Queen of Hearts (Royal Spyness Mysteries) (11 page)

“Do you really think your mother would notice you were gone?” Darcy laughed.

“Probably not. But I should get back just in case.” I stood up and pulled him to his feet.

Our shoes crunched on the gravel path as we made our way back to the lights of the city. His hand was warm in mine. “Do you think you might be following Stella out to California?” I asked. “She’s taking an aeroplane in the morning.”

“Who knows?” Darcy said. “I’m waiting for a wire from London to see what they want to do next. And to see where the ruby might turn up.”

“I wish you were coming with me.” I looked up at him, taking in the familiar details of his face.

He paused. “I’d better not be seen at the Plaza. Just in case. So I’ll say good-bye here, Georgie. Take care of yourself and don’t do anything silly, promise?”

“I might say the same for you,” I said. “You know I worry about you.”

“I’ll be just fine.” He brushed back a strand of hair from my cheek. Then cupped my head in his hands and kissed me again. “It won’t be too long. I promise,” he whispered. “Now off you go.”

Mummy was lying propped against the pillows reading a magazine. She barely looked up as I came in. “Been downstairs, have you? Anything fun going on?”

“No, rather quiet actually,” I replied. “How long do you plan to stay in New York? Cy and Stella are leaving tomorrow.”

“I have to do a little shopping first, darling,” she said. “I’m told there will be nothing in Reno. And one has a duty to see what New York has to offer.”

So after breakfast Mummy went off to attack the New York department stores and I went to sit by the fountain in Central Park. Suddenly I saw two familiar figures coming toward me: Algie Broxley-Foggett and with him Tubby Halliday.

“What ho, old bean,” Algie said. “Fancy bumping into you again.”

“Oh, you’re still here, I see. Not off to the Wild West then?”

“I’ll get around to it when the money runs out, I suppose,” Algie said. “But Tubby here has things to do in New York and his newspaper is paying for his hotel so I took advantage of his kind offer to share a room. Where are you staying?”

“The Plaza,” I said.

“My, my. Hear that, Tubby, old bean? She’s staying at the Plaza. We’ll simply have to come and visit.”

“I don’t think you’d better,” I said hurriedly. “We’re leaving any moment and I’m with my mother.”

“Well, that’s not too friendly of you,” Algie said. “I’ve always wanted a tour of the Plaza.”

“I thought you were heading for Hollywood,” Tubby said.

I looked at him warily, trying to remember how much of this was common knowledge. “For a short while, I think.” I stood up. “I had better be getting back. My mother will wonder where I’ve gone to.”

I felt them watching me as I walked away. Why was Algie so keen to see inside the Plaza? And what was Tubby doing in New York?

O
N
A
TRAIN
TO
R
ENO

F
RIDAY
, J
ULY
20, 1934

We stayed in New York for a couple of days—long enough for Mummy to shop at Bloomingdale’s and declare everything a sad imitation of last year’s Paris, to go to a show and Mummy to declare it lacking the polish of the West End—and then we boarded the Lake Shore Limited, bound for Chicago and eventually the Wild West.

The first part of the trip was delightful as we followed the Hudson River up its valley. We dined on rather a lot of unmemorable food, fell asleep to the rhythmic rocking of the train and awoke in Chicago. We had to endure rather tedious hours in the ladies’ waiting room in the station before we could board the California Zephyr and off we went again. The next section was flat and uninteresting until we crossed the Mississippi River, had dinner, and darkness fell across a huge expanse of sky. I’d never seen a world in which there was just land, unclaimed, unused land, as far as the eye could see. And the sunset—we never had sunsets like that at home—as if the sky were twice as large as in England and had been painted with a giant paintbrush in primary colors. It was magical. I decided I was going to like it here. We were served breakfast in Denver and then a day of mountains and emptiness. Once we spotted a lone horseman, but I think he was the only person we saw for hours. We fell asleep in the middle of nowhere and awoke to find the train had stopped in Reno. Then we had to summon the maids, gather up the bags and make a rather hurried departure. We watched the train pull out, leaving us on an empty platform in the middle of nowhere.

“Where do you think the main part of the town is?” Mummy asked, looking around.

“I think this is it,” I replied, examining the straggle of clapboard shacks, a few low brick buildings and the feeling of a true Wild West town in the middle of empty brown scrub. It was extremely hot and dusty and a mirage hung over the track. We left the maids and the luggage and set off in a taxicab to the office of a lawyer Cy had found for my mother. Electric signs flashed from unlikely cottages, advertising speedy marriage and divorce—sometimes both at the same place. We turned into what must be the high street as it had a big sign across it advertising Reno as “The Biggest Little City in the World.”

“If this is a city, then I’m Charley’s Aunt,” my mother said. “I’ve never seen a drearier place, have you? Thank God I don’t have to really stay here for six weeks. I’d go mad.”

