‘I first met Mrs Simpson, as she then was, in the early days of January 1936. She had gone to Hungary for what they used to call in those days “a discreet nose job”. She had chosen the Streilitz, a little-known, but rather exclusive, clinic overlooking Lake Balaton. Grey Gothic gables, curtains the colour of old blood, chill choking fog, a general air of desolation—you get the picture. My elder brother Lucius—another Dr Fairchild—had been specializing under the legendary Dr Horthy. I was not a doctor yet. I was barely twenty. It was the year of the Abdication. It was my brother who operated on her. My brother had invited me to spend Christmas with him. Mrs Simpson had been at the Streilitz a fortnight.’
‘She wasn’t there incognito?’ Payne said.
‘I believe she was, though it fooled no one. Imagine Charlie Chaplin, Mickey Mouse or old Musso going somewhere incognito.’ Dr Fairchild cackled. ‘Her face was terribly well known. Her picture had been appearing in most of the Continental papers for quite some time. The affair with the Prince of Wales had already become public property. Well, the nose job had been a complete success. Lucius was rather proud of it. Mrs Simpson put in an appearance only after the bandages were removed and all the bruises gone. She was not an ordinary woman, Major Payne. Shall we drink to her?’
‘I am not at all sure we should. Wasn’t she devious and deceitful? An adventuress and an arriviste?’ Payne blustered blimpishly. He hoped he wasn’t overdoing it. He had an idea that Dr Fairchild might enjoy a challenge.
He was right. Dr Fairchild cackled, clapped his hands and cried, ‘Encore!’
‘She was self-willed, power-hungry, false and manipulative. She stole our King by means of a technique known as the “Shanghai clutch”. She threatened our national security. She should have been sent to the Tower. They should have had her drawn and quartered.’
Dr Fairchild raised his glass. ‘To a great American lady.’
‘There is no such thing as a great American lady. It is a contradiction in terms,’ said Payne teasingly. ‘Great ladies do not occur in a nation that is a little more than two hundred years old.’
‘Ah. She looked radiant that night. There might have been minor scars but they were completely invisible under her artful make-up. It was some sort of a cocktail party. Two of the women—the wife of a White Russian admiral and an American socialite—curtseyed to her. The moment she appeared, there was a sudden concerted silence. Isn’t that what is said to mean that an angel has passed overhead? I think there were three Englishwomen present, but they stood looking down their noses, as though they’d smelled a bad egg. Mrs Simpson was unflaggingly pleasant to everyone.’
Madden, Payne noticed with some amusement, blew out his cheeks, rolled up his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Madden must have heard the story hundreds of times already.
‘She wore a most striking dinner coat, Mainbocher, I believe, which gave the impression of having been made of spun glass. Her hair too was like glass, smooth and shiny. Below each cheekbone, there was a slight hollow, a miracle of delicate modelling. I am sure you’ve noticed how fame makes some people so familiar that when one encounters them in the flesh, their real, physical presence seems a little eerie? I remember shivering. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was incredibly thin and angular, yet she moved around the room in a fluid and serpentine kind of way. She exuded great strength and authority. She brought to mind one of those pagan goddesses. She—’
‘She—who must be obeyed?’
‘Interesting you should say that, Major Payne—in view of what happened later on. We shook hands. She gazed at me rather fixedly, I thought. I was far from handsome, but I suppose I was rather unusual-looking on account of my extreme whiteness. I was wearing a white dinner jacket too—that must have made me look like a ghost. Or like a moth.’
‘Wasn’t your brother an albino?’
‘Oh no. Lucius was perfectly normal, if normal is the word. Makes you wonder about nature’s caprices, doesn’t it? Mrs Simpson lingered beside me. Our conversation was a series of civil banalities, but then I happened to quote Goethe in German—Entbehren sollst Du!’
‘You want me to deny myself?’
‘Mrs Simpson said she had a lot of German friends. Von Ribbentrop, no less. The German ambassador to London at the time, that’s correct. Our conversation at that point became more specific.’ Dr Fairchild raised the whisky glass to his lips. ‘We discovered a shared fascination with Germany. The conversation turned to politics. We agreed Herr Hitler was doing a first-class job. I then confided in her my intention to join the BUF.’
‘The British Union of Fascists?’
‘I was young and innocent. I believed in purity,’ Dr Fairchild said dreamily. ‘Still do … There was a large mirror on the wall above the fireplace and I happened to see our two reflections. Well, we looked different from everybody else in the room. We looked—alien. We might have been fabled monsters that had crept out from the depths of Lake Balaton. I suddenly had the oddest of feelings—that we belonged together. Maybe I was a little drunk, but I felt ready to do anything for her.’
‘Are you ready for your medicine?’ Madden asked.
‘I was an incurable romantic, Major Payne, with a bias towards the bizarre. The Duchess—as she was to become in later years—stood for everything I admired and yearned for. Mystery—oddity—danger—the ultimate challenge. Well, something happened later that night—’ Dr Fairchild broke off irritably. ‘What is it, Madden?’
‘Your arm, please.’ Madden had produced a syringe and an ampoule.
‘Are you sure it’s time? Oh, very well. Castigo corpus meum.’ Dr Fairchild started rolling up his sleeve. ‘Madden has had medical training, so I hardly ever feel a thing. Ouch! Not so good this time, Madden. What’s the matter with you today? This—this feels different somehow. Why does it feel different, Madden?’
‘I have no idea. You don’t think I am trying to poison you, do you?’
‘That remains to be seen. More whisky, Major Payne?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘We danced. These foolish things remind me of you. That was the tune they played. Mrs Simpson led—a bit like a man. I didn’t mind. It was a foxtrot, I think, or do I mean quickstep?’ Dr Fairchild’s eyelids flickered. He yawned. ‘It isn’t time for my nap, is it?’
Madden said nothing. He was watching Dr Fairchild closely.
‘After we finished dancing—’
Dr Fairchild broke off. The gleam faded from his eyes, and they became dim and extremely tired. A spasm seemed to twist his body. His eyelids flickered once more, closed, and his head lolled and fell forward.