The Granville Sisters

by Una-Mary Parker

  ‘God help us all, now that David is King,’ Henry remarked as they all dined quietly at home that evening. ‘I heard today that Mrs Simpson was sitting up all night, by her telephone, waiting for the Prince of Wales to phone her to give her the news. Like a bloody vulture, waiting for the pickings, if you ask me,’ he added in disgust.

  ‘Will he marry her now he’s the King?’ Juliet asked. ‘They’ve been together for several years, haven’t they?’

  ‘I don’t see how we can have a woman who has been divorced twice as our Queen,’ Liza pointed out scathingly.

  Henry sighed deeply. ‘I don’t think the Prime Minister will allow him to marry her.’

  ‘What happens if he insists?’ Rosie asked, filled with sympathy for the couple whose love affair she’d always viewed as romantic.

  ‘Surely he can refuse to be King?’ Juliet protested.

  Henry looked haunted. ‘It would mean he’d have to abdicate, and that could bring the whole royal family down.’

  Rosie darted a nervous look at her mother. She was longing to ask, but simply didn’t dare, whether it meant she’d have to postpone her wedding.

  Up in the nursery, Nanny and Ruby were red-eyed, but it didn’t stop Nanny from giving the children a rundown of what would happen next.

  ‘The Prince of Wales, who is called David by the royal family, will be crowned King Edward VIII next year …’

  ‘Why is he called David if his name is Edward?’ Louise asked.

  ‘He’s got several Christian names, and I suppose he prefers David,’ Nanny responded. ‘The old King will lie in state in Westminster Hall …’

  ‘The … dead King?’ Charlotte asked.

  ‘Of course the dead King, you silly girl, and then he’ll be buried at St George’s Chapel, in Windsor Castle.’

  Charlotte looked eager. ‘Can we go? Like we did to the Jubilee?’

  Nanny looked severe. ‘Certainly not. Funerals are no place for children.’ Nanny didn’t even know if she’d be able to listen to the proceedings herself on the wireless. Some things were just too painful to bear.

  ‘He’ll have to get rid of her now,’ Liza said indignantly.

  The Granvilles were holding a quiet dinner party two weeks after the King’s death. Quiet it may have been, with all the women in black and pearls, but dull it certainly wasn’t, with starry guests like Lady Diana Cooper and her diplomat husband, Duff Cooper, and, from America, the millionaire novelist and socialite, ‘Chips’ Channon and his wife, the former Lady Honor Guinness, of the Guinness beer family, whose personal fortune almost matched his. Henry’s lifelong friend, Ian Cavendish, and his wife had also been invited, together with a few couples to whom they owed hospitality.

  In the past few days, Wallis Simpson, and her future as the new King’s mistress, was the topic of conversation throughout the land, from humble dwelling house to royal palace.

  Chips spoke. ‘David will never give her up. She’s his ideal. That woman –’ there was a mixture of admiration and wonderment in his voice – ‘that woman can do things for him that other women can’t …’ He flashed a knowing look around the table. Everyone leaned forward, intrigued.

  Lady Diana spoke with the sanguine bluntness of the aristocracy. ‘People think she was taught by prostitutes in the brothels of Shanghai, but that’s nonsense. She had a Chinese ayah as a little girl, and she taught her, by using ivory rods.’

  Liza flushed and looked embarrassed.

  ‘So that’s her secret,’ Juliet said with genuine interest.

  Liza shot her a horrified look. The fact that Parsons was hovering around with more wine, listening to every word whilst pretending not to, made her want to die.

  ‘Wallis has certainly got a hold over him,’ Henry said calmly. ‘I hear they’re talking of a morganatic marriage, but I don’t think this country would wear that either.’

  ‘But they’re in love, aren’t they?’ Rosie reasoned, her eyes tender as she glanced at Charles to support her view.

  Charles picked at his lobster, and said nothing.

  Duff spoke briskly, his intelligent eyes darting around the dining table. ‘If Mrs Simpson really loved him, she’d go abroad and get out of his life now, and stay out of it for ever.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Juliet. ‘She’s being utterly selfish, but then I’ve heard she’s an adventuress, so she’d obviously be all out for herself.’

