“He’s from Cuba, and the best chef this side of London, but don’t tell your Duchess that. These aristocrats are so particular about their chefs’ reputations. To hear them tell it they all have the best one but I’ve eaten at enough houses to know that’s not true.” Miss Heastie took two cola bottles from the icebox, popped off the caps on the wall opener, then led Amelia outside onto the narrow balcony off the kitchen. Miss Heastie handed Amelia a cold bottle, the moisture of it dampening the palm of her satin glove. “I don’t want to get you in too much trouble.”
“I haven’t had cola in ages.” Amelia enjoyed the sweet taste and fizz. It reminded her of long-ago summers with Father and Peter when they used to sit on the back porch of their lake house during the hot and humid evenings. She missed them and those simple days.
“Lady Williams-Taylor keeps it in stock for the maids and footmen. A little taste of home when we’re here.”
“Where’s home?”
“All over.” Miss Heastie set down the cola bottle and wrapped her gloved hands over her bare arms for warmth. The chilly fall air was preferable to the smoke-filled sitting room. “Lord Williams-Taylor is the Bank of Montreal manager so we spend time there or at their apartment in New York or here, but mostly at Star Acres, their estate in The Bahamas.”
“How long have you been with her?”
“Five years. I grew up in Nassau. My father owns a number of businesses there, but he really made his money running rum to Miami during Prohibition. I learned to read on his boat while we waited offshore for American clients.”
And Amelia thought she had a scandalous past. “Does Lady Williams-Taylor know?”
“It’s why she hired me. She used to buy from Pops.” Miss Heastie took a drink of her cola. “She looks like a proper English lady but when she speaks you’d better not be easily offended or a gentleman in tight trousers or you’ll hear about it.”
“No!”
“Yes. With her money and influence, she can get away with almost anything.”
“Now I’m jealous.” Suddenly a man with money and a title who could afford to give her a devil-may-care attitude looked appealing.
“Enough about my employer. What’s your story?”
“I’m a widow from Baltimore.” Despite everything, it was as simple as that.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Don’t be. He went to jail for stealing money from an investment trust.”
“We’re quite the pair, then, aren’t we, Mrs. Montague.” She clinked the neck of her cola bottle against Amelia’s.
“Call me Amelia.”
“I’m Eugenie. Are you staying in Paris for the winter?”
“We’ll go to the South of France for Christmas but until then, we’re here. How about you?” She liked Eugenie and wanted to get to know her better.
Eugenie shook her head, her long black curls bouncing against her round face and high cheekbones, which emphasized her deep brown eyes. “We go to Nassau for the winter. So you know the lay of the land when you head south, Marlene Dietrich has taken up with Erich Remarque.”
“The author?” She had a feeling All Quiet on the Western Front was about to be her next assigned reading. Mrs. Dietrich had been a regular visitor to Château de la Croë last summer. They were sure to see her and her author lover at Christmas parties this year and Wallis would want to impress him.
“The very one. Greta Garbo’s maid, Alma, told me about it when they were here last week. Her mother is Bahamian so we had a lot to discuss. The affair is quite the secret, but with me and Alma going on it won’t be for much longer. She said the affair probably won’t last. Mr. Remarque is planning to go to America. He doesn’t want to risk staying in Europe and ending up on the wrong side of a potential war, not after the Germans revoked his citizenship and accused him of writing unpatriotic books. He’s seen the situation in Germany with his own eyes and it isn’t good.”
Amelia thought of the Austria and Germany map and how prescient it’d been. “No, it isn’t.”
Wallis’s cutting laugh carried through an open window, interrupting the tranquility of the balcony before it faded back into the quiet murmur of conversation and light music.
“I wonder if they ever think about all this coming to an end,” Eugenie mused.
“Her Royal Highness does. She’s worried she’ll have to protect His Royal Highness’s heirlooms if it all goes south. Of course, she hasn’t done anything to move them to safety, but I imagine if things get dicey, Herr von Ribbentrop will give her some warning and then I’ll be busy.”
“She swore up and down in that New York Times interview last year that she hardly knew him.”
“That’s a lie. They’ve been friends for years, ever since London. They see each other whenever he’s in Paris,” Amelia said before she caught herself. “I shouldn’t have told you that. You won’t tell Lady Williams-Taylor, will you?”
“Of course I will, but I won’t say I heard it from you. We private secretaries have to protect one another. Besides, she probably already knows and is thrilled they have such an influential friend in common.”
Senor Garcia poked his head out the door. “Lady Williams-Taylor is looking for you.”
“Well, back to work.” Eugenie finished the last swig of her cola. “Write to me in Nassau. I want to hear all the French gossip
while I’m gone.”
