Four Funerals and Maybe a Wedding Read online

  “No, of course not.”

  “Come over and we’ll go through wedding pictures and you can see if any catch your eye.”

  “Yes. Let’s do that.”

  I went to the front door with her and waved as she walked down Eaton Square. I was feeling more hopeful now. I’d have a dress that I wanted and I’d sort things out with Darcy and all would be well. As for the crowned heads and princesses, I shut them firmly from my mind.

  Chapter 4

  THURSDAY, JUNE 20

  AT 16 EATON SQUARE

  Still no Darcy. Why hasn’t he come to see me? Oh dear. I was quite cheerful for a while. Now I’m down in the dumps again.

  But I’m so glad Belinda is back. It’s good to have someone to talk to, although that dress was absolutely frightful. I hope I can persuade her to make one that’s not too fashionable. And no feathers. I know I’d sneeze instead of saying “I do.”

  If I do have a chance to say “I do,” that is.

  Darcy didn’t put in an appearance all that day or the next. I went over to Belinda’s with strict instructions to Clotilde that she should telephone me if Darcy arrived. Belinda and I sat on her sofa going through old copies of the Tatler, looking at society weddings. The trend was unfortunately long and slim—lots of women who looked like walking drainpipes—and lots of feathers. But I did see some evening gowns that I thought would look good on me, one where the skirt opened up like a flower toward the floor. Belinda promised to play with some sketches for me. And her sketches for the princesses were charming. No problem there.

  She had hired a new maid—Huddlestone. I tried not to laugh when she told me.

  “Did you ever hear such a name?” Belinda said.

  “You’re not going to call her that, surely? What’s her first name?”

  “She won’t tell me. She says proper ladies’ maids are always known by their last name.”

  “Unless they are French,” I said. “But she’s right. What’s she like as a maid?”

  “Very proper. Very correct. She’s been a maid for a countess who died. So she thinks my little establishment is shockingly lacking. She may not last. We’ll probably drive each other crazy.”

  “When does she start?”

  “At the end of the week. I’m already having second thoughts. I should have found a nice willing Italian girl and brought her over with me.”

  “She wouldn’t leave her mama,” I said. “My nice Irish girl wouldn’t.”

  “Servants are such a pain these days. Why did our parents have such an easy time?”

  I left her cleaning madly before Huddlestone arrived.

  As I arrived back at Eaton Place a taxi drew up beside me. A window was wound down and a voice called, “Yoo-hoo! Georgie darling!” It was my mother. The taxi driver rushed around to open the door for her and she stepped out, looking oh so fashionable as always—navy sailor jacket, white broad trousers and a jaunty sailor hat. Only she could have worn the outfit without one expecting it to have come from the second act of a musical comedy accompanying some kind of song about “what fun we’re having at the seaside.” The taxi driver blushed when she paid him and told him he was a dear.

  For once in my life I was pleased to see her. “When did you get into town?” I asked, kissing, as always, two inches from her cheek.

  “Yesterday, darling.”

  “And where are you staying?”

  “Claridge’s, where else?” She slipped her arm through mine as I steered her up the steps toward the front door. “We tried that new place, the Dorchester, last time and it was sadly lacking. Besides, one does like to go where one is known. They even had my favorite flowers in the suite when I arrived, although it is a trifle over the top. I have a grand piano in my living room, can you imagine the absurdity? I don’t even play. Perhaps they know I might entertain dear Noël.”

  She spoke of her friend Noël Coward. I couldn’t help smiling. My mother, who had grown up in a row house in the East End of London, had taken to luxury like a duck to water. I opened the front door and ushered her into the drawing room.

  “Is your hostess not at home?” she asked.

  “She’s in Paris shopping,” I said.

  “That’s where I was. I’m surprised we didn’t bump into each other,” she said. “So you’re all alone here, or are you enjoying being all alone with the gorgeous Darcy?”

