She jumped up, ran to the door, opened it a few inches and hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the outside doorknob. She returned to Cyrus’s side, fell to her knees and, gathering all her strength, placed her arms under his shoulders and dragged him across the carpet and into the bedroom. She left him on the floor as she pulled back the sheets and blanket on the vast king-sized bed. She then knelt down beside him and, with one final Herculean effort, pulled him up off the floor and onto the mattress, grateful that he was only five foot five. He was snoring contentedly as she covered him gently with the sheet and blanket. She filled another glass with Maker’s Mark and placed it on the small table by his side of the bed. Virginia then closed the bedroom door, drew the heavy curtains and turned out all the lights one by one until the room was in total darkness.
When she finally climbed into bed beside him, she was only wearing one thing.
14
VIRGINIA SPENT MOST of the night wide awake, listening to Cyrus’s thunderous snores. He tossed and turned, and when he did wake, it was only for a few moments before the snores erupted again. She couldn’t believe Ellie May had ever slept with this man.
Virginia lay there, for hour upon hour, realizing it could be a long night. Not only was Cyrus drunk, but probably suffering from jet lag. She spent her time preparing a plan that would be set into motion the moment he awoke. She even rehearsed the lines she would deliver until they were word perfect.
He woke just after six the next morning, but it was some time before he properly entered this world, which gave Virginia time to carry out an undress rehearsal. A few minutes before seven, Cyrus stretched out an arm and, after some fumbling, managed to switch on his bedside light, the cue for Virginia to close her eyes, turn over and let out a soft sigh. When Cyrus looked around and saw her lying next to him, she heard a voice say, “What the hell?”
Virginia yawned and stretched her arms, pretending to wake slowly. When she opened her eyes, she was greeted with a vision of Bottom: an unshaven face, mouth wide open, sweating profusely and stinking of whisky. All Cyrus needed was a pair of ass’s ears to complete the image.
“Good morning, my darling,” said Virginia. She leaned across and kissed him, catching a full waft of his morning breath, but she didn’t recoil, just smiled, and wrapped her arms around his damp, podgy body. She began to move a hand up his leg.
“You were magnificent last night, my little dumpling,” she said. “A lion, a veritable lion.”
“What happened last night?” Cyrus managed, snatching at the sheet to cover his naked body.
“You were unstoppable. I don’t know how many times we made love, and it was so romantic when you told me you’d never met anyone like me and we must spend the rest of our lives together.”
“I said what?”
“‘But what about Ellie May?’ I insisted. ‘How could I even think about Ellie May now I’ve met a goddess,’ you replied. ‘I shall make you the Queen of Louisiana.’ Then you got out of bed, fell on one knee and asked me to be your wife.”
“I did what?”
“You proposed, and I confess I was overwhelmed by the thought of spending the rest of my life with you in Baton Rouge. You then placed the ring on my finger.” She held up her left hand.
“I did?”
“You did, and now we must let the world share our happiness.” Cyrus’s mouth remained open. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, my darling,” continued Virginia, getting out of bed and pulling open the curtains to let the sun flood in. Cyrus’s mouth remained open as he stared at her naked body. “As soon as I’m dressed, I’m going home to change. After all, even though I’m now your fiancée, we wouldn’t want anyone to see me in the same clothes I was wearing last night, would we, my little dumpling.” She giggled as she leaned over and kissed him on the mouth.
Virginia picked up the phone by his side of the bed. “Breakfast for one,” she said. “Tea, toast and Oxford Marmalade, and perhaps a Virgin Mary. My fiancé has a dreadful hangover. Thank you, yes, as soon as possible.” She put the phone down. “I’ll be back around ten, dumpling,” she promised, “and then we can go shopping. I think we should start at Moss Bros. You’ll need a top hat and tails for Ascot, and perhaps a gray silk cravat if you’re going to be seen regularly in the royal box. And then you can join me while I spend a little time looking at Hartnell’s spring collection. I’ll need to find something worthy of the winner of the King George VI and Queen Elizabeth Stakes,” she added as she pulled on her skirt and did up her blouse.
