Someone in the audience remembered their manners and started to clap, rapidly followed by all the other guests. To the sounds of rapturous applause, the prince descended the staircase with his hosts, who proceeded to introduce him to all the other guests.
Chapter Three
Caroline dutifully curtseyed when the prince reached her. He paused by her a little longer than he had with the other guests, searching her face in a manner that made her feel uncomfortable. “Enchante, mademoiselle,” he said, kissing her hand. She saw Mrs Oakengate’s eyes narrow. When the prince had moved on to the dizzy blonde actress, she fought the compulsion to wipe the back of her hand on her dress.
“Oh, your royal majesty,” said the dizzy blonde. “I have never met a real prince before.”
“And I have never met an actress before,” said the prince, bowing and therefore making eye contact with the dizzy actress’s rather noticeable cleavage. Jack Henderson, standing next to the prince, frowned a little.
“Really, your highness, I thought…” He paused. “No, perhaps I’m mistaken.”
“What?” said the prince.
“I thought you had invited this young lady.”
“Ah, yes, I did. I have never met an actress before, but I love films, and I saw this young lady in one a few months ago and desired to meet her. I hope that did not cause any problems.”
“Not for me it didn’t.”
“Caroline,” said Jack Henderson, when all the guests had met the prince formally, and had started to mingle in groups awaiting dinner, “the prince has just remarked on your likeness to Lady Cassandra. I can see what he means.”
“So can I,” said Penelope Henderson. “You could easily be her. You’re not going to turn us all into frogs are you, Caroline?”
“Not today,” said Caroline, smiling politely. That was the second time today she had been likened to a witch. Instead of it amusing her, it left her feeling uneasy. She mentally told herself not to be so silly, and wondered what was wrong with her today.
Mrs Oakengate appeared at her side and muttered, “I did warn you not to push yourself forward, dear girl.”
“I didn’t Mrs Oakengate, honestly.”
“Ah,” said the prince, joining their little group. “It is Mrs Victoria Oakengate, is it not?”
“It is, Your Highness.” Mrs Oakengate curtseyed, and had to helped back up by Caroline.
“My father’s first love. Oh yes, that is true.” He waved away Mrs Oakengate’s half-hearted protestations. “I have heard the story, but had not realised quite how beautiful you were. And still are. I hear you are to wear the Cariastan Heart on Saturday night.”
“That is so, Your Highness. With your permission, of course.”
“Of course. Nothing says adoration like a large diamond, yes?”
Mrs Oakengate laughed. “I like to think I brought glamour and excitement into your father’s life. I’m afraid I did not know your mother …”
“Nor I, for she died when I was a child.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Is it true she was a chambermaid?”
One thing Caroline did like about Mrs Oakengate is that she was not afraid to ask the questions that everyone else hesitated to ask.
“A poor, but honest woman,” said the prince.
“Of course. And no doubt she had some blue blood in there somewhere for your father to notice her.”
“You must tell me, Mrs Oakengate, about your time with my father. I know so little of his life, and you are just the woman to fill in the gaps for me.”
“I will tell you all I can, Your Highness. He was a charming man. Very tall and very handsome.” She looked Prince Henri up and down and like many of the other guests, appeared to find him wanting. “I daresay you take after your mother’s side.”
Penelope Henderson choked on her cocktail.
“In looks, yes,” said the prince. “But like him I know the value of a beautiful and faithful woman.”
The butler, Stephens, appeared at Jack Henderson’s side, and handed him a note. As he read it, Jack’s eyes widened. “Excuse me,” said Jack. “Someone has arrived unexpectedly. Take him to the sitting room, Stephens and set another place for dinner just in case our guest wishes to stay. Penelope, why don’t you take everyone in, darling, and I’ll join you soon.”
They were seated and awaiting the first course when Jack Henderson arrived with the new guest. “Your Royal Highness, my lords, ladies and gentlemen, please allow me to introduce my good friend, Blake Laurenson.”
Caroline looked up and her heart flipped a somersault. It was the man from the lane, and he was every bit as handsome as she had imagined him to be.
“Please, Blake, take a seat.” Jack moved to the head of the table, whilst Blake sat directly opposite Caroline. He smiled across at her, sending her heart into a triple loop. “Blake here is a very promising young film director whom I have taken under my wing,” said Jack.
“Yes, I was in the area and heard there was a party at the abbey. I actually wandered up to have a look at the place earlier and met Caroline here in the lane.” He winked across at Caroline. “Imagine my delight when I heard in the pub that it had been taken for the week by my good friend, Jack Henderson.”
“You must stay,” said Jack. “I’ll have Stephens find a room for you.”
“Darling…” said Penelope, her eyes quizzical.
“I am sorry, darling, I hadn’t introduced you properly. Blake, this is my wife, Penelope.”
Blake bowed his head. “Jack has told me so much about you.”
