MARY DREADED SEEING ERNEST AND WALLIS together. Would some subconscious look or gesture betray the fact that she and Ernest were lovers? Would she squirm with jealousy as he embraced her oldest friend?
She need not have worried because they were bickering as soon as Ernest came in the front door, neither caring that Mary was in earshot.
‘Why didn’t you let me know Mary had arrived early?’ Wallis snapped. ‘I’ve made plans for the weekend and it’s too late to ask hostesses to change their table arrangements to include her.’
‘I shall entertain Mary if you are not available,’ he said. ‘I don’t see the problem.’
‘The problem is that you are expected at the Wigrams’ this evening at seven thirty prompt. Are we to leave Mary to dine on her own?’
‘I don’t mind at all,’ Mary interjected, but neither was listening.
‘I would rather have my teeth pulled than go to the Wigrams’. I can picture the scene now: you drooling over Peter Pan at the far end of the table, while everyone else gossips discreetly with their neighbours and casts pitying glances in my direction. I’m not going, Wallis.’
Mary had never heard Ernest speak in anger before. He was invariably mild-mannered and accommodating. Wallis’s eyes flashed with anger. She walked towards him, fist clenched as if she might strike him.
‘Your king requires you to attend,’ she hissed, ‘so you will attend.’
Ernest gave a harsh laugh. ‘Now you speak for him? How convenient. Tell His Majesty that I am indisposed, or whatever falsehood you care to invent.’
He turned and left the room. Wallis gave Mary a quick glance then followed him, and Mary heard the argument continue in the hallway then behind their closed bedroom door. She was glad Ernest was standing up for himself, and wondered if he was doing so because of her presence.
His defiance won the day and Wallis left alone, wearing a ravishing ruby and diamond necklace and matching bracelet, set off by a simple black satin dress. Ernest and Mary ate a quiet supper together.
‘I’m sorry you had to witness that,’ he said. ‘The atmosphere between my wife and me has been fractious for some time. I often spend the night at the Guards’ Club if she is home, solely to avoid such confrontations.’
‘I had no idea things were so bad.’ Mary risked placing her hand on his, after first checking the dining-room door was closed. ‘It must be intolerable.’
‘It certainly can’t continue much longer,’ he agreed. ‘One way or another, something has to give.’
Wallis returned the following day with news that they had all – including Mary – been invited to Windsor Castle the following weekend. The King would like to show them around.
Mary glanced at Ernest before replying. ‘I should very much like to see the castle.’ More than the architecture, she was eager to observe the relationship between Wallis and the King, and to see how they behaved when Ernest was around. She wanted some clue as to the direction things were heading.
‘If Mary wants to go, then I will come too,’ Ernest agreed, making it clear from his tone that that was the only reason for his acquiescence.
The three of them drove to Windsor on Saturday morning, arriving in time for luncheon. Footmen hurried to open the car doors and collect their luggage, while Mary stood back to gawp at the sheer size of the building, hardly noticing the light shower of rain.
Ernest joined her. ‘William the Conqueror chose to position a castle here sometime around 1080. The location on a cliff made it the only defensible position along the Thames.’
‘Is it really so old?’ Mary was surprised. She’d thought buildings from that era would be in ruins.
‘It has been much changed and modernised over the years, notably by Georges III and IV in the early nineteenth century. Much of the current appearance dates from then.’
Wallis was already heading inside. ‘Don’t dawdle, you two,’ she called. ‘Your king awaits.’
As soon as they entered, Mary was stunned into silence by the grandeur. Never-ending corridors and impossibly high ceilings were covered in ornate wood carvings and positively dripping with gilt. Huge oil portraits lined the walls, and the carpet underfoot was sumptuous. A footman opened the door to a reception room so vast that Mary’s entire Manhattan apartment would have fitted comfortably inside. Gold and crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the furniture looked priceless. The King was standing by a window at the far end; he beckoned them over.
‘Rotten weather,’ he said. ‘I’d been hoping to take the dogs for a walk. Perhaps it will let up later.’
Wallis hurried over and kissed him on the cheek, then slid her arm through his, whispering something in his ear. Ernest bowed and Mary curtseyed.
‘Welcome,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you could join us. One rather rattles around this place on one’s own. Wallis thought you might be interested in the art collection.’
‘Indeed I am, Your Majesty,’ Ernest replied.
‘Are you fond of art, Mrs Raffray?’ asked the King.
‘Very much so,’ she replied, sneaking a glance at Ernest, giving him a quick smile as she thought of their trips to galleries the previous summer.
Pre-lunch drinks were brought and they sat round the gigantic fireplace. Mary kept glancing about, wondering when the other guests would arrive. It was only when they walked through to the vast dining room and sat at one end of the table that she realised it was just to be the four of them. How very odd.
She felt shy talking to the King, but Wallis kept the conversation flowing and was not afraid to touch on controversial topics.
