Lilies, Lies and Love

by Jackie French

  ‘First I’ve heard of it.’

  He smiled. ‘You do not move in parliamentary circles.’

  Ethel grinned. ‘Yes, well, the women of the East End slums have naught better to do than sit around admiring their diamonds and yakking politics while the nappies dry. But there’s been nothing in the papers, neither.’

  ‘The press have been instructed not to report it, nor the king’s other peccadillos — nor his brother’s cocaine habit, come to that. Prime Minister Baldwin is afraid Churchill will use any public sympathy for the king to gain political power for himself.’

  ‘Can’t see the great British public being sympathetic over a king liking Mr Hitler, or a prince addicted to cocaine,’ said Ethel through a mouthful of pheasant and peas. She swallowed and added. ‘They prefer Prince Charming and love stories and a bit of music hall.’

  ‘That’s just the trouble. Their Prince Charming turned King Edward is going to give them a love story. He wants to marry Wallis Simpson.’

  ‘What? The American? He may as well want to play football with the moon. Can’t happen.’

  ‘She’s divorcing Simpson, presumably so she and His Majesty can marry. Mr Simpson has been paid a vast sum to take the blame by committing adultery with a Mrs Kennedy, who strangely enough no one has been able to locate since their holiday in France together was witnessed.’

  ‘He can’t marry her even once she’s divorced,’ Ethel pointed out. ‘The king is head of the Church of England. He can’t marry a divorced woman. And doesn’t he have to get permission from parliament to marry at all? Don’t look at me like that,’ she added. ‘I did pick up something at school.’

  ‘British law doesn’t even recognise Mrs Simpson’s first divorce. But the king could marry outside England and become a royal bigamist — and he would not be our first.’

  ‘Would his marriage be recognised here?’

  ‘Legally? That’s debatable. The marriage might even be legal in some respects, but not in others — any child they had, for example, could not inherit the throne. Not that they will have children.’

  Ethel raised a shaggy eyebrow. ‘Your Special Branch been peering through bedroom keyholes?’

  ‘Not quite. Simpson had a botched abortion . . .’ he paused to see whether Ethel was shocked at a word that most well-brought-up women ought not even to know, but she kept calmly eating ‘. . . while she was in Shanghai. It left her unable to have children. She’s in her forties too, remember. And despite David’s many affairs none has produced a child, and I gather no contraception was used. He had mumps badly when young and so may be infertile. He has also told his niece Lilibet on several occasions that one day she will be queen.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Ethel. ‘Mind if I have the rest of the bread sauce?’ She spooned it over her pheasant without waiting for an answer.

  ‘You said the public enjoy the music hall. Well, these days that means the wireless. Thanks to the wireless the king can speak personally to everyone who is listening, instead of through his staff and the press.’ He smiled wryly. ‘My job would have been easier in the days of few newspapers and broadsheets. And of course we have no control over the press in the USA. The newspapers over there have been going to town on the king and Mrs Simpson.’

  ‘What’s she really like? All I know of her is that she’s as thin as a match with the wood shaved off and wears more fur than you’d find in a mile of jungle.’

  James hesitated. ‘She is incredible.’

  ‘That good, eh?’

  ‘No, that bad. I mean it literally. It has been my dubious pleasure to read her letters over the past two years. I have never known anyone so devoid of conscience, compassion, kindness or morality. She is a mix of cruelty, greed and manipulation, lightened by a form of wit that only appeals to those who share her lack of conscience.’

  Ethel stared. ‘That’s coming on a bit thick, old mate. She’ll have some good in her. Everyone does.’ James noted that Ethel did not enquire how he had come across the contents of Wallis Simpson’s letters.

  He smiled at her. ‘You truly believe that?’

  ‘Aye, I do. Even after a decade of mission work in the East End.’

  ‘You think there is good in Adolf Hitler?’

  ‘I think — just think, mind you — that Adolf thinks he’s doing good, even if he’s fooling himself and half of Europe. But I know for certain sure the great British public won’t touch an alliance with Germany, no matter what their king and some in the House of Lords may say.’ Ethel forked up potato duchesse.