“I wish I could say the same,” said Penelope, giving him her most charming smile. She did not appear to mind such a handsome addition to their party. As Caroline looked around the table she could see why. Most of the men were middle-aged film directors, but unlike Jack Henderson had never been good looking enough to appear in front of the camera. There was one man, a diplomat called Count Chlomsky who looked as though he might have been handsome in his younger days, in a very foreign way, but Caroline guessed he was nearing seventy years of age. There were a couple of younger men, but they had yet to, as her Aunt Millie would delicately put it, grow into their looks. There was a definite shortage of young, good-looking men. She imagined that the women would be fighting over Jack Henderson and Blake Laurenson when it came to dancing at the masked ball.
“We were not expecting other guests,” said Prince Henri. He sounded a little unhappy about the new arrival.
“I do apologise, your highness,” said Jack. “I know we cleared the guest list with your advisors, and this is a bit of an imposition, but I could hardly leave one of my best friends sleeping in a room above the local pub. I can vouch for Blake being a good sort. Now, shall we eat before the soup gets cold?” His words had a finality about them, as if he would brook no further arguments, not even from a prince. It occurred to Caroline that he might have behaved somewhat differently in the presence of English royalty, before chiding herself for the uncharitable thought. Jack Henderson seemed to be a decent enough man.
“Tell me, Mr Laurenson,” said the prince as they ate the soup course. “What films have you worked on?”
“I’ve recently been working with Alfred Hitchcock,” said Blake. “As a runner on some of his films.”
“A runner?” said the prince. “Is that not someone who runs errands for the actors and director?”
“That’s right.”
“But my good friend Mr Henderson says you are an up and coming director.
“We all have to start somewhere. The best way of learning the film industry – any industry in fact – is from the bottom to the top.”
Caroline wondered why it mattered so much to the prince where Blake Laurenson came from. She felt as though she had started to watch a film somewhere in the second half and was not sure who the main characters were or what motives they had. So much was not being said.
“Quite right,” said Jack, nodding. “But I promised Penelope no shop talk, so let’s
discuss something else. What does everyone think of Hitler?”
There was a general discussion about the German leader and his policies, which to Caroline, was hardly the lesser of two evils.
“What films?”
Everyone stopped talking and looked towards the prince who had spoken those words. The air crackled with tension.
“Excuse me?”
“What films have you worked on with this Hitchcock fellow?”
The guests looked at Blake. “The Thirty-Nine Steps,” said Blake. “I met Robert Donat and lost my heart to Madeleine Carroll. Your Royal Highness…” Blake put down his napkin. “You’re clearly uncertain about my being here. May I ask why?”
Everyone turned to the prince. It is like a tennis match, thought Caroline. “Excuse me, Mr Laurenson. I do not mean to be so rude. It is just … well with my claim on the throne of Cariastan, there are often people out to assassinate me.”
“I assure you I come in peace.”
Caroline was suddenly reminded of the line from Julius Caesar. I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
“What did you say, Caroline?” Mrs Oakengate’s sharp tones rang down the table. Caroline gasped. Had she really said it out loud?
“I’m sure we’re all concerned about the evil that men do, Caroline,” said Blake, his voice thoughtful. “Especially in such surroundings.” He glanced around the room to accentuate his meaning. “But believe me when I say that I have no interest at all in burying Prince Henri.” He raised his glass of wine towards the prince. “Your Royal Highness…”
The rest of dinner passed without further incident, though it was fair to say that everyone was on edge. When Mrs Oakengate’s glass shattered to the floor, knocked off by Anna Anderson who sat next to her, it gave everyone a start.
“I’m so sorry,” said Anna. “Let me get you another.”
“How jumpy we all are,” said Penelope Henderson. “We shall all be nervous wrecks by Saturday night. Let us all go into the ballroom and play some records.”
“Or tell more ghost stories,” suggested Count Chlomsky.
“I think we had quite enough of those last night,” said Penelope, standing and beckoning everyone to follow her. “Come along. We have some new records brought over from America. I’m not sure how well they’ll play on that old wind up thing in the ballroom. We can but try.”
A little while later, the ballroom was filled with the somewhat tinny strains of Fred Astaire singing, ‘The Way You Look Tonight’.
Caroline sat dutifully next to Mrs Oakengate at one of the small tables dotted around the room, in case the old lady should need anything. Her eyes could not help following Blake as he wandered around the room talking to the other guests. To say he was a gatecrasher, he was very much at ease with everyone and wanted no excuse for being there. In fact, it seemed to Caroline as if he belonged in the abbey rather more than anyone else in the room did. A few of the guests started to dance.
“Will you dance with me, Caroline?” Blake asked when he reached her.
“I’m afraid Mrs Oakengate might need me,” she said.
“No, go along and dance Mr Laurenson,” said Mrs Oakengate. “I think his Royal Highness wants me.”
Sure enough, Prince Henri was waving Mrs Oakengate across to him. It seemed to Caroline that the polite thing to have done with an elderly woman was to come to her, but she supposed princes lived by different rules. Mrs Oakengate, however, appeared honoured to have caught his attention, so walked over to him with as much energy as she could muster, trying to look ten or twenty years younger.
“Then it’s settled,” said Blake, taking Caroline by the hand and leading her to the dance floor.
“Who are you?” she asked him when they had been dancing for a few moments.
“I’m sure we were already introduced.”