‘I hear the international committee has come to its senses and Berlin is to be allowed to keep its Olympics after all,’ she began. ‘It would have been lunacy to move it at this late stage, as no other city would have the infrastructure in place. I’m sure the Germans will do an excellent job.’
‘Indeed, they are exemplary when it comes to planning and building,’ the King agreed. ‘Herr Hitler knows how to motivate workers and get everyone performing at their best.’
Ernest cleared his throat. ‘I believe the controversy was over the exclusion of athletes of the Jewish persuasion from the Games. It is my understanding that the Reich has backed down, but I will be most surprised if they have any Jews in the German team. This is not a good time to be Jewish in that country.’
‘They have the right to rebalance their population,’ the King argued. ‘The percentage of Jewish to Aryan citizens had got quite out of hand. At least Hitler has been fair in allowing Jewish citizens the right to move overseas, to countries where they will be welcomed.’
Mary had read criticism of the harshness of Hitler’s policies in the US press and she ventured to comment. ‘It seems hard that Jewish families must leave behind their homes and possessions. I hear even the wealthiest are able to take very little.’
‘Von Ribbentrop assures us that the policies are strict but fair,’ Wallis said. ‘Doesn’t he, darling?’ She smiled at the King.
Mary was astonished that she would call him ‘darling’ in front of Ernest. Was it a slip of the tongue? And when had Wallis’s political views become so hard-line? She wondered if someone had been influencing her. Perhaps von Ribbentrop?
Ernest concentrated on his soup and the conversation moved along.
After luncheon, the King signalled to one of his waiting staff, who brought a bolt of cloth balanced across his arms.
‘A gift for you, Mrs Raffray,’ he said.
Mary stared, speechless. The fine wool cloth was patterned in vivid shades of violet, warm pink and apricot, and it felt soft to the touch. ‘Oh my . . .’ she began.
‘It comes from India. I thought it would complement your spectacular hair colour. Wallis tells me her dressmaker can turn it into any style of your choice.’
‘Your Majesty, I’m overwhelmed,’ she said. ‘That is extraordinarily generous of you.’
‘Not at all.’ He smiled, pleased with the reaction. ‘Any friend of Wallis’s is also a friend of mine. Now, who would like to come to the screening room to watch the Grand National?’
The annual horse race had taken place just over a week earlier, but he had a copy of the Movietone footage for them to watch. They were led down a corridor and up a flight of stairs to a room with velvet seats arranged in four rows in front of a screen. Mary watched with fascination as a servant lifted a reel of film and slotted it into the projector, feeding the end of the film through onto another reel. There were lots of crackling noises, then a jerky image appeared of horses and their trainers milling around the starting gate.
The King talked them through the whole thing, explaining the riders’ strategies, describing the degree of difficulty of each fence, and giving a short biography of the winning jockey, Fulke Walwyn.
‘An amateur, you know. Ex-army man from the 9th Lancers. Look at that finish! He took it by twelve lengths. I wish I’d had money on him. Odds of 10/1.’
‘Darling, you hardly need the money.’ Wallis patted his arm.
Mary glanced at Ernest but he did not flinch.
After the screening, the King asked if they would like to see some art. ‘We’ve got Rembrandt, Rubens, Van Dyck, Gainsborough . . .’ He turned to Mary. ‘What is your taste in art, Mrs Raffray?’
She gave Ernest a quick grin. ‘I’m partial to modern American art, but I do love portraiture as well. Those Rembrandt portraits where you feel as though the subject could step out of the painting and engage you in conversation – they are sublime.’
The King came to walk alongside her and Wallis stood on his other side, leaving Ernest trailing. ‘In that case, I must show you Rembrandt’s portrait of his mother. I’m sure you’ll like it.’
Wallis objected: ‘David, perhaps we should leave Ernest and Mary to wander on their own, rather than give them the formal tour. I can guarantee they are trustworthy.’
Mary felt her cheeks redden. If only she knew.
Wallis smiled at her. ‘You weren’t thinking of slipping off with a Rembrandt under one arm, were you?’
‘It crossed my mind,’ Mary quipped, ‘but then I noticed those guards with rifles at the front door.’
‘We’ll be fine on our own,’ Ernest interrupted. ‘Don’t let us detain you.’
Mary was relieved once they were alone. The foursome was too peculiar for words: Wallis with her forced gaiety, Ernest silent and glowering, the King seemingly oblivious to any heightened atmosphere, and herself racked with guilt.
It felt as if they were two separate couples already, since Wallis spoke to the King with the intimacy of a wife. If Wallis and Ernest divorced and Wallis married the King, might Mary marry Ernest? Could they all be friends in future?
Why had they been invited this weekend? Was it a test to see whether the relationships could slide gently into a new configuration that suited all concerned?
Mary comforted herself with this thought during the remainder of the visit. Mary and Ernest; Wallis and David. Perhaps that was the way it was meant to be.