  ‘You seem sure of that.’

  ‘Aye, I am. Aren’t you? We love our kings and queens, but there isn’t a family in the land who didn’t lose someone they loved in the war. And I’ll tell you this for nothing — that Mr Hitler doesn’t want an alliance with England. He wants to conquer us. His Majesty is a fool. Try the peas,’ she added. ‘They’re good. And you know all this as well as I do. Or better.’

  James nodded. ‘Winston’s doing his best to get His Highness on track. We all are. David can be managed, as long as he doesn’t have to do anything that bores him. The trouble is that now Wallis Simpson’s doing the managing. She’s not an after-dinner fascist like so many of the British upper crust, though they’re dangerous enough. She was von Ribbentrop’s mistress even before they made him Ambassador to Britain; she might still be, though her present official lover is a car salesman on whom she lavishes quite an amount of the king and tax payer’s money. Von Ribbentrop still sends her flowers every day.’

  ‘So there’s no point appealing to her, for His Majesty’s sake?’

  ‘None whatsoever. She makes no secret of the fact that she doesn’t love the king — she refers to him as “little Peter Pan” in her letters.’

  ‘What does she get out of all this then? She can’t really think she’ll get to be queen. If you don’t want the rest of your pheasant I’ll have it,’ she added. ‘I’m fair clemmed. Didn’t have time to eat today, beyond a cheese buttie I grabbed for breakfast.’

  He pushed his plate over to her. ‘I think she is astute enough to know she has little chance of that. I don’t think she even wants to be queen. Being the king’s official mistress gives her prestige as well as power. Remember how he even took her out onto the palace balcony when his father died and he was publicly named king? He’s also given her a great deal of money — her husband faced bankruptcy — and jewels worth even more than that. But did she . . . acquire . . . His Majesty for political purposes at von Ribbentrop’s direction? I don’t know. She’s a committed fascist, but the Germans might also be paying her. She does like money. Whatever her motivation, while the king is entangled with her it’s impossible to convince him Germany is our enemy.’

  Ethel shrugged. ‘What power does he have, really?’

  ‘The ability to break up the Empire,’ said James drily. ‘Though I don’t know if he is bright enough to realise it. He could withhold royal assent from every law passed by parliament. On the other hand, if he marries outside British law his own legal position may be open to challenge. That would be a constitutional crisis — government would essentially stop. He has asked Baldwin to sound out the Empire — Canada, Australia, South Africa — to see if they’d accept any marriage. There’s a morganatic one, for example, where Simpson is not given the title of queen. But the colonies have indicated they would not accept a bigamist monarch under any circumstances.’

  ‘But surely the colonies wouldn’t leave the Empire!’

  James shrugged. ‘I suspect the arguments would go on for years — and meanwhile the most desperate needs of government would be ignored. The only surety would be that it would end with the king even closer to Germany. Herr Hitler would undoubtedly be deeply sympathetic to two lovers separated by the decadent British establishment.’

  He hesitated. ‘David wants to be a leader like Hitler, but he’s a simple man, under all the pomp. Neither bright nor forceful enough to be the kind of leader he admires, and he knows it. Simpson give
s him the backbone he lacks.’ He shrugged. ‘He and Simpson share the same prejudices: racism, anti-Semitism; but where Simpson enjoys being cruel, usually it simply doesn’t occur to David to be kind. I think part of Simpson’s charm is that she tells David what to do. He’s not only free of trying to be the commanding monarch with her, but he can take her opinions and make them his own.’

  Ethel gazed at him, her eyes bright. ‘So you’re thinking His Majesty needs another friend, to tell him different?’

  Such a perceptive woman. James nodded.

  Ethel grinned. ‘Well, I’m game for anything.’

  James laughed. It felt so good to laugh. ‘Thank you. But that wasn’t an invitation.’

  ‘Thank goodness. I’m not the kind to go seducing kings. Nor seducing anyone, come to that. That stuff has never interested me.’ Ethel’s expression became sombre. ‘You need a Miss Lily.’

  James met her eyes. ‘You know as well as I do why Lily can’t do this, even if she were young enough.’

