THE GEORGE & DRAGON
BANBURY, OXFORDSHIRE, ENGLAND
NOVEMBER 2001
Because of her mother’s transgressions, Gladys’s first taste of being the subject of gossips worldwide came at the tender age of eleven. One could speculate that this early introduction to the vagaries of public life made her the woman she became. Dramatic. Attention-seeking. Forever paranoid she was being watched.
—J. Casper Augustine Seton,
The Missing Duchess: A Biography
“So that was Tom, right?” Annie asked. “That Pru saw in the garden?”
“You’re under the assumption Tom was a real person, then.”
“I don’t think Mrs. Spencer was nearly as crazy as she pretended to be. It was all part of her act.”
Gus smiled.
“That’s a bold theory,” he said, rising to his feet. “This early into the story. Well, Miss Annie. As always, it’s been a pleasure.”
He reached out a hand.
“Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done!”
“Sorry, my captivating new friend. As engaging as I find your company, I have an appointment to keep.”
“An appointment? What appointment? I don’t believe you.”
“You might find this astounding but old men have obligations too, even ones that do not involve the swapping out of bandages and colostomy bags.”
“Sorry, Gus,” she said. “But I call BS.”
He chuckled and wound a plaid scarf around his neck.
“I’m sure it seems preposterous that another person would voluntarily meet with an old plonker like me,” he said. “Truly, what else do I need to accomplish other than to sit in a bar all day getting semipissed?”
“I didn’t say that…”
“Oh, but it’s true! Most of the time. But every once in a great long while I have a specific engagement to keep. You think I can hurtle this gracefully toward the grave on my own? No, there are doctors, dentists, and financial planners involved.”
Gus reached out his hand again. This time Annie reluctantly took it, but not before letting out a few grumbles.
“I’ve enjoyed our conversation,” he said. “I do hope to run into you again.”
Annie shook his hand, deliberating how she might manufacture another meet-up. She wanted more of his tale, something beyond the pages of transcript she had in her bag.
“Yeah, it’s been swell,” she muttered. “But before you leave, tell me who Pru saw in the garden.”
“You’ve decided it’s Tom. Let’s leave it at that. It’s probably better than the real story.”
“But the real story is what I want!”
“Tell me, Annie. Why do you care so much about the duchess? Or Pru? They’re just a bunch of unknowns, most of them dead.”
“I told you. I’m a researcher.”
The lie was now so thoroughly absorbed Annie might as well have been taking it intravenously. She believed it with every part of her.
“Right,” Gus said. “But researching what, exactly?”
“Er, um, literature!”
“Literature,” he said with a small grunt. “As in all the literature?” He made a sweeping motion with his hands. “The full canon of written works? That seems like an awfully big theme from which to bite.”
“No, no. Ha, ha, ha.” God, her forced laughter sounded way too much like a donkey braying. “It’s, er, um…” She thought of Eric. “War. The effect of war on cultures as revealed through prose.”
Annie smiled, feeling mildly pleased with herself. It sounded reasonable. She didn’t know much about thesis statements but probably would’ve accepted the story if someone tried to hawk it to her.
“War through prose, huh?” he said.
“Yup.” Annie bobbed her head.
“And how does The Missing Duchess fit in?”
“Well, you see, it’s an interesting study as it was written at the tail end of the Vietnam War.”
“By a Brit. And it wasn’t published until several years after the war ended.”
“But its protagonist lived through two world wars. Also, the shooting of her mother’s lover by her father. Love is war, right?”
“Hmm,” Gus said. “Interesting. Very interesting topic. Especially when one considers the background of Pru, who is not in the book but part of the story all the same.”
“Yes! Exactly! A happy accident.”
“You know, I did wonder if you were making it up, the research bit. I thought perhaps you had another reason for nosing around.”
“Ha!” Annie yapped again. “I can see where you might’ve thought that!”
She laughed some more because what else could she do?
“All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you who Pru met in the garden. But not now. I really must go. Can you meet me tomorrow?”
“Sure! Yes! Of course! Tomorrow would be perfect.”
Gus eyed her warily, his brows cocked and crooked. He’d likely never encountered a literary researcher with such a spastic level of interest.
“Meet me in the morning,” he said. “Is eight o’clock too early for you?”
“Too early for a bar?” Annie said and glanced around. “Uh, yeah.”
“Give me some credit. I do go other places. Tomorrow we change locations. Eight o’clock. Meet me at the Grange.”