We found our lawyer—who looked almost like a caricature of a slick villain. He had a large paunch, a hair-thin mustache, smoked a big cigar, and talked out of the side of his mouth. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head one bit,” he said, putting a big hand on Mummy’s shoulder. “Cy Goldman told me to take care of you and take care of you I will. ‘Take care of my new star,’ Cy says and whatever Cy says, Cy gets. Know what I’m saying?”

He whisked us off to the Riverside Hotel, told us that a stay had been arranged in a bungalow at a dude ranch where they asked no questions, and that Mummy’s stand-in would report for duty as soon as Mummy wanted to check out. I could tell from her face that she’d like to check out in the next five minutes. However we did what we were told. The papers were filed with great ceremony. We walked up and down Virginia Street in the evening, visited casinos, and made sure that plenty of people noticed Claire Daniels.

“This is certainly not Monte Carlo,” Mummy said, coughing in the smoke-laden atmosphere as we walked between craps tables and penny slot machines. “I hope Max appreciates how I’m suffering for him. At this moment I could be at the villa on Lake Lugano, at my own dear little house in Nice or in London at Brown’s. I never believed I could feel so homesick and so far away.”

I shared her feelings. I lay listening to the mournful toots of goods trains as they rattled past and wondered what Darcy was doing at this moment and when I’d see him again. Had he caught his gentleman cat burglar? I wondered.

“Cor, miss, this is bloomin’ awful, ain’t it?” Queenie said. “If this is America, give me good old England any day.” Since she came from the backstreets of Walthamstow, near the gasworks, it really must have been bad.

It was hard to sleep with the heat and the trains and I was glad when we moved away from the tracks, out of town, to a ranch in the middle of the dusty desert. At least it had a swimming pool and shading cottonwood trees. Mummy refused to swim and stayed out of the sun. “I’m sure Queen Mary Tudor did not have a tan,” she said. “The English aristocracy have always been noted for their porcelain white skin. Look at you, darling. If you go in the sun you just freckle. You turn into a revolting orange blob, darling.”

“Thanks, awfully,” I said. “You really know how to boost my confidence.”

She slipped an arm around my shoulder. “Sweetie pie, nature isn’t fair, is it? Some of us are born beautiful and some aren’t. Take your Darcy, for example. I’m sure he was a devastatingly handsome little boy, whereas you were such a homely child.” She walked away then turned from the door and added, “I wonder sometimes what he sees in you.”

With a mother like her, I thought, who needs a Mrs. Simpson to deliver catty remarks?

I was extremely glad when Mummy’s awful lawyer paid a visit, introduced us to Wanda, who was to play the part of my mother while she was in Hollywood, and said that Mummy was free to leave. Queenie and Claudette perked up at this news and packed our things in record time. Then we were off on a train again, first across the Sierra Nevada mountains to San Francisco and then down the coast to Los Angeles.

“I’m having horrible second thoughts about this whole thing,” Mummy confided to me in a rare moment of intimacy. “I mean if that dreadful place can call itself the best little city or something, then what do you think California will be like? One hears about Hollywood glamour but will it really be more dust and shacks and men spitting on the streets, do you think?”

“Golly, I hope not,” I said.

The train ride across the mountains was spectacular. We changed trains, caught a glimpse of San Francisco Bay, and then we were off again on the Coast Starlight. The first part of the trip was nowhere near the coast and all we saw were golden hills and more golden hills. We fell asleep and when we awoke there was the sparkling Pacific Ocean right beside us. We breakfasted and soon after we pulled into the Los Angeles station.

As we stood on the platform a young man with slicked-back hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and a worried look on his face came hurrying toward us. “Miss Daniels, Lady Georgiana?” he said. “I’m Ronnie, Mr. Goldman’s assistant. He sent me to collect you. They are filming at the set and he couldn’t get away, but he wants me to say that all is ready for you and I’m to take you to the Beverly Hills Hotel.” With great efficiency he whisked us across the station, made porters appear as if by magic, and in seconds had us seated in an impossibly long black motorcar, then directed the maids and luggage to a taxicab that looked nothing like a London taxi. As we drove away from the station I gazed out of the window in excitement. There were pastel villas dotting wooded hills and when I spotted the Hollywood sign up on top of a hill my heart gave a little leap. We were really here! Who couldn’t feel excited about being in Hollywood?

Soon we were driving along Sunset Boulevard, lined with fine-looking new buildings in bright pastel shades. A tramline ran down the middle of it and there were motorcars everywhere. The depression that had been so visible in New York clearly hadn’t struck here. Mummy had perked up considerably since arriving and when we turned into the driveway of the Beverly Hills Hotel she gave a little squeak of pleasure. It was a pink palace with palm trees and brilliant tropical plants turning it into a fantasyland.