  ‘Not Miss Lily herself. But all her . . . what were they called? Miss Lily’s lovely ladies, the ones she trained before the war. Did she teach them . . . ?’ Ethel struggled to find a word that was seldom used in the kind of life she had chosen.

  James smiled. He did enjoy Ethel. ‘The art of seduction? Yes. Among other matters.’

  Ethel looked no more shocked than if James needed the world’s best ice-cream maker. ‘Isn’t there a star pupil somewhere then, who might teach His Majesty some sense?’

  ‘And get rid of Simpson, or at last reduce her power? Perhaps. But I can think of only one.’

  Ethel chewed another forkful then stopped, looked at him, and put down her fork. ‘Oh, no you don’t, old son. James, she’s happy. The very fact that she and Miss Lily haven’t come back to England shows that. Sophie’s been through too much.’ Ethel’s eyes challenged him. ‘And she’s my friend.’ For a second Ethel might have been Boadicea, climbing onto her chariot.

  ‘I asked Sophie to marry me once,’ said James quietly. ‘More than once. Through most of the war I think we both assumed we would marry, once I came back from the USA and there was time in our lives for more than duty.’

  ‘And yet you’d ask her to do this?’ Ethel shook her head. ‘Don’t get me wrong. Don’t understand what people see in sex, to be honest, but I’m like the old king — I don’t care what people do, as long as they don’t frighten the horses. But you’re not asking Sophie for a royal romp in the hay. You’re asking for months of her life. Her whole life, maybe.’ Ethel met his eyes with ones as forceful as his own. ‘You really think another woman — the right woman — could change the king?’

  ‘Yes. And change the whole of history. David as he is now is a disaster. But he is suggestible. The right woman would need to entrance him, just as Wallis Simpson does. And it needn’t be for long, just long enough to break the German connection and Simpson’s power. To show David he can be a king, and oppose bolshevism other than via fascism.’ He didn’t need to add that Sophie and the king had also once been friends.

  ‘What if Simpson hangs around, waiting for a chance to get her hooks into him again?’

  James was momentarily unable to meet her eyes. ‘We have . . . information . . . that would destroy her utterly.’

  ‘Then use it. Now.’

  ‘No. David wouldn’t believe it now. He’s already been shown photographs —’ James stopped again. ‘Let’s just say they were compromising photographs. He wouldn’t accept that they were real.’

  ‘Last time I looked no one could fake a photo that well,’ said Ethel.

  ‘Last time I looked we had a king capable of not believing what he saw with his own eyes,’ said James wearily. ‘We’d need to give this information to the press, not the king, and at the moment he’ll stand by her no matter what the papers say, and no matter how great the scandal.’ He smiled grimly. ‘The press has made David think he can do anything, because the public adore him. He doesn’t realise this is only because of a deliberate manipulation by Fleet Street barons — nothing sells more newspapers than stories of Prince Charming. The people of Britain have no idea of the kind of man David truly is, nor what he was really like as Prince of Wales.’

  ‘All right, then.’ Ethel sat back. ‘You need a . . . seductress. But not our Sophie. You’re talking about giving her to the man who forced her and Nigel to go to Germany, who didn’t have the decency to turn up at Nigel’s funeral or even say “I’m sorry”. I’m not saying Sophie couldn’t do it. But she loves too deeply. You need someone like the Simpson woman, who has no heart to lose.’

  ‘We need someone we can trust, who is discreet, who has no personal ambition to be queen, who is fiercely intelligent and has the skill not to appear so. There don’t seem to be many candidates around. Yes, Lily trained many young women. But the last group was in 1914. That’s more than twenty years ago. Any others I know of are too old, or married, or otherwise unsuitable. But Sophie is a widow . . .’

  ‘Only officially,’ said Ethel quietly.

  ‘Yes, only officially. But that makes it all the less likely she will want to marry again. After all, it has been seven years now.’ James looked at Ethel steadily. ‘Would you give your life for your country?’

  ‘Of course.’ There wasn’t a second’s hesitation in Ethel’s voice. ‘But I wouldn’t give someone else’s. Nor pop her into bed with a man she doesn’t want.’