“Yes, but you knew me before. When we met in the lane. Only then you didn’t mention knowing Jack Henderson.”
“I didn’t know he was here.”
“But you knew me?”
“I saw you leaving, and heard Mrs Oakengate telling you not to be too long.”
“So you were watching the abbey this afternoon?”
“I told you. I walked up to get a look at it.”
“The prince doesn’t seem to trust you.”
“Are you always this direct, Caroline?”
“Yes, I try to be. I find it makes life much easier. Don’t you?”
“Then you won’t mind me telling you that you are utterly wonderful. Tell me about yourself.”
“There isn’t anything to tell. I’m an orphan and I was brought up by a foster aunt and uncle.”
“Oakengate is known as The Collector. Tell me, why did she collect you?”
“I don’t think I want to talk about that, Mr Laurenson. In fact, I’d like to sit down now, if you don’t mind.” Caroline could not understand her own response. She had vowed to meet the subject of her parentage head on, so why did it matter so much to her what this man thought?
“I shall find out from someone else, even if you don’t tell me. A moment ago you spoke of the importance of being direct. So why can’t you tell me the truth now?” To her consternation, he was not letting her go. Rather than cause a scene, she continued to dance with him, but kept her body rigid.
“My parents were spies. My father died before he could be brought to justice, and my mother died in prison.”
“Oh. Look, I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be. I barely knew them. I was farmed out to relatives early in my life while my mother and father travelled the world betraying their country. I never knew a proper family till Aunt Millie and Uncle Jim took me in.”
“The Haxbys?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“I’ve never met them but I’ve heard of them and I think I remember the case. Your surname is Conrad, which means from what you say that your mother was Barbara Conrad. And your father Sir Alexander Markham. Am I right?”
Caroline nodded. “They framed Aunt Millie’s father, Richard Woodridge. That was just before she met Uncle Jim. My mother admired Millie, so when she was in prison, she contacted her to ask her if she would take care of me. Aunt Millie came to get me straight away – I was five at the time - and took me home to be part of her family.”
“It was remarkable that Millie agreed, given what they’d done to her father.”
“Aunt Millie is a remarkable woman. There’s no one else like her in the world. If not for her my mother would have been executed, but Aunt Millie spoke up for her and mother’s sentence was commuted to life imprisonment. Aunt Millie has always told me to remember that my parents’ crimes are not my crimes, which is why I need no apology.”
“Yet you didn’t want to tell me, Caroline. Why was that?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I get tired of talking about it.” It was the first lie she had told him. Not so much about getting tired of talking about her parents. That much was true. But it was not the reason she had been reluctant to tell him.
“Or maybe,” he murmured next to her ear, “you thought it would stop me from liking you.”
Caroline pulled away. “I assure you, Mr Laurenson that I have no need for your approval.” That was the second lie she had told him.
“Like I said,” he said, smiling, “you are utterly wonderful.”
Caroline felt her face flush crimson, and turned away from him. She would have liked to go to bed, but she was forced to stay until Mrs Oakengate decided to turn in. She picked up her glass of wine and drank it down in one go, in an attempt to fortify herself. Her employer, dancing in Prince Henri’s arms, looked as though she might fall asleep at any moment, yet seemed reluctant to relinquish her hold on the prince’s attention.
* * *
It was with some relief that Mrs Oakengate finally said her goodnights, and Caroline followed her meekly up the stairs, avoiding eye contact with Blake Laurenson who stood in the hallway talking quietly to Jack Henderson. By t
hat time, Caroline felt exhausted and could easily have gone to sleep on her feet.
“The prince is so charming,” Mrs Oakengate said as Caroline helped her to get into bed. “I think he rather admires me.” Mrs Oakengate’s cheeks were flushed from dancing, but Caroline had never seen her look so happy.
“That’s nice,” said Caroline. “Do you want to read for a while or shall I turn off the lights?”
“Actually I’m very tired all of a sudden. Turn off the lights in this room, but leave my door open, and one of your lights on, please. I do not like total darkness.”
Caroline nodded and smiled, despite not being at all keen on that idea. She preferred to sleep in darkness, and the night before had found it hard to doze off with one of the lights glowing in the corner. An extended yawn told her that perhaps tonight would be different
After putting on her night dress, she sat up in bed for a while, intending to read, but her mind kept going back to Blake Laurenson and his presence in the house. Why was he there? For some reason the story of him being an old friend of Jack Henderson’s did not ring true. She had seen them talking together, and there was none of the easy camaraderie that friends shared. She supposed that perhaps they were more acquaintances than friends, and that Blake’s appearance had been something of an imposition. But Jack Henderson was no pushover according to the gossip columns. He was not averse to firing even the most famous of actors from his films if they behaved in a way that held up the working day. So he would not hesitate to throw out a young man who had worked as nothing more than a runner on a couple of Hitchcock films.
The more Caroline thought about it, the more that did not ring true either. She was a runner, of sorts, for Mrs Oakengate, only on a more permanent basis. Blake did not seem the kind who would be pandering to the whims of spoilt movie stars and temperamental directors. He was too much his own man. That much she gauged just by knowing him for a few hours.
A Collector of Hearts Page 2