Abdication: A Novel

by Juliet Nicolson

  May turned back to her typewriter. Tears blurred the typed words in front of her but she managed to mumble what sounded like an agreement before Miss Nettlefold went to see if tea had yet arrived in the drawing room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Shortly after leaving London, Evangeline heard May flick the double switch on the walnut dashboard, illuminating first the sidelights followed by the headlamps. Evangeline was surprised that darkness had already fallen even though it was barely teatime. She was staring up at the roof of the car, stretched out across the backseat, her elegant lace-up boots protruding from the edge of the tartan rug that covered her. She felt incapable of rousing herself to look out of the window. There was nothing to see in the dark anyway. Loafer was equally comatose, slumped across his proxy mistress’s stomach, rising and falling with Evangeline’s breaths as if he was sleeping on top of a live anthill. Evangeline was aware of the slothful impression she must be making on May, especially compared with her upbeat mood of the beginning of the day before. But Evangeline was beyond caring. In fact she had barely spoken a word to May for the entire journey.

  The humiliation that she had experienced yesterday at Crystal Palace in the secret wireless recording studio was worse even than anything she had suffered at the hand of her mother. With hindsight she kicked herself for her stupidity at thinking such an apparently simple plan would work, and for allowing her contempt for and disappointment in Wallis to get the better of her. Of course she had convinced herself that the motivation for what she was doing lay in a desire to tell the truth, just as Sir John himself had advocated at dinner. But the real truth was that Evangeline’s plan was borne out of jealousy and hurt at Wallis’s rejection of her.

  Everything had begun so well. She had told no one but May of the honour of being chosen for Sir John Reith’s experimental broadcast. She wanted the whole thing to be a surprise. A coolness had developed between herself and May during these past few weeks as Evangeline found it impossible to ignore Julian’s obvious affection for the young chauffeur. Now he was safely out of the way Evangeline wanted to mend any differences between herself and May. Evangeline had explained how, by the miraculous medium of the wireless, a handful of individuals of different nationalities were to bring insights from their own countries right into the heart of British homes. Sir John had decided America would be the best place to begin, given that country’s close links with Britain. Evangeline, with what Sir John Reith had called her “beautiful velvety voice,” was to be the first of his foreign broadcasters. The only detail of the plan that she withheld from May was the existence of two handwritten pages that she had been working on in secret for several days.

  The buildup to the recording had been thrilling. Evangeline had spent the morning in Mayfair, first with the manicurist at Elizabeth Arden and then in Antoine’s hairdressing salon having her wig adjusted in a private room. She had taken particular trouble with her clothes. Although Evangeline had not a drop of Scottish blood in her, she was glad she had indulged herself in a new tartan suit with deep pockets, especially when Sir John commented on how well the dark blue and green checks became her. She was gratified that Sir John had appreciated her little gesture to his own country.

  From the moment May dropped Evangeline off at the side entrance to the Crystal Palace, Sir John had treated her as if she was nothing less than royalty. Agreeing to Evangeline’s request that her broadcast be kept as a surprise for her compatriot friend Wallis Simpson, he had personally ushered Evangeline through the corridors and down in the lift to the basement, and everyone they passed had doffed their cap and made a little bow not only to him but to Evangeline too. They were used to seeing what the technicians referred to as “eminent personages” visiting the television studios, particularly as the broadcasting of the first television pictures to a few affluent private homes had only begun a month earlier. But a visit from the head of the BBC wireless service to the discreet studios reserved for broadcasts that for one reason or another had to be conducted in secret was a particularly great honour.

  Once they reached the studio Sir John introduced Evangeline to George Barnes, the BBC’s senior producer for “special talks.” Mr. Barnes, a friendly-looking man with a wide-open face, short haircut and most reassuring manner, ran through the practical details with Evangeline. He reminded her of how she should speak slowly and clearly, pausing if she encountered a problem; the recording technician would be only too pleased to begin again if she made a mistake. As the programme was not going to be broadcast live, there would be every opportunity to correct any small hesitancies, he assured her with a warm smile.