There was a knock at the door. Virginia left the bedroom and opened the door to allow a waiter pushing a trolley to enter.
“My fiancé is still in bed. Do go through. Your breakfast has arrived, my darling,” Virginia said as she followed the waiter into the bedroom. “And be sure to drink your Virgin Mary,” she added as the tray was placed on his lap, “because we’ve got a busy day ahead of us.” Once again she leaned over and kissed Cyrus, who was now sitting bolt upright and staring blankly at her. “I must also give some thought to the wording of our engagement announcement in the Court Circular. Something simple but dignified,” she said, “letting the world know the significance of our two families coming together. Of course everyone will expect a society wedding at St. Margaret’s, Westminster, although I’d prefer a quiet affair, perhaps in Baton Rouge.” The waiter proffered the bill. “I’ll sign it,” said Virginia, who, before ushering him out, added 20 percent, to make sure the young man couldn’t possibly forget what he had just witnessed. She then gave Cyrus one final kiss and said, “See you in a couple of hours, dumpling.”
She had slipped out of the room before he could reply.
Virginia walked quickly down the long corridor, purpose in her stride, and took the lift to the ground floor. As she passed the reception desk, none of the porters gave her a second look. They were well accustomed to ladies slipping out of the hotel early in the morning, some paid, others not—and certainly Virginia intended to be paid in full. A liveried porter opened the front door for her and asked if she needed a taxi.
“Yes, please.”
He raised an arm, let out a piercing whistle and a taxi miraculously appeared a moment later.
Virginia did as she’d told Cyrus she would. She returned home, where she spent some considerable time soaking in a warm bath, before washing her hair and changing her clothes. She then selected an appropriate outfit for returning to the Ritz.
Over breakfast, she took her time reading the morning papers. After all, the shop she intended to visit didn’t open until ten. She left her flat in Cadogan Gardens just after nine forty, and took another taxi, this time to Bond Street, which looked like a desert at that time in the morning. She was dropped outside the House of Cellini a few minutes after ten.
Virginia pressed the bell, took out her handkerchief, and was pleased to see the same assistant step forward to open the door. She bowed her head and dabbed away an imaginary tear.
“Is everything all right, madam?” he asked solicitously.
“No, I’m afraid it isn’t,” she said, her voice quivering. “My beloved has changed his mind and asked me to return this,” she said, removing the engagement ring from her finger.
“I’m so sorry, my lady.”
“Not as sorry as I am,” she said placing the ring on the counter. “He asked me if you could return his check.”
“That won’t be possible, madam, we banked it immediately, and as you had taken the ring with you, we requested same-day clearance.”
“Then I’ll need a check for the full amount in compensation. After all, you witnessed him giving me the ring, and I’ve agreed with his lawyers not to pursue the matter any further. Always so unpleasant when the press become involved, don’t you think?” The assistant looked anxious. “None of us need that sort of publicity, do we? And of course, it’s possible my beloved might change his mind again, in which case I’ll be back. So perhaps you could put the ring on one side for a few days.”
&nb
sp; The assistant hesitated before saying, “Who shall I make the check out to, my lady?”
“The Lady Virginia Fenwick,” she said, giving him a warm smile.
The assistant disappeared into the back office and didn’t reappear for what seemed to Virginia like an eternity. He finally returned and handed her a check for £14,000. As Virginia placed the check in her handbag, he came around from behind the counter, opened the front door and said, “Good day, my lady. I hope we’ll be seeing you again soon.”
“Let’s hope so,” said Virginia as she walked out onto the pavement. She hailed a taxi and instructed the cabbie to take her to Coutts in the Strand. Once again she prepared her words carefully for whatever his name was.