“I think you’ll be quite comfortable here,” Ronnie said with understatement.

Young men in crisp white uniforms rushed out to greet us. Instead of being taken into the main building of the hotel, we were led through the grounds, past a big sparkling swimming pool, to our own bungalow set amid more riots of tropical foliage. Bougainvillea spilled around the front door. Spiky bird-of-paradise and hibiscus lined the path. The sunlight and colors were dazzling and the air was heady with perfume.

“The first thing we shall need is sunglasses, darling,” Mummy said. “I can’t risk getting frown lines.”

“I’ll have an optical store bring you a selection right away,” Ronnie said. “Do you think you can survive here for the time being?” He opened the door to a sumptuous interior, gold and white wicker furniture and white filmy curtains at the windows. There were two bedrooms and two bathrooms, and a small maid’s quarters behind.

“I think we’ll manage,” Mummy said. Luckily I wasn’t asked, or I might have said something childish like “golly.” The contrast to one who has survived years of Fig’s frugality and Castle Rannoch’s damp cold was overwhelming.

“Great, then I’ll have the sunglasses guy come over and anything else you need today? If not, get some rest and the car will come for you at six o’clock tomorrow.” Ronnie was already heading for the door.

“Six o’clock? For dinner?” Mummy asked.

Ronnie laughed. “No, six a.m. Cy wants you on the set. We’re already shooting. Your final script will be delivered later this afternoon with the scenes for tomorrow marked up.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d better be going. Cy gets mad if I’m away too long. And order what you like from the restaurants and bars. Just sign for it.”

“Well,” Mummy said as the door closed behind him. “This isn’t bad, is it? Apart from having to learn lines by tomorrow. I don’t think I’m going to take to films. On the set at six a.m.? Really not me. Thank God the theater is more civilized.” She sank onto the brightly upholstered sofa and picked up a peach from an enormous bowl of fruit on a rattan table. “Frankly, darling, I don’t know why I agreed to this. I mean, I don’t need the money. I don’t really want to become a film star. It must be Stella’s fault.”

“Stella?”

She took a bite of peach then looked up at me. “I suppose it was just that I wanted to prove to Stella that I still had it. You know, last time we worked together she was just a little nobody. I was the big star of the pantomime and Stella and her sister were the novelty act—skinny little girls with big eyes like waifs. They were quite good little dancers and acrobats, I seem to remember, and they adored me.” She sighed, remembering being adored, I suspected.

The luggage arrived with Queenie. She looked around with approval. “This ain’t half bad,” she said. “I think I’m going to like California. They were telling me on the train that everybody’s equal in America. None of this bowing and scraping and calling people ‘my lady.’” And she gave me a disapproving stare.

“If you want to find you still have a job when we return to England, I suggest you don’t get carried away by what is done in America,” Mummy said. “Face it that you’re hopeless, Queenie. Nobody else but my good-natured daughter would employ you. Now hurry up and unpack your mistress’s cases. I’m sure she’d like to go for a swim while I study.”

Queenie stomped off.

“That girl is getting too big for her britches,” Mummy said. “You may have to replace her whether you like it or not.”

“I know,” I said, “but it’s rather like taking in a stray animal that you know can’t survive on its own. You’re stuck with it.”

“Not me, darling. You must learn to be more ruthless. It’s the only way.” She went to the window and looked out. “We’ll have to go shopping before anything else. Our clothes are simply too formal for California. Look at those women in shorts. And none of them has a good bottom.”

The sunglasses arrived. Mummy found some shorts and halter tops in the hotel shop then settled down to study her script while I was banished to the pool. It was surrounded by lounge chairs, nearly all occupied by impossibly tanned bodies. I had just found a free lounge chair when a rather splendid lady came to sit beside me. Unlike everyone in shorts she was wearing a long silk gown and trailing flimsy scarves, one of which was tied around 1920s-style bobbed hair. It was hard to say how old she was, as she was wearing a lot of makeup and big sunglasses.

“Well, hello there,” she said. “I never see skin as white as yours in California. Look at you—absolute porcelain whiteness. You must have come straight from England where I’m told the sun never shines.”

“Not very often,” I agreed.

“Ah, so I’m right. You are English.”

“Half Scottish, actually.” I found I was stumbling over my words in the way I always did in Queen Mary’s presence. She was quite an overpowering lady. “Actually a quarter Scottish and a quarter German.”

“Interesting,” she said. Then she wagged a finger, bedecked with rings and red-painted nails. “I bet I know who you are. There was a whisper going around that a royal personage was coming to stay here. You must be she. Am I right?”

“No, I’m not exactly royal,” I said. “Queen Victoria was my great-grandmother, so the king is my second cousin, or is it first cousin once removed?”