  “At the moment I’m all alone. He’s off somewhere on business.”

  “I thought I caught a glimpse of him in Paris the other day,” she said. “But I was in a taxi and he was going into the Ritz.” She gave a delightful shrug. “I may have been mistaken. So many dark and handsome men in France.”

  I wished she hadn’t said that. Immediately my brain put Darcy, the mystery woman and the Ritz in Paris together. I changed the subject hastily.

  “Is Max with you?”

  “Much too busy, darling. Factories churning away like crazy. And his father has not been too well, so he’s being the dutiful son. Besides, this is girl time for us, isn’t it? We’re going to have such fun buying clothes for our trousseaus.”

  She gave my arm an excited squeeze.

  “But before we discuss where we want to shop, I’ve something I have to show you,” she said. She sank onto the sofa and opened her purse, pulling out a sheet of stiff paper. Without saying a word she handed it to me.

  I read:

  ALBERT SPINKS

  AND

  HETTIE HUGGINS

  ARE GOING TO BE TYING THE KNOT

  AT THE PARISH CHURCH, HORNCHURCH, ESSEX

  AND AFTERWARD IN THE BACK GARDEN OF

  22 GLANVILLE DRIVE, HORNCHURCH, ESSEX

  ON AUGUST 17, 1935

  Mummy took a deep breath and looked up, glaring. “I suppose you’ve already seen this?” she demanded.

  “Actually I haven’t. I don’t suppose that Granddad knew where to send it. Or it might have gone to Rannoch House and Fig burned it. But I knew it was going to happen. They told me.”

  “What does the old fool think he’s doing? I suppose she trapped him. He always was softhearted.”

  “He’s lonely, Mummy. And she cooks well.”

  Mummy tapped her red-painted fingernails impatiently on the arm of the sofa. “So you approve of this fiasco?” she demanded.

  “I can’t say that I’m happy with it. I find her an awful, annoying woman who wears curlers in her hair and has a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, but if she makes him happy, then we shouldn’t complain, should we?”

  “Not complain? I’m to have a Mrs. Hettie Huggins as my mother?”

  “Actually it’s more like ’ettie ’uggins,” I said, not resisting a grin. “She’s awfully common. And she’s already told me I can choose whether I want to call her Granny or Nanny. Can you imagine?”

  “We must go down to Essex right away and talk him out of it,” Mummy said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s only latching on to him because she knows I’ve got money and you’ve got a title.”

  “That may be true,” I said. “She does come across as a little grasping.”

  “Then we should kidnap him or something. Go to church and leap up when they say ‘any cause or just impediment.’”

  I laughed. “What cause or just impediment? I don’t think curlers in the hair are a just cause.”

  “We’ll say he’s gone senile, darling. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

  “There is no brain that’s sharper than your father’s,” I said. “It’s up to him, Mummy. After all, we only flit in and out of his life occasionally. He told me he was fed up with sitting alone with the wireless in the evenings.”

  “I could always bring him out to Berlin, I suppose,” Mummy said thoughtfully. “I’m sure Max could find him a nice little cottage with a garden.”

  “You know what he thinks of the Germans. He never forgave them for Uncle Jimmy’s death in the war.”

  “That’s silly to hate Germans en masse. Most of them were innocent boys obeying orders, just like the British soldiers.”

  “Was Max one of them?”

  “Luckily he didn’t have to fight. He was in a protected occupation, running one of his father’s factories that just happened to be making guns at the time.”

  “How convenient for him,” I said. I paused, then added, “Mummy, do you worry that Max is awfully pally with the Nazis?”

  “He’s not pally with them,” she snapped. “He just knows on which side his bread is buttered. He’s smart enough to play along and they give him big orders for his factories.”

  “But what if there comes a time when he can’t play along anymore? And what about you? Will you be happy living among them as Mrs. Max von Strohheim? They seem to be becoming more and more extreme from what one reads.”