  There was a stunned silence. The adults turned to look at her, surprised by the maturity of her manner, while Liza eyed her nervously. Juliet had grown up a lot during her incarceration with the Principessa. She’d learned sophistication, and a degree of worldliness. Tonight she even looked much older than her age. Her simple black velvet evening dress, with two long ropes of pearls, gave her a regal air.

  Rosie bristled, seeing her sister take centre stage again, but she said nothing, because she lacked the confidence to air her opinion in front of her parents’ friends.

  Henry’s eyes narrowed speculatively as he studied Juliet for a long moment.

  Juliet’s gaze was level as she looked back at him. ‘Mrs Simpson must be stupid, or ignorant, to think she could become Queen in the first place.’

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed Lady Diana. ‘What an adorable girl you are, Juliet, and so beautiful with it.’

  Juliet flushed with pleasure. They were indeed flattering words coming from this renowned beauty of the past two decades.

  ‘I think they should be given a chance,’ Chips persisted. ‘In the States we don’t take divorce so seriously. Wallis makes him very happy. She’s good for him. Bosses him around in a teasing way that no one else has ever dared do.’

  ‘That’s the trouble,’ Duff cut in, drily. ‘David’s weak. He’ll listen to whoever talked to him last, and he dithers all the time, and can’t make up his mind about anything …’

  ‘Except about Wallis, evidently, and he’s sure fixed on her,’ Chips chortled.

  ‘Except for Wallis,’ Lady Diana agreed diplomatically.

  ‘And,’ continued Chips, getting heated, ‘I don’t know why you people want to get rid of him! There’s a suggestion that the Duke of York should take over … I ask you!’

  Liza smiled. This was a dangerous topic, especially in front of the servants. ‘It doesn’t quite work like that in this country,’ she simpered.

  At that moment, Parsons led six footmen into the dining room. They were all bearing silver platters containing the meat and vegetables for the main course.

  ‘I hope you all like venison?’ she continued, desperate to divert the conversation into safer waters. ‘Have you been stalking recently, Duff?’

  ‘So what will happen?’ Lady Honor asked, ignoring Liza completely. ‘Chips and I entertained David and Wallis to dinner last week …’

  ‘Such dreadful social climbing,’ Lady Diana murmured sotto voce, casting her large blue eyes up to the ceiling.

  Henry spoke. ‘The King will lose the respect of the people if he doesn’t make an honest woman of Mrs Simpson, and he’ll incur the fury of the people if he does.’

  Charles, feeling he’d been silent for too long, spoke. ‘Fancy her going to watch the official proclamation at St James’s Palace! Peering out of a window at the ceremony, so all the photographers could see her.’

  ‘Dreadfully common,’ agreed Lady Diana. ‘Like a suburban housewife, twitching the net curtains.’

  Duff nodded. ‘Have you heard what she said about having to wear mourning?’

  Everyone leaned forward, enjoying the gossip.

  ‘Tell us!’ Ian Cavendish asked. He was an old gossip himself, and hated the fact that most of his work at the Foreign Office was subject to the Official Secrets Act.

  ‘Wallis said –’ Duff paused, looking around the table, timing it for effect – ‘that she “hadn’t worn black stockings since she gave up doing the cancan!”’

  ‘No …!’ Gasps of titillated amusement combined with self-righteous shock ebbed and flowed around the table.

>   The chatter continued. Liza felt she should take the ladies upstairs, and leave the men to their port and cigars, but every time she caught Henry’s eye, he demurred with a tiny shake of his head.

  The topic of conversation had shifted to darker matters that affected them all, and everyone sat listening as Duff spoke with the voice of experience.

  ‘I saw the writing on the wall back in 1933,’ he said gravely. ‘Diana and I attended the first Nuremberg rally. When Adolf Hitler, an insignificant little man who’d been a plumber, appeared in uniform, I knew we could be doomed.’

  ‘It was dreadful,’ agreed Lady Diana, whose acute intelligence matched her husband’s. ‘Four hundred thousand supporters went wild. Mass hysteria, of course. Then Hitler started an impassioned oration, yelling and gesticulating like a raving lunatic. It was the most horrible and frightening display of egomania I’ve ever seen.’

  The others sat still, chilled by her words.

