously—but it worked.

I saw Oakes face twist up in the all too familiar prelude to tears.

“I wouldn’t take a cent,” he said. “I wouldn’t accept a penny. Why,” he said, “I’ll wipe out the debt altogether.

What’s a little money with a person’s life at stake? Oh, God…” and here the tears became a flood. “What have I done? What have I done?”

When the tears subsided and he’d blown his nose and put away his handkerchief, he said; “I must admit, I never did like her. But the Duke, I did. I liked him very much. And I knew there had to be something wrong. He was behaving.

…Really, he was just too peculiar,” Then; “look,” he said—and rose and began to cross to the doors. “Don’t let her sell those emeralds. Let me pay for this. I wouldn’t mind at all, if it will help the Duke.” He was now at the door.

“Boston, you say?”

“That’s right.”

“An operation?”

371

“Yes.”

“Get him away in secret—no one’s to know.…”

“That’s right.”

“I won’t breathe a word.”

“Good for you.”

Oakes went through the door and looked back in. “Boston’s a good place to hide,” he said. “That’s where I sent

my daughter Nancy, when I had to get her away from that pervert Freddy…”

“Yes.” My heart stopped.

“Boston’s a good safe place,” he said.

“That’s why we’ve chosen it,” I said, barely able to breathe.

“Of course.”

He was gone. It took me at least another minute to recover.

Then, at last, I breathed an enormous sigh of relief and turned to close the lid on the emeralds. Done, 1 was thinking. Now there is nothing standing in our way. And at that very moment, Oakes returned—and I guess I knew he must.

“You son-of-a-bitch,” he said. “You lying son-ofa-bitch.”

I felt my shoulders give.

“There’s no more anything wrong with that impotent twit in there than there was with my daughter Nancy…”

And so, the game was up. All the time I had been talking, something had been worrying me—which was that I knew

I had heard the story I was telling, before. Illness—operation—Boston..

.

And if anyone knew that combination was a lie, it had to be Sir Harry Oakes.

By twelve o’clock the other guests had left. Only I remained and the Duke was asleep, having taken pills and retired to his apartment.

“All right,” said Wallis, once we were cloistered safely in her bedroom. “What are we going to do?”

I told her I did not know. And it was true. I was numb.

My brain would not perform.

Wallis said, “Do you think he can really harm us? Stop

us?”

I didn’t even have to pause. “Yes,” I said. “I think he can.”

Wallis sat on her bed. She looked so forlorn that I though we were back in China, certainly back in the South of France I watched her picking at the threads of the coverlet, damagin) her nails, trying to contain herself and finally succeeding When she spoke, her voice was just as calm as if we sat a dinner, drinking wine. “I have only one more chance.” shf said. “Only one.” Then she smiled. “We’ve been leaning 01

each other now—you and I—for almost twenty years…”

I blushed. I had never thought she had leaned on me, onh that 1 had leaned on her. Wallis was strong and I was weak It was a fact of life.

“Ever since I was Mrs Winfield Spencer…yes? In thi

lobby of the old Imperial Hotel, Shanghai…” Wallis stooc up and walked across to the windows, looking down througl the slats of her shutters at the lawn where Harry Oakes hac stood and yelled obscenities that other night in the rain anc where, two years ago, fifty-five people had died in a night mare of fire. “Everyone wanders off,” she said. “Everyom wanders off and is gone before I can catch them, Maubie Catch them?” She laughed. “I make it sound so cruel. Anc that isn’t what I mean.” She turned away again. “My rathe]