On Her Majesty's Frightfully Secret Service Read online

  There was no way to tell when we had moved from Italy into Switzerland, but I did notice some more modern-looking buildings on hillsides. We sailed through a narrow opening at the head of the lake and there was the town of Locarno, another attractive town clinging to a mountainside at the edge of the lake. I found a taxi, this time a new and clean Mercedes, and asked about the clinics in the area.

  “For the TB?” my driver asked.

  “No, to have a baby,” I said.

  “Ah.” He looked at me, trying to tell if the visit was for myself.

  “My friend is there,” I said rapidly. “I heard she had gone into a clinic but I don’t know which one.”

  “She have money?” he asked.

  I didn’t understand what he was getting at, but then I realized he wanted to know what type of facility she could afford. “Yes, she has money,” I said.

  “Ah,” he said, smiling, “then it must be . . .”

  I almost wept at having a driver who spoke English and wanted to be helpful. He drove me up through the town to a white modern building overlooking the lake.

  “You wish me to wait?” he asked.

  I thought of the extra cost. But there was a long steep hill back down to the town. Then I reasoned the queen was going to pay for my ticket and Belinda had also offered to pay, so for once I wasn’t going to be destitute. “Yes, please,” I said. “If it looks as if I’ll be here long I’ll come out and tell you.”

  He nodded and produced a newspaper to read. I pushed open glass doors and entered a marble foyer. There was one glass table against the wall but no decoration except for a large and very realistic crucifix. Not a flower or a picture in sight. “Sterile” was the word that sprang to mind. And devoid of life. I stood there, looking around, wondering what to do next, when there came a soft footfall and a young woman in a nun’s habit with a crisply starched white wimple approached me.

  I asked if Miss Warburton-Stoke was a patient and told her that I had come out from England to be with her. I was worried she’d say she’d never heard of Belinda or that she had checked in under an assumed name, but she gave me a knowing look. “The English lady? Yes. This way, please.”

  She took me up a broad flight of stairs and along a white tiled hallway, then opened a door at the end. It was a bright room with a good view of the lake but again very hospital-like. No flowers, no soft chair, just a neatly made white bed, a small white chest beside it and white curtains at the window. The bed was empty, but I spotted the back of a head that I recognized. She was sitting in a rocking chair on the terrace outside, her knees covered in a blanket, reading a magazine. The sister ushered me through the open French door.

  “You have visitor, signorina,” she said.

  Belinda turned around, a look of amazement and delight on her face. “Georgie! I can’t believe it! How did you find me?”

  “It wasn’t easy,” I said.

  She rose to her feet and I saw that she was still very pregnant. It felt strange as I hugged her and the bump got in the way.

  “I’m so sorry I didn’t come before. I didn’t get your letter until last week,” I said. “It came to Rannoch House and there was nobody there, so it just lay on the mat. But I came as soon as I read it.” I helped her back into the chair and pulled up another chair for myself. “And I went to your little house, but Francesca is away and nobody knew anything. If I hadn’t bumped into my mother, I don’t know how I’d have begun to find you.”

  “Your mother’s here? Oh, of course. The famous villa.”

  “I met her in Stresa,” I said. “Max was attending some kind of meeting, I gather. But how are you? I was so worried when I heard you’d already gone into the clinic. The baby isn’t due for several more weeks, is it?”

  “Three, to be precise,” she said. “I can’t wait to get it over with. It’s so uncomfortable, Georgie. Although I gather the next stage is even more unpleasant. God, I wish it were over and I could go back to being normal again.”

  “So what are you doing here if you have three more weeks?” I asked. “Isn’t it frightfully expensive?”

  “It is, rather, but worth every penny at the moment. I’ve had an awful shock, Georgie.” She leaned closer to me and looked around before she went on. “I thought I’d chosen a hideaway for myself where nobody would know me. And then one day I was out for a walk when a motorcar went past with the top down and you’ll never guess who was in it.”