  ‘If my information is correct, Sophie would not have to seduce the king, just enchant him for long enough to displace Wallis Simpson. David is not . . . demanding . . . in the bedroom. Simpson has the sense to expect little of him in that area, but make it seem to others as if there is a lot. That, too, is how she keeps him chained to her.’

  ‘You do have eyes everywhere, don’t you? You think leaving the sex out makes it better?’

  ‘Long ago a woman launched a thousand ships,’ said James, ‘and began ten years of war and Troy was destroyed. Perhaps a woman can stop a war, too.’

  ‘And you want me to ask her?’

  ‘No. I must do that. But I’d be grateful if you could arrange for your nephew to fly me there. I need to travel quickly. It takes the new commercial flight twelve days to get to Australia, instead of forty days by sea, but I’m hoping your nephew can take me there faster, and more discreetly.’

  ‘To Australia?’ Ethel suddenly looked far away. ‘Sunlight and kangaroos and Midge. Midge was my best friend. Still is. What we went through in the war, me and her and Anne . . . Well, stuff like that binds you forever. I keep promising to go and visit. Midge’s property is next door to Sophie’s now they’ve both bought up half the district.’

  ‘Would you like to come with me?’

  ‘Aye, but I won’t. The plane’ll travel twice as fast without having to haul me too.’ For the first time since he’d known her, Ethel looked uncertain. ‘It’s not that. I don’t think I could bear to be there when you ask Sophie to do this. Not after what she’s lost.’

  ‘You think I shouldn’t ask her?’

  ‘I think you should. I’m just saying I don’t think I’d have it in me to watch.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said softly. ‘For understanding.’

  ‘Well, you’re feeding me. There’s a lot to be said for a man who feeds you.’ Ethel gained her composure. ‘Give them my love. Midge. Sophie. Miss Lily too. Happen Miss Lily might see another way around this — maybe have another girl she thinks can do the job.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘And tell Sophie I’m here for her, if she comes to England. And not just me, either. There’s a regiment of women who went through the war with Sophie and me. Whatever she needs. Whoever she needs. We’re here. But, James . . .’ She hesitated.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Do you still love her?’ asked Ethel abruptly.

  ‘Yes,’ said James simply. ‘I loved Sophie from our first meeting. I probably always will.’

  ‘I thought as much,’ said Ethel Carryman. ‘A
nd yet you’re going to call her away from peace and sunlight and all those kangaroos, to go to a man who is cruel and a fool.’

  ‘Duty,’ said James Lorrimer softly.

  Ethel gazed at him. ‘Did you ask me here for my opinion, or for forgiveness?’

  ‘Both,’ said James.

  She stretched out her hand to him: half as big again as his, the fingers splayed, blotched with shiny red scar tissue that marked her as a woman of the war, who had tended wounded men and their infections till her hands were infected over and over too. Women Ethel’s age glanced automatically at the gloveless hand of any new friend, to see if she was a sister of the battle. James had seen them do it.

  ‘You’re doing good,’ said Ethel Carryman. ‘And now order dessert and you eat it, too, or you won’t be any use to anyone, much less to a king with not much in his pants and less in his head. I’ll have a Bombe Alaska,’ she added. ‘And tell them to make it a big one.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ James managed a smile. He rang for the menu again, not from hunger or desire, but because a body needs fuel if it is to do its duty.

  Peace and sunlight, he thought. For a short while I will be with Sophie in the land of peace. And yet even there he would not be able to tell Sophie the real reason why she was needed in England, just as he bitterly regretted that he could not tell Ethel the real reason either.

  Politics demanded its actors play many parts. Some roles were best performed in ignorance.

  Chapter 3

  Beauty lives in a woman’s smile, in her love for those around her. Remember that, my dears, and do not place your faith in mirrors.

  Miss Lily, 1914

  THURINGA, AUSTRALIA, SEPTEMBER 1936

  Breakfast at Thuringa was served on the leaf-dappled verandah, looking through the crabapple blossom to paddocks and gold hills beyond, the food on its dome-covered salvers on the carved red gum sideboard.