On arrival at the bank, she told the driver to wait as she would only be a few minutes. She got out, walked into Coutts and headed straight for the manager’s office. She marched in to find him dictating a letter to his secretary.
“You can leave us, Mrs. Powell,” said Mr Fairbrother. He was about to tell her ladyship that he wasn’t willing to see her again unless she made an appointment, when Virginia placed the check on the desk in front of him. He stared at the figure of £14,000 in disbelief.
“Be sure to clear every one of my outstanding checks without delay,” she said. “And please don’t bother me again in the future.” Before he could respond, Virginia had left the office and closed the door behind her.
“The Ritz,” she told the waiting cabbie. The taxi swung around onto the other side of the road and headed for Piccadilly. They came to a halt outside the hotel ten minutes later. Virginia handed over her last pound, walked up the steps and made her way to the reception desk.
“Good morning, madam, how may I help you?”
“Would you please call Mr. Cyrus T. Grant in the Nelson Suite, and tell him that Lady Virginia Fenwick is waiting for him in reception.”
The concierge looked puzzled. “But Mr. Grant checked out over an hour ago, my lady. I ordered a limousine to take him to Heathrow.”
SEBASTIAN CLIFTON
1971
15
“YOUR MOTHER TOLD me I’d never get you to take the day off,” said Giles as his nephew joined him in the front seat.
“Especially to watch a game of cricket,” said Sebastian scornfully, pulling the door closed.
“This isn’t just any old game of cricket,” said Giles. “It’s the opening day of a Lord’s Test match against India, one of our oldest rivals.”
“It was still difficult to explain to my chairman, who’s Scottish, and to the bank’s owner, who’s Turkish and refuses to believe any sporting encounter could go on for five days and then end up without a result.”
“A draw is a result.”
“You try explaining that to Hakim Bishara. However, when I told him I’d be your guest, he was keen for me to accept the invitation.”
“Why?” asked Giles.
“Hakim and Ross Buchanan are both great admirers of yours, and Ross asked me to find out if there was any chance you would consider becoming a director of Farthings.”
“Why would he suggest that, when I know as much about banking as he does about cricket?”
“I don’t think your cricketing prowess is the reason they want you to join the board. But you do have certain skills that could be of benefit to the bank.”
“Like what?” asked Giles, as they turned off Hyde Park Corner and headed up Park Lane.
“You were a senior minister at the Foreign Office in the last government, and you currently sit in the Shadow Cabinet. Just think of the political contacts you’ve made over the years. And if we’re going to join the EEC, imagine the doors you could open that would be closed to our rivals.”
“I’m flattered,” said Giles, “but frankly I’m a politician at heart, and if we win the next election—and I’m convinced we will—I would hope to be appointed a minister again, and would therefore have to give up any directorships.”
“But that might not be for another three or four years,” said Seb, “during which time we could make good use of your knowledge, contacts and expertise to expand our interests in Europe.”
“What would my responsibilities be?”
“You’d have to attend a board meeting every quarter, and be on the end of a phone if Hakim or Ross need to seek your advice. Not too onerous, so I hope you’ll at least give it some thought.”
“A Labour politician on the board of a bank.”
“That might even be an advantage,” said Seb. “Show you don’t all hate business.”
“The first thing I’d need to do is find out how my colleagues in the Shadow Cabinet would react.”
As they drove around Marble Arch, Seb asked, “And how are you enjoying the Lords?”
“It’s not the Commons.”
“What does that mean?”
“The real power will always be in the Lower House. They instigate the bills, while we just revise them, which must be right while we’re an unelected chamber. Frankly I made a mistake not standing in the by-election. But I’m not complaining. It means I get to spend more time with Karin, so in a way I’ve ended up with the best of both worlds. And you, Seb?”
“The worst of both worlds. The woman I love lives on the wrong side of the Atlantic and, as long as her husband’s alive, there’s not a lot I can do about it.”
“Have you told your parents about Jessica?”