  “Would it have been the dreaded Camilla Waddell-Walker?”

  “How on earth did you know?” She stared at me in amazement.

  “Because I have been instructed to pay a call on her. She lives at Villa Fiori. Practically your neighbor.”

  “I just found that out,” she said.

  “I can understand that you wouldn’t want to bump into her in your present condition,” I said. “Rather embarrassing.”

  “But that’s not the worst of it.” Belinda’s voice sounded quite desperate. She leaned toward me and grabbed my hand. “It was the man behind the wheel of that motorcar. Her husband.”

  “She’s married to an Italian count, isn’t she? A Martini? Which I confused with the drink when the queen mentioned him.” I was trying to lighten the conversation, but she didn’t even smile.

  “Paolo di Marola and Martini,” she said. She looked at me, waiting for the penny to drop. “You remember Paolo, don’t you?”

  My jaw dropped a little. “Your Paolo? The handsome Italian racing driver you once had a fling with?”

  She nodded. “That’s the one.”

  “Oh crikey,” I said. “But I thought he was engaged to a devout Italian virgin.”

  “He was. Apparently she broke it off when she learned about his lifestyle. And his carryings-on with unsuitable females like me.”

  “So he married Miss Cami-Knickers instead?” I asked. “But I thought he made such a big thing of his family needing a devout Catholic bride for him.”

  She gave me a withering glance. “Unfortunately Miss Cami-Knickers comes from an old English Catholic family. You know, one of the few who kept the faith through the Reformation? Hence quite suitable as a bride. And coming from a rich family didn’t hurt either. All those palaces cost a lot to keep up.”

  I looked at her with understanding. “Oh, Belinda, how awful for you. Of course you wouldn’t want him to see you.”

  She shook her head fiercely. “I wouldn’t want either of them. Can you imagine how she would crow over this? ‘I always knew she’d come to a bad end,’ she’d say. And Paolo. I simply couldn’t bear to have Paolo see me like this. Between ourselves, I always thought he really loved me and would have married me if things had been different.” She stopped as her voice cracked. Belinda had always seemed to me so strong, so confident, so worldly that it was a shock to see her so vulnerable suddenly. “So I fled,” she added. “Closed up the house and checked in here early.”

  “What’s it like? It seems rather . . . uh . . .” I paused for the right word. “Quiet?” I suggested.

  “Quiet? It’s bloody awful. Like living in a morgue. The sisters appear and disappear without saying a word. Some of them are openly critical about my lack of a husband and obvious sin. The meals are about as plain as you can get and lights-out is rigorously enforced at nine o’clock. No radio. No music. Utterly dismal.”

  “Surely there are other clinics you could go to if you hate it here,” I said.

  She shook her head again. “This one is supposed to be the best for delivering babies, and they also arrange for adoptions to devout Catholic families, which is the best I can hope for right now. I’m not sure how I’ll feel once I have the baby, but I simply can’t keep it.”

  She gave me a blank look of despair.

  “I wish Darcy and I were already married, then I could adopt it for you and you could come to visit,” I said.

  “Woul
dn’t that have been lovely.” She reached out again and took my hand. “You’ve always been so good to me, Georgie. You came all this way. But how infuriating that you arrive just when I have to stay hidden. And we could have had fun together before the baby.” Her grip on my hand tightened. “Can you still stay? I’d really like someone to be here when it actually happens. I’m a teeny bit scared, you know.”

  “I can stay if I’ve somewhere to sleep,” I said. “Do you have the key to your house with you? I don’t mind staying there.”

  “Francesca is away. You’d have nobody to do the work.”

  “I’ll survive,” I said. “I can prepare simple meals and sweep floors.”

  “Surely your maid can do that. Did you leave her in Stresa?”

  “In Ireland,” I said. “Queenie is now an assistant cook and my new maid wouldn’t leave her mother. So I’m maidless.”

  “How annoying for you,” she said.