  “I stay out of politics,” she said. “I too know on which side my bread is buttered.” She picked up the wedding invitation again. “But about this ridiculous charade. Should I buy him a cottage in the country, do you think? Get him right away from her?”

  “He wouldn’t take your money, Mummy. He says it’s German money and he’s not touching it.”

  “So obstinate. Do you think we have to go and eat jellied eels and whelks and dance Knees Up Mother Brown?”

  I laughed then. “Mummy, you are an utter snob! You grew up in that environment, remember?”

  “Yes, and escaped as soon as I could. Oh, my parents were both lovely people, you understand. I’m not running them down.”

  “I think your father is the nicest person I’ve ever met,” I said. “I was angry that he’d been kept away from me until I was an adult.”

  “As was I, darling,” she said.

  “You were?”

  “Oh yes. When I left your father, when I couldn’t take the depressing horror of Castle Rannoch for another second, I was told quite clearly that I’d given up all rights to my child and should never show my face again.”

  “Crikey,” I said. “I had no idea.”

  “Oh yes. The family made sure they kept a tight rein on you. Sir Hubert Anstruther wanted to adopt you when I was married to him, you know. But the family wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “Yes, I heard about it.”

  “He was so fond of you. Such a lovely man. I was quite happy married to him.”

  “Why did you leave him, then?” I demanded, as I’d also adored being with Sir Hubert.

  “Too many mountains, darling. Always off climbing something. And then the Monte Carlo racing driver came along and . . . well, it was all too tempting. I suppose I just like men too much.”

  “And what happens when you’re married to Max and another racing driver comes along?”

  She gave a knowing smile. “I’m older and wiser now. I realize they won’t come along so frequently anymore and I should be grateful for what I have.”

  She stood up again. “I should be going. I’ve a million things to do. Hair to be colored, toenails, new shoes made . . .”

  “Would you not like some tea or a cool drink first? I can ring for Clotilde.”

  “No time, darling. Come over to Claridge’s and have dinner tonight. I thought the new chef was awfully good. And then we can plan our campaign of shopping. And strategize about how to rescue your grandfather.” She turned back to me, wagging a finger. “You’ve been frightfully clever and solved some murder cases, haven’t you? You must know how to bump off an old woman!”

  “Mummy!” I gave a horrified giggle.

  “Just a thought,” she said and swept from the room.

  Chapter 5

  THURSDAY, JUNE 20

  16 EATON SQUARE

  So many complications suddenly: Granddad’s wedding, my dress from hell, Fig wanting me married in Scotland, the queen wanting a big spectacle of a wedding and a bridegroom who might have been spotted going into the Ritz in Paris! And I thought everything was going smoothly!

  No more visitors, I thought. Each person who had shown up on my doorstep had brought more disturbing news into my life. I rather wished I hadn’t promised Mummy I’d have dinner with her at Claridge’s that night. That involved getting dressed up in my best evening gown and taxis. At least Mummy had oodles of money and had promised to take care of my trousseau, so I wouldn’t have to worry about that. But at this moment I just wanted to retire to my room, curl up and sleep. I glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. Time for a nap before I had to change!

  I went upstairs and lay on my bed listening to the noises floating in from the square. For the middle of London it was surprisingly peaceful: birdsong from the big trees in the central garden, the rustle of a breeze, the occasional slam of a motorcar door and footsteps on the pavement. I closed my eyes and drifted off.

  I must have been in that deep sleep one sometimes experiences in the middle of a warm afternoon, because I was only vaguely aware of a tap on my door and someone entering my room. Clotilde has come to lay out my evening attire, I thought through my haze of slumber. Then somebody kissed my cheek. I sat up, colliding with the person hovering above me.

  “Ow!” came a voice. A deep male voice.

  I opened my eyes to see Darcy standing there, holding his hand over his nose. “That hurt.” But his eyes were smiling as he looked at me. “Here I am, expecting to awake my beloved with a tender kiss and instead she bonks me on the nose.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “How was I to know it was you?”