  Mr. Barnes made sure Evangeline was comfortable in the capacious schoolroom chair, sending off for a cushion from one of the television prop rooms to soften the wooden seat. The technician settled a pair of headphones over her newly lacquered wig. The typed script, already approved in every detail by herself and Sir John, was placed on the table in front of her and they were ready to start.

  As instructed, Evangeline began reading as soon as the green light on the fist-size microphone began to shine red. Looking up briefly, she could see Sir John’s tall figure on the other side of the glass screen nodding at her encouragingly, with Mr. Barnes full of reassurance bedside him.

  The first minute was taken up by Evangeline expressing the pleasure she felt at speaking to a British audience about the land of her birth. None of the three men on the other side of the glass noticed as Evangeline discreetly slipped the two pages of handwritten notes out of her pocket. After completing a vivid description of how the skyscrapers in New York were now dominated by the six-year-old Chrysler Building and the even newer and taller Empire State Building, Evangeline cleared her throat and placed her handwritten pages on the table.

  “But tonight as an American who loves your country, I feel it is my duty to let you in on the world’s worst-kept secret,” she began.

  Sir John was frowning on the other side of the glass, looking across at George Barnes for clarification.

  “And by that,” Evangeline continued, “I mean the object of your own king’s affections. The British press may be an exemplary institution but during this past year they have been operating a censorship programme that has left their foreign counterparts astonished.” She took the next part extra slowly. “I believe that the British have a right to know that Edward VIII is in love with a twice-divorced American woman.”

  Evangeline looked up. The expressions on the three faces in front of her reflected their mutual shock. Evangeline went on with her surprise.

  “You should also know that the king intends to give the British people a new queen. This woman with whom he is currently conducting a very romantic relationship is named Wallis Simpson, and when Wallis Simpson marries Edward VIII, Queen Wallis will join him on the throne.”

  When Sir John burst through the door of the studio a moment later the microphone light had once again turned green. Evangeline could see the technician frantically pushing buttons on the control panel as Mr. Barnes mouthed urgently at him.

  “How dare you abuse my time?” Sir John said, lifting Evangeline’s headphones off her head with some roughness. “You stupid, stupid woman. Sir Philip warned me that you were unpredictable. No wonder! I kick myself for not listening to him.”

  “I was only telling the truth, like you said to,” Evangeline replied angrily and full of reproach, conscious that in the hasty removal of the headphones her wig had slipped sideways. “If you don’t want to listen to the truth, then I give up on this goddamn hypocritical country.”

  But as she tried to stand up to leave, she realised that she was stuck. A couple of blobs of glue, not quite dry on the extra cushion, had attached themselves both to the seat of the chair and to the fabric of Evangeline’s skirt. With a little straining she managed to release herself and pushed the chair out of her way but not before the engineer, Sir John and Mr. Barnes had all heard the sound of ripping cloth.

  “No one ever tells the tru
th, that’s your whole problem,” Evangeline said, flinging herself through the door with as much dignity as she could muster.

  Walking quickly towards the lift, the tear in her skirt flapped open behind her, as the furious voice of Sir John followed her down the corridor. “This treacherous incident will not go unnoticed. I can assure you of that Miss Nettlefold.”

  On the drive back to Hamilton Terrace May had asked politely if the recording had gone well.

  “I am a little tired, May, if you don’t mind, and would rather not speak.”

  May had been apologetic. Even so she ventured further, hoping that Evangeline had not had words with Sir Philip? Evangeline was not in the mood for imparting confidences and responded with a shake of the head. She knew why May had asked the question. These days, with the tensions in the House escalating by the day and monopolising Philip’s time, he was quite capable of being tetchy to anyone.

  May had enquired after Loafer as well. She had remarked on how the dog had appeared unusually lethargic for these past couple of days. In fact, May could not remember when she had last seen the dog conscious. But Evangeline offered no insight into the dog’s recent behaviour and the rest of the journey had passed in silence.