“No, not in so many words, but I have a feeling Dad already knows. He came to my office a few weeks ago to take me to lunch and spotted a painting on the wall entitled My Mom, signed ‘Jessica.’”
“And he put two and two together?”
“It wouldn’t have been difficult. My Mom couldn’t be anyone but Samantha.”
“But that’s wonderful on one level.”
“And dreadful on another, because Sam would never consider leaving her husband Michael while he’s lying in a coma in hospital.”
“Perhaps it’s time for you to move on.”
“That’s what Aunt Grace keeps telling me, but it’s not quite that easy.”
“After two failed marriages, I can hardly claim to be a role model,” said Giles. “But I did get lucky the third time, so there must still be some hope for you.”
“And the whole family’s delighted by how it’s worked out. Mum particularly likes Karin.”
“And your father?” asked Giles, as he drove into St. John’s Wood Road.
“He’s cautious by nature, so he may take a little longer. But that’s only because he’s got your best interests at heart.”
“Can’t blame him. After all, he and your mother have been married for over twenty-five years, and they still adore each other.”
“Tell me more about today’s game,” said Seb, clearly wanting to change the subject.
“For the Indians, cricket is not a game, it’s a religion.”
“And we’re guests of the president of the MCC?”
“Yes, Freddie Brown and I both played for the MCC, and he went on to captain England,” Giles said as he parked his car on a yellow line outside the ground. “However, you’re about to find that cricket is a great leveler. There’s sure to be an interesting mix of guests in the president’s box, who only have one thing in common—a passion for the game.”
“Then I’ll be the odd one out,” said Seb.
* * *
“The Cabinet Office.”
“It’s Harry Clifton. Could I have a word with the Cabinet Secretary?”
“Hold on please, sir, I’ll find out if he’s free.”
“Mr. Clifton,” said a voice a few moments later. “What a pleasant surprise. I was only asking your brother-in-law the other day if there had been any progress in getting Anatoly Babakov released.”
“Sadly not, Sir Alan, but that wasn’t the reason I was calling. I need to see you fairly urgently, on a private matter. I wouldn’t bother you unless I considered it important.”
“If you say it’s important, Mr. Clift
on, I’ll see you whenever it’s convenient, and I don’t always say that, even to cabinet ministers.”
“I’m in London today to visit my publishers, so if by any chance you could fit me in for fifteen minutes this afternoon…”
“Let me check my diary. Ah, I see the prime minister is at Lord’s to watch the test match, where he’ll have an unofficial meeting with Indira Gandhi, so I don’t expect him back at No.10 much before six. Would four fifteen suit you?”
* * *
“Good morning, Freddie. It was kind of you to invite us.”
“My pleasure, Giles. Nice to be on the same side for a change.”
Giles laughed. “And this is my nephew, Sebastian Clifton, who works in the City.”
“Good morning, Mr. Brown,” said Sebastian, as he shook hands with the president of the MCC. He looked out onto the magnificent ground, which was quickly filling up in anticipation of the opening salvoes.
“England won the toss and have elected to bat,” said the president.
“Good toss to win,” said Giles.
“And is this your first visit to the home of cricket, Sebastian?”
“No, sir, as a schoolboy I saw my uncle score a century for Oxford on this ground.”
“Not many people have achieved that,” said the president, as two of his other guests entered the box and came across to join them.
Sebastian smiled, although he was no longer looking at the former captain of England.
“And this,” said the president, “is an old friend of mine, Sukhi Ghuman, not a bad spin bowler in his time, and his daughter Priya.”
“Good morning, Mr. Ghuman,” said Giles.
“Do you enjoy cricket, Priya?” Seb asked the young woman, whom he tried not to stare at.
“That’s a rather silly question to ask an Indian woman, Mr. Clifton,” said Priya, “because there wouldn’t be anything to talk to our men about if we didn’t follow cricket. How about you?”
Cometh the Hour Page 11