  “I’m supposed to attend a house party at Villa Fiori in a few days and the queen has asked our friend the countess to find me a maid while I’m there.”

  “You’re supposed to attend? Who on earth invited you? And why did you say yes?”

  “It was the queen, actually. One does not say no to the queen.”

  She looked amazed. “What on earth does the queen want you to go there for?”

  I leaned closer to her. “Actually, between ourselves, to act as her spy. The Prince of Wales is attending the house party and so is Mrs. Simpson. The queen is frightened she has now obtained her divorce and they will marry in secret.”

  “Golly!” Even Belinda used words like that when startled sufficiently. “What are you supposed to do, rush in and say, ‘I forbid the wedding’?”

  “I can’t see myself doing that. I could cable Buckingham Palace. Parliament could annul the marriage, I suppose.”

  “Darling, I think it’s already been consummated.” Belinda gave a wry smile.

  I smiled back. “It is good to see you,” I said. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Haven’t you had Darcy to keep you company? Much more exciting than little moi.”

  “We were at his father’s castle together for a while, but then he went off again somewhere mysterious. You know what he’s like. I have no idea where he’s gone or when he’ll be back. Maybe when we’re married he’ll finally tell me.”

  “So the wedding is all arranged, is it?” She took my left hand and examined the ring. “Very nice.”

  “It was his mother’s. And it’s not exactly arranged yet. We’re hoping this summer, but it still has to be cleared by the king and Parliament. The line of succession not marrying a Catholic, you know.”

  “How silly,” she said. “I’d go ahead and marry him anyway and then there wouldn’t be much they could do about it.”

  “I know we could always do that, but I’d rather do it properly. It would create less tension with the family. The queen seems to think there will be no problem.” I squeezed her hand. “If we have a summer wedding you’ll be able to come, won’t you? Will you be my chief bridesmaid? Or matron of honor or whatever it is?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Let’s hope by then I’ve managed to find a good home for little Humphrey or Matilda.”

  “You’re not really going to call the baby one of those, are you?”

  “I’m not going to call it anything. Better not to get attached. It’s the only way, Georgie. Of course I’d want it to go to a good home . . .”

  “You make it sound like a puppy, Belinda,” I scolded.

  She grinned. “I’m afraid I’m not cut out to be maternal. Unlike you, who will have hundreds of kids and play games with them and everything.”

  “I hope so.” I savored the picture that came into my head. “But to more practical matters, I’ve a taxi waiting. And the only steamer going back to Stresa today leaves at three.”

  “Do you have to go back?” she asked. “Why don’t you stay here?”

  “I’ve left my bags hidden behind a bush outside your house, so I should go and do something about them.”

  “You don’t really want to stay at my house, do you?” she asked. “Of course you are welcome to stay there, but it’s awfully far away. It would be nicer for me if you got a room near the clinic. Maybe they even have guest rooms here. I’ll ask, shall I?”

  I stood up. “I’ve an idea. Why don’t you come back to your house with me? Now that I am here I can look after you and you don’t need to go out and show yourself.”

  “And what do I do when you have to leave? You will be deserting me for Miss Cami-Knickers and Villa Fiori,” she pointed out. “And who knows how long you’ll be staying there?”

  “Oh yes. That’s true,” I said. “I really wish I hadn’t agreed to it, but it’s so hard to say no to the queen. She just takes it for granted that one will do what she asks.” I gave her a bright smile. “But house parties are usually only for a few days, aren’t they? Then maybe I can rescue you and take care of you in your little house.”

  “Yes. That would be nice.” She managed a smile too—a sort of wistful, sad smile that was so unlike Belinda. She had always been the bubbly one, optimistic, full of ideas. I hated to see her like this. I put a hand on her shoulder. “It will all be over soon and then it will just seem like a bad dream and you’ll be back to your old life.”

  She stared out past me. “I wonder if I will ever go back to my old life after this.”