  The following afternoon the car made its way up the graceful loops of the Fort drive, and soon the floodlit walls appeared, silhouetted against a sky in which rain clouds obliterated the stars. The king’s station wagon was parked in the semicircular driveway but for once no one was waiting at the front door. A full minute elapsed before Osborne the butler appeared, as immaculate as ever in his black suit and tie. Greeting Miss Nettlefold with a handshake, and all but ignoring May, he retrieved the suitcase from the boot of the car. Evangeline, with a sleeping Loafer in her arms, followed him into the house, with May carrying her own overnight bag walking close behind her.

  It had been Evangeline’s idea for May to stay the night at the Fort. After agreeing to return Loafer to Wallis, she had become nervous of the likely consequences of yesterday’s scene at the Crystal Palace. Secretly she planned to feel so unwell that it would become necessary for her to return to London early the next morning. She had telephoned Wallis before she set off for the Fort from London.

  “Wouldn’t it be fun if May stayed and took us both for a drive tomorrow? I have never been to Eton School and the Blunts are always telling me there is a dear little village nearby with an excellent tea shop.”

  Osborne led the way into the octagonal drawing room where the velvet curtains were closed against the night sky. The tea things had not been cleared away and a plate of egg and cress sandwiches lay untouched on the large stool in front of the fire. Two men—one dark, the other blond—were standing near the fireplace holding flower-patterned cups. They were so absorbed in their conversation that neither noticed Evangeline come into the room.

  “Mrs. Simpson remains rather taken with Rothermere’s suggestion,” the king was saying. “We would go ahead with the coronation next May as planned but as the decree absolute becomes law in April, that gives us an opportunity to fix a wedding date before then. And then, do you see, Wallis will be at my side when I am crowned but she will not take the usual royal rank due to a king’s wife. ‘Morganatic’ is the term, I believe? I think this plan may solve all our problems, Walter, don’t you?”

  “Of course, the plan is certainly worth a shot, sir,” the dark-haired man replied, “but I am bound to say that I can’t see Baldwin or the rest of them liking the idea very much. Mind you, Winston and Mosley might be supportive, for what that is worth. Leave it with me for now, sir.”

  Just then the king caught sight of Evangeline. She had learned how to make him the briefest of curtseys so as not to draw attention to a process she still found both tricky and embarrassing.

  “My dear Evangeline, what have we here? A sleeping Loafer! You must have been running him ragged in the Sussex fields! Osborne, take the poor dog to the kitchen and see if he might like something to eat.”

  Evangeline deduced from the king’s friendly tone that he had heard nothing of yesterday’s aborted recording.

  “Come and meet my guest,” the king beckoned Evangeline over to the fireplace. “I believe you may already have been introduced to Walter Monckton, my lawyer? Wallis will be with us shortly. Cigarette?”

  Evangeline declined the offer as she had so often before, irritated that the king never remembered that she did not smoke. She felt jumpy. She had not seen Wallis since her return from Suffolk three weeks ago, nor had she heard a word from Sir John during the past twenty-four hours and did not know if, or how, he would implement his parting threat. Perhaps he had forgiven her. Evangeline hoped that for once she would be given the benefit of the doubt. Behind her back she crossed her fingers for luck.

  Mr. Monckton, a friendly-looking man with prominent spectacles and a central hair parting that reminded Evangeline of Wallis’s own style, shook her hand firmly. “Pleased to meet you again, Miss Nettlefold. I trust you had a safe journey from London?”

  “Oh, Evangeline knows her way to the Fort with the instinct of a treasure seeker, Walter! She has been one of our most frequent visitors this year, although we have not seen enough of you recently. And how is the splendid Miss May Thomas?” the king enquired.

  Despite his ever-present politeness of manner, his smile momentarily fell away revealing a face that appeared to have aged a decade in a month. Turning to the lawyer he explained that Evangeline’s driver worked for Sir Philip Blunt, the man whose legal advice over these past few days had been invaluable.