  “You mean other men have been creeping in to kiss you lately?” he asked.

  I was just coming to full consciousness and realization. The first thought was that I must look terrible, bleary-eyed, hair all out of place, and wearing an unromantic old cotton nightgown. But no sooner had that thought come to me when I remembered what I had seen at Ascot.

  “It was nice of you to come to see me, finally,” I said while I attempted to smooth down my hair, straighten my nightgown and put aside the thought that I was at a disadvantage sitting up in bed.

  “Finally?” He looked puzzled. “My dear girl, I got off the boat train half an hour ago and took a taxi straight to you. I couldn’t have come much more swiftly if I’d flown.”

  “The boat train from Paris?” I asked. I was trying to be cool and sophisticated and not let him see that he had upset me.

  “Paris? No, from Dublin. I was with my father.”

  “Really?”

  He stepped back, frowning. “Georgie, what is this about? Have you been hearing gossip?”

  “It’s not gossip. I saw you with my own eyes, Darcy. And I don’t know if I can marry a man who lies to me.”

  “Lies to you? What are you talking about? I don’t think I’ve ever lied to you.” He was glaring at me now.

  I was still trying to be brave, looking him straight in the eye. “I saw you, Darcy. I was at Ascot earlier this week and I saw you, not an hour away from here.”

  His eyes lit up then. “You were at Ascot? I had no idea. Why on earth didn’t you come and say hello?”

  “Because you were with another woman,” I said. “And you were acting awfully chummy with her.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Awfully chummy, eh? Well, you’re right, there. I was actually making a proposal of a sexual nature to her, and I am rather happy to say she accepted.”

  I didn’t know what to respond to this. I could feel my cheeks burning with anger and embarrassment. He looked at me, then burst out laughing. “Your face, Georgie. You were giving a really good imitation of your great-grandmother. ‘We are not amused!’”

  “It’s not funny, Darcy. I don’t want to marry a man who is unfaithful to me. I don’t care what is accepted among our sort. I want to know that I can trust my husband.”

  He sat down beside me and stroked my hair back from my cheek. “You are sweet, but you leap to the silliest of conclusions sometimes,” he said. “I came over to Ascot from Ireland on a mission from my father. He is trying to improve the quality of the stock at his racing stable—Zou Zou’s idea, naturally. So he has bought two first-class mares he wants to breed. And the woman you saw me talking to owns a famous stallion who is about to be put to stud. My father wanted me to make sure we would be the first to get the goods, so to speak. So I had to turn on the charm a little.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “And after we’d reached an agreement I got on the train and headed straight back to Dublin.”

  He paused, looking at me. “So you see, if you’d only come over to me at Ascot, instead of acting huffy and slighted, I could have introduced you to Mrs. Callendar and her famous stallion, King’s Ransom, and all would have been well.”

  I still couldn’t think of anything to say. I hated it when he was right.

  “I can’t have you thinking the worst of me every time you see me with a woman,” he said. He stood up and walked across the room, turning away from me and staring out of the window. “You’ll just make us both miserable.”

  “You’re right.” I got out of bed and came over to him. I put a tentative hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I must be horribly insecure. Sometimes I still can’t believe that you chose me.”

  “Well, it certainly wasn’t for your money,” he said, turning back to me and ruffling my hair. “I love you, you dope. Can’t you ever get that into your head? We are going to be married and live happily ever after.”

  “Yes, we are.” I smiled up at him. “Now could you please go downstairs until I’ve washed and dressed and look presentable? I feel at a frightful disadvantage here.”

  “Well, I suppose it was improper of me to creep into your bedroom before we are married,” he said with a chuckle. “Is Zou Zou not home?”

  “She went to Paris to do some shopping,” I said.

  “She flew there in her plane, I suppose? Didn’t take the Golden Arrow like normal people.”