  Chapter 9

  TUESDAY, APRIL 16

  SPENDING THE NIGHT AT BELINDA’S LITTLE HOUSE IN SAN FIDELE

  I’m so glad I’ve found Belinda and at least I know where I’ll be staying (not in a nun’s cell at the convent, thank heavens!).

  Belinda rang for one of the sisters when I had hugged her and was ready to leave.

  “Are there guest rooms at the clinic if my friend wishes to stay?” she asked.

  The sister stared at me with a cold and haughty stare, her face as white as the wimple that surrounded it. “Guest rooms? This is not a hotel, miss, it is a clinic,” she replied in a crisp Germanic voice.

  “But she has come out from England to visit me,” Belinda said. “I would be happy if she could stay nearby.”

  The sister frowned. “She could perhaps have one of the sisters’ cells until she finds somewhere more suitable. Sister Maria Theresa is visiting the motherhouse at the moment.”

  I gave Belinda a horrified look. The thought of a cell in the convent, surrounded by those terrifying nuns, was a little too much, even for someone like me who was used to the austerity of Castle Rannoch.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” Belinda said hastily.

  “I’m sure the taxi driver will know of something nearby,” I said. “I’ll go and retrieve my bags and I’ll have to stay the night in your house. Then I’ll come back to you in the morning.”

  She gave me a bright hopeful smile and found me the key. I watched her standing on her terrace, waving, as I came out of the front entrance. The taxi driver did indeed know of a restaurant nearby that also rented out rooms. We stopped there and I was shown a simple but pretty room with a window overlooking the lake. So much nicer than the room-from-hell with the leering old man. I gave a sigh of relief. A modest price was agreed and then we drove rapidly to catch the afternoon ferry.

  It was dark by the time I returned to Belinda’s little house, retrieved my bags from behind the bush and installed myself in her bedroom. It was a pretty little place with tall windows that opened onto the terrace and the lake beyond, marble floors and a giant bathtub in which I had a good soaking. Then, feeling refreshed, I cooked myself some pasta I found in the pantry, added some tomato paste and Parmesan cheese to it and ate it, watching the lights twinkling across the lake. I did not return to the lecherous landlord. I decided I had never committed to taking the room, I knew no Italian to t
ell him my intentions and I was rather afraid he might demonstrate his intentions if he got me alone again.

  I slept well that night and awoke to the sun streaming in through my window. I walked into the village and bought fresh bread, still warm from the oven, local cheeses and ham. Then I enjoyed a jolly good breakfast on the terrace. I left my big suitcase at Belinda’s and packed a bag with essentials to take to Switzerland. I certainly wasn’t going to lug that heavy bag all the way into Stresa! It was a good morning for walking, the air still chilly and a mist hanging over distant mountains. There was activity at Villa Fiori this time, which I took to be a good thing. It must mean that the owners were in residence and the staff were preparing for the house party. Gardeners were at work and I could see the beds beyond the gate being weeded and planted with new flowers. As I passed I thought one of the gardeners looked up and stared at me. Knowing the Italian habit of appreciating pretty women I continued on my way with a big smile on my face.

  I caught the ferry back to Locarno and took a taxi up to the restaurant where I’d be spending the next few days. I installed myself in my new room, then walked over to the clinic, where Belinda and I spent the day chatting on the terrace, catching up on news. I regretted that I had no London gossip for her and my life in Ireland sounded incredibly dull, but she seemed eager for any news from home.

  “You’re so lucky to have Darcy,” she said. “And to know that if anything happens, you know, he will marry you. But then, I thought that rat would marry me. He certainly hinted at it . . . ‘our wonderful future together,’ that’s what he said. Wasn’t that supposed to be a proposal?”

  I nodded in sympathy.

  “But I’m sure Darcy takes good care that accidents won’t happen,” she went on.

  “Belinda, accidents are not going to happen because we haven’t actually . . .” I stammered at saying the words.

  Her eyes opened extra wide. “You mean you still haven’t? And you’ve lived under the same roof for months? What’s wrong with you?”