  “Grew up in the plantation fields of Barbados, May did. And I tell you, even though she’s not yet twenty-one, there is nothing she doesn’t know about the inside workings of a car.”

  Mr. Monckton looked interested. “Funny thing that. My daughter Valerie is not much younger and she too is crazy about motors. She drove me here today and is having a cup of tea in the kitchen. I hope Miss Thomas is there too. They should meet.”

  At that moment Wallis came into the room. The yellow of her collared cardigan matched the yellow of the king’s tie. A new diamond pin in the shape of a bow sparkled from her lapel.

  “Vangey, darling, how lovely to see you. It has been too long. Now have you brought Loafer back to me? Oh yes, don’t tell me, he’s resting after all those walks in the park?”

  Evangeline submitted herself to her old schoolfriend’s embrace, feeling the boniness of Wallis’s shoulders protruding through the wool of her cardigan. To Evangeline’s relief she could detect nothing but warmth in her old schoolfriend’s greeting even though Wallis looked exhausted.

  “Shall we leave the gentlemen to their talk and go to my room to catch up?” Wallis asked her, taking Evangeline’s hand and leading her upstairs. “Aunt Bessie is on her way here from across the ocean, thank goodness, but I am so pleased to have you here with me now, Vangey. I could do with one of my own at the moment in this crazy country.”

  As soon as they reached the first floor bedroom Wallis sat on the bed and patted the cover for Evangeline to sit down next to her. “I expect you have heard on the grapevine that the Suffolk judge gave us the nisi?”

  “Yes. I had heard.”

  “Oh good. I thought you would have. I must say that is a relief for all of us. I cannot tell you how unenjoyable it was in that cold little house in Felixstowe, even though Kitty and George did their very best to keep up all our spirits.”

  Evangeline, along with everyone else who was following the unfolding drama, was well aware that the decree nisi had been granted in Ipswich more than three weeks ago. The first stage of Wallis’s legal separation from Ernest had been reported in the British press on the 27 October but with the minimum of embellishment. However, Evangeline had been fully briefed by the American papers sent over by her brother. The journalists had gone to town. The New York American had been unequivocal when it stated that a wedding date between “Wally” and the king of England was already scheduled for next year. The decree absolute would f
inalise the divorce at the end of April and speculation hovered over whether the marriage would precede the coronation, confirmed for 12 May 1937, or whether the union between Wallis and Edward would follow shortly afterwards. What seemed to be in no doubt, however, was the inevitability of the marriage itself.

  “So now we have all that business, including the coronation, hanging over us and who knows where it will all end.”

  Wallis was looking at Evangeline, her dark little eyes suddenly hardening. “Now look here, Vangey,” she said, drawing Evangeline’s hand once again in amongst her bejewelled knuckles. “I know you think I have forgotten all about what I said to you back in September at the Meurice. The truth is that even though I have still not convinced David how much better off he will be without me, I am still trying my best. He must have it his way at the moment, you see?”

  Evangeline was listening.

  “But I am pretty sure that when he speaks to Mr. Baldwin this coming Monday he will see sense,” Wallis went on. “I know that the British people, who love David, will never accept me. I’m divorced twice over, well, almost, and I am a Yank with far too much pep. But David won’t take it from me. He is full of crazy talk at the moment about giving up the throne. In fact, Walter thinks I should leave the country for a while to let things calm down, and maybe out of sight will mean out of mind. To be frank, life has been pretty good hell for some of these past few weeks and I miss my freedom.” Wallis paused, smoothing down her hair with her hand. “I couldn’t even get out of my flat in Cumberland Terrace to go to Antoine so my hair is a complete mess! Even this place, where I have been so happy, now seems like a fortress and I feel like a caged bird. If I can manage to get away,” she went on, “you will have to look after Loafer and maybe Slipper too for a while longer.”