The Darkness of Wallis Simpson Read Online Free Page A

family . . .’
    But it had to end. Alice Montague wanted it to be ‘the finest dining club in Baltimore history’, but she couldn’t do the sums right and so it failed and Alice didn’t know what to do now or how to pay the tradesmen. And when she took yet more money from Uncle Sol she whispered: ‘Bessiewallis, I’m so ashamed.’
    Wallis has fallen asleep, clutching the bracelet. When she wakes up, there’s somebody new in the room. She can smell a man. She may be gaga but she still has a nose.
    He’s near her, but not right by the bed, just hovering somewhere, smoking a cigarette. He’s probably waiting to see how gaga she is. Now and then, she can hear him coughing. She says out loud: ‘I hope there is a convenient ashtray.’
    Now, the man comes close. His eyes look big and blue, as if he could be wearing eyeshadow. He puts a tender kiss on Wallis’s head. ‘Duchess,’ he says, ‘it’s Cecil. How are you, darling?’
    Cecil? Cecil who? And she wants to ask him: ‘What’s all this “Duchess” business? When did that begin?’
    But she can’t get anything out and so the man, Cecil, says: ‘No need to tell me, Wally. Dying’s a cunt.’
    Then he sits where the companion often sits, but he seems gentle there, not ready to slap or growl. He goes on: ‘I was about to say “dying’s a bugger” but ah, if only it were!’ He laughs and the laugh becomes a cough. The man snaps out a silk handkerchief and coughs into that. Then he wipes his lips and asks: ‘Mind if I have another ciggie?’
    She wants to say that thing she said about the ashtray, but no, one does not repeat oneself, it’s terribly bad form, it’s worse than staring. Only small minds resort to repetition.
    Cecil has beautiful hands. With these, he inserts a cigarette into a long black cigarette holder and lights it. Then he sits there, perfectly suave and serene, taking in the smoke and blowing it out again. He wears something ruffled at his neck, a cravat or scarf. His jacket is white linen. She’s glad he’s there.
    With her little claw, she holds out the beautiful bracelet to him.
    â€˜Oh, yes,’ he says, in his clipped English voice. ‘One of your favourites. What a girl you were for the jewels! Was it ever true about Queen Alexandra’s emeralds?’
    Emeralds?
    Why do men have such wandering minds? You show them rubies and diamonds, but this doesn’t seem to be enough; they drag in emeralds.
    Wallis taps on the clasp of the bracelet with one long fingernail. ‘Words,’ she says. ‘Two words.’
    â€˜What are you saying, lovey?’
    She taps again. ‘Two words.’
    The man looks baffled. He brings the bracelet near to his eyes and squints at it. ‘Oh,’ he says, ‘some inscription. That what you want me to see? What does it say?’
    â€˜Two words.’
    â€˜I’m blind as a mole, darling. Shouldn’t take photographs any more. Can’t see what’s in the fucking viewfinder half the fucking time. Let me get out the old lorgnette.’
    Cecil lays down the cigarette in its holder on a porcelain dish. He conjures a pair of glasses from somewhere and puts them on and his blue eyes behind the glasses look violet and strange. He holds the bracelet close to the glasses, then away.
    â€˜The light’s bloody bad in here, Duchess.’
    She waits. She trusts this man, this Cecil, even though he calls her ‘Duchess’. He’ll tell her what the two words are and then she can rest. Then the hag won’t take the bracelet away.
    She waits a long time. There’s an evening kind of sky at the window, indigo blue, that old blue of the cocktail hour. The cigarette in the porcelain dish has burned away.
    â€˜Hold tight,’ announces Cecil.
    She thinks he means ‘wait for it, hold on, now there’s going to be a