Paris, Boulevard Suchet, March 1939
Amelia closed her letter to Eugenie with news of H.G. Wells taking up with the reporter Martha Gellhorn, who was thirty-two to his seventy-four. She’d heard it from Constance Coolidge’s secretary, who’d told her Mrs. Coolidge was in a rage because she was having an affair with him too. It was about to become the talk of France and Amelia didn’t want Eugenie to miss out. They’d been writing to each other since they’d met, exchanging gossip or commiserating about work, and Amelia enjoyed having a friend who understood the unique challenges of her position. She was about to start on the rest of the mail when Mademoiselle Moulichon poked her head in the office.
“You have to hear this.”
Amelia followed her into the sitting room, where Wallis, the Duke, and most of the staff stood listening in tense silence to the wireless.
“With the German invasion of Czechoslovakia in direct violation of the Munich Agreement, Prime Minister Chamberlain is expected to announce Britain’s support of Poland, which Herr Hitler may have his eye on next. Britain and France will declare war if Germany invades Poland,” the BBC reporter announced.
“Someone must take a stance against this ridiculousness,” the Duke exclaimed. “We can’t have another generation of young men dying in French mud.”
“Darling, this could be your chance to help pull Europe back from the brink of war. You could be a voice of reason, make a radio address and appeal directly to the people to pressure their leaders to negotiate instead of fight. You could be a prince of peace.” Wallis used the same title Mr. Wenner-Gren had dangled in front of the Duke on the train from Germany. “Remember that lovely NBC chap who used to come to my London parties? I bet he’d jump at the opportunity to get you on air, not just in Europe but America.”
“A radio address to America.” The Duke tapped his empty pipe against his palm. “That’s the ticket. They’re the only ones with enough sense to stop Britain and France from rushing into another war.”
Amelia and Mr. Forwood exchanged uneasy glances. She might as well book a hotel room for Sir Walter. The moment Buckingham
Palace got wind of this he’d turn up in Paris.
Verdun, France, May 8, 1939
“I am speaking tonight from Verdun, where I have been spending a few days visiting one of the greatest battlefields of the last war. Upon this and other battlefields throughout the world, millions of men suffered and died, and as I talk to you from this historic place, I am deeply conscious of the presence of the great company of the dead; and I am convinced that could they make their voices heard they would be with me in what I am about to say.” The Duke began his speech from the bedroom in the Hotel du Coq Hardi where Mr. Bates and his NBC crew had set up the microphone. His words were broadcast around the world via shortwave radio, except in Britain, where the BBC had blocked the broadcast, much to the Duke’s chagrin.
The Duke’s plans for a radio address had set off a firestorm of correspondence between His Majesty’s Government and Boulevard Suchet. Mr. Forwood had been privy to most of it, but Amelia had taken a few letters from Wallis to Sir Walter. More than once she’d had to stop Wallis’s tirade and suggest a more delicate turn of phrase. Surprisingly, Wallis had listened. However, nothing anyone said or wrote had changed anyone’s minds and so here they were.
“I cannot claim for myself the expert knowledge of a statesman, but I have at least had the good fortune to travel the world and therefore to study human nature. This valuable experience has left me with the profound conviction that there is no land whose people want war. This I believe to be as true of the German nation as of the British nation to which I belong, as it is to you in America and of the French nation, on whose friendly soil I now reside.”
The Duke might be in France but the King and Queen of England were on their way to America to shore up support for Britain in the event of war. Wallis had known that when she’d suggested this date, and Sir Walter had been kind enough to point out how the Duke’s speech, no matter what his intentions, undermined the King’s efforts in America. The Duke had almost relented until Wallis, his staunchest supporter, had stiffened his resolve. She stood beside him now in a black coat dress with a white scarf tucked into the collar, her usual ostentatious jewelry shunned in favor of a simple Cartier diamond bracelet with jeweled cross charms.
“I feel that my words tonight will find a sincere echo in the hearts of all who hear them. It is not for me to put forward concrete proposals. That must be left to those who have the power to guide their nations towards closer understanding. God grant that they may accomplish that great task before it is too late!”
The red light on the table turned off. The Duke hadn’t said anything incendiary but Amelia could almost hear the pearl-clutching from London. The Duke had promised in his abdication speech not to meddle in politics, and here he was, at Wallis’s goading, stepping into international affairs. If they thought Buckingham Palace was difficult before, it’d be even worse after this.
“Well done, Your Royal Highness,” Mr. Bates congratulated as the operator took off his headphones. “Truer and more inspiring words were never said.”
A cheer went up outside the closed window and Amelia peeked out to see a large crowd gathered in the street below.