  ‘Then Duff did something incredibly stupid,’ she continued. ‘I don’t know how he wasn’t arrested on the spot.’

  The dapper diplomat’s eyes twinkled, as everyone turned to look at him. He gave a nonchalant little shrug. ‘I walked out,’ he said simply. ‘I realized that Hitler wouldn’t let anything stand in his way. The Nazis are going to overrun Europe before long, like a plague of rabid rats. I had no wish to stay and listen to how he was galvanizing the Germans into action.’

  ‘Do you really think they’ll attack the rest of Europe, sir?’ Charles asked. ‘I believe we have nothing to worry about.’

  Duff gave Charles a brief glance, as if dismissing the yelps of a puppy. ‘I know we have,’ he said coldly. ‘Both Britain and France are being too timid to recognize the danger signals, and Hitler’s using a softly-softly policy. Churchill told me that German munitions are being manufactured as never before. The German Army is growing in size, thanks to thousands of ardent volunteers. The Rhineland, or the “west wall” as he’s calling it, is growing apace. Heavy fortifications are being built. Air-raid shelters have been constructed.’ He looked at Charles, coolly. ‘Do you want me to continue?’

  Charles turned red. ‘It doesn’t mean they’re going to invade England,’ he said, weakly.

  Duff’s face was also flushed. ‘Wake up, young man. Hitler is winding up the people of Germany, preparing them for war. It’s inevitable.’

  There was silence around the table. The candles burned down. Parsons produced more decanters of wine.

  Ian, who knew more about what was going on than anyone in the room, spoke. ‘We mustn’t forget Mussolini either. His conquest of Ethiopia has been brutal. There’s no doubt he’ll join forces with Hiter before long, posing a desperate threat to us all.’

  ‘I can tell you all one thing,’ Chips cut in, authoritatively. ‘Our President is very worried about the deterioration of the European situation.’

  ‘Do you think Roosevelt will aid Britain in a war?’ Henry asked.

  ‘Churchill’s mother was American. If only Churchill was in power, I bet you he would pull every string imaginable to get Roosevelt on board.’

  ‘We’d have to get rid of Neville Chamberlain first,’ Charles observed, desperate to keep up with the older and wiser men.

  Juliet, who had been following the discussion with close interest, turned to her father, while Rosie fiddled with a lock of her hair, and Liza kept giving Parsons fussy whispered instructions.

  ‘I thought you said, Daddy, that thanks to the League of Nations, a peace treaty was signed at Versailles, which would end hostilities between Britain and Germany for ever.’

  For the second time, everyone looked at Juliet in surprise. Not many girls of seventeen would even take an interest in the situation, far less ask pertinent questions.

  Henry smiled at her with a look of tender pride. ‘You’re quite right, darling. But now it seems it was not so much a peace treaty, as a declaration of a twenty-year armistice.’

  ‘My dear Duff, won’t you have some grapes?’ Liza gushed, in a desperate effort to lighten the sombre mood.

  ‘And it’s only a matter of time before the Germans ignore the treaty completely,’ Duff said, ignoring Liza. ‘Then you can expect the worst. Civilians will be affected this time, too. Cities will be bombed. London in particular will be targeted. I’ve heard the Luftwaffe have sufficient bombs to flatten the city in the first few days.’

  As everyone took in the enormity of what had been said, and the consequences another war would bring, there was an atmosphere of almost palpable apprehension in the room.

  Liza decided to make a last desperate bid to jolly up the party. ‘Diana, have you ordered your outfits for Ascot yet?’ she trilled, without missing a beat.

  For a long moment Henry stared at her, appalled. Then, with an effort, he recovered himself. ‘Liza, is that a signal for our lovely lady guests to retire,’ he asked gallantly, his smile strained, ‘while we men set the world to rights?’

  Liza flushed. He’d called her by her name instead of ‘darling’.

  ‘I’m … I’m sure that’s what they’d like,’ she said, falteringly. ‘Shall we …?’ She glanced distractedly around the table at the women guests. ‘Shall we …?’ she repeated.

  Rosie leapt to her feet, glad not to have to listen any more to such depressing opinions, but Juliet stared at her mother coldly.

  ‘Such a gloomy discussion,’ Liza prattled nervously, as she led the way upstairs to her bedroom.

  ‘But a very interesting one,’ Lady Diana observed darkly, wondering why on earth Henry Granville had married such a silly little woman.

  Juliet regarded Rosie’s wedding preparations with quiet amusement, as opposed to jealousy. Charles was no great catch. She was determined to do better. But her sister had become obsessed with every tiny detail of the Great Day.

  ‘What does it matter what colour knickers you have in your trousseau?’ Juliet demanded. ‘Only Charlie is going to see them, and he’d probably prefer you didn’t wear any at all.’

  Rosie blushed violently. ‘His name’s Charles, not Charlie,’ she corrected, ‘and I’ve always heard that white underwear represents love; other colours are for sex,’ she added with pursed lips.

  Juliet threw back her head, screaming with laughter.

  ‘Where on earth did you hear that? When I was in Rome, I managed to sneak down to the shops in the Corso, where I bought the most heavenly black satin brassieres and knickers. And a couple of black nightdresses. They’re too divine for words.’

  ‘Well, that just about says it all, doesn’t it?’ Rosie retorted, pettishly. ‘I must say you’ve changed a lot since you’ve been in Rome.’

  ‘The world has moved on; you’ve just stayed still.’

  ‘How can you say that? I’m engaged to be married, and there’s nothing more grown-up than that.’

  ‘That depends who you’re marrying.’

  Rosie looked indignant. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You and Charlie are a couple of inexperienced children beside the people I met at the Principessa’s. She may have been strict, but she did include me in her dinner parties. And her friends were fascinating.’

  ‘But … weren’t they all very old? Like her?’

  ‘They were all in their fifties, I suppose. But both the men and the women were sophisticated and stylish. Much travelled and well read. Knowledgeable about the arts. About politics. About life. All you and Mummy ever think about is clothes, and who’ll be at the next party. Mummy only likes going to the opera because it’s smart. These people know all about opera, ballet, and music. They all speak perfect English, which was very polite, because they knew I hardly understood any Italian. I’m going to take more lessons, though. And brush up my French.’

  ‘Quite the little intellect,’ Rosie bitched peevishly. Then she picked up a swatch of different shades of blue silk. ‘I’m not sure which to have for the bridesmaids’ dresses.’

  ‘I hope you’re not expecting me to be a bridesmaid.’
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  ‘I’m having my six best friends, and Louise, Amanda and Charlotte, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ Juliet sniped sarcastically. She’d have quite liked to have been asked, if only to have the satisfaction of refusing, but instead, to her secret surprise, she felt quite hurt at not being included. She was at a loose end these days. Liza was submerged in Rosie’s wedding plans, the younger ones had their own nursery and school life. Henry was working hard at Hammerton’s, and in the evenings going to various political meetings.

  It was time, she decided, to get back into the swing of things, even if her contemporaries were going to seem a bit juvenile compared to the Principessa’s friends.

  First she telephoned Archie Hipwood.

  ‘Hello,’ he responded, coolly.

  ‘What are you up to these days?’ she asked breezily. ‘Any good parties we can gatecrash?’

  ‘I don’t think … there aren’t many parties, because of the King’s death.’

  She knew it was an excuse. Archie had been particularly shocked by the way she’d dropped Alastair Slaidburn, and his subsequent suicide.

  ‘Oh, well … I’m back from Italy and catching up with friends … See you soon.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Archie sounded cautious.

  Juliet phoned Colin Armstrong next. He was another one who had been at the Frobishers’ ball when they’d all heard about Alastair’s death.

  ‘Are you back from Italy already?’ he said, in surprise. He didn’t sound welcoming.

  ‘I returned a couple of weeks ago. What are you doing with yourself these days?’

  They’d had such a laugh last summer, she and Colin. Creeping into parties through the kitchens, drinking and talking into the night, sharing a last cigarette as dawn crept stealthily over the chimney pots.

  ‘I’m very busy,’ he replied briskly. ‘Working in a law firm. No time for partying these days.’

  ‘Poor old you. How about the weekend? Why don’t you come down to Hartley?’

  ‘No can do,’ he said with finality. ‘Got to rush. ’Bye, Juliet.’