The Quality of Mercy Read Online Free Page B

of ‘pulling strings’ but all she said was: ‘Of course I trust you, Ned. Do what you think is right.’
    Although Mountbatten’s life was the navy, he never lost his taste for film stars and, as they were ushered into the drawing-room at Broadlands a few hours later, Edward noticed a glamorous woman standing by herself clasping a glass of champagne who ‘reeked’ of Hollywood. Frank saw her too and whispered stagily, ‘Tell me, Uncle, isn’t that Garbo?’
    It was not, but she was obviously making an effort to be taken for her. She was smoking a cigarette through a long holder and staring vacantly into space. Like Greta Garbo, she possessed the type of face that the camera loved. It was beautiful – indeed it was one of the most beautiful Edward had ever seen – but it was completely blank. She had either learnt to hide her emotions or she was so bored she was almost comatose. Before he could decide which, he was greeted by Sunny who, beaming away, introduced him to Mountbatten.
    ‘My brother and sister-in-law were so sorry they could not come,’ Edward lied smoothly. ‘This is my nephew Frank. I wondered if you might have a moment to talk to him about the navy. He’s a great admirer of yours and is thinking about volunteering.’
    Mountbatten looked at Frank speculatively and seemed to like what he saw. ‘Be glad to,’ he said abruptly. He tended to talk as if he were barking out orders. Before he could say more, he was distracted by a woman he obviously knew well, wearing an alarming amount of jewellery with a décolletage revealing – unwisely, Edward considered, given that she was not in the first flush of youth – an acre of heavily powdered flesh. Seeing his opportunity, Sunny, hopping around uncle and nephew like a schoolmistress gathering up her charges, shepherded them over to meet his wife and children.
    Ayesha proved to be a classic Indian beauty, fine-boned, with large lustrous black eyes. She wore an exquisite sari of the most delicate silk with the natural grace of a princess. She was not tall but she towered over her husband. Edward liked her immediately. She was quietly spoken for one thing, which Edward appreciated in a woman as he had often told Verity. What was more, she had an enchanting smile. Frank was buttonholed by Sunny who was telling him all about the Phantom III’s unreliability. Out of the corner of his eye, Edward saw that the boy was hardly listening. Instead, he was taking in Sunita. It was not long before Sunny also noticed that Frank was finding his story of the accident that did not quite take place less than fascinating.
    Taking pity on Frank, he summoned Harry and Sunita over to be introduced. Harry was a good-looking, though rather sulky, sixteen-year-old. Sunny’s daughter was seventeen and took after her mother. She was long-limbed, dark with thick glossy hair that hung down almost to her shoulders. She was blessed with her mother ’s fine bones and clear, black eyes. When she raised them modestly and smiled, Frank was suddenly bereft of speech. He gaped, then recovered himself and started asking questions which she laughingly answered. Harry mooched off looking disconsolate, obviously familiar with the effect his sister had on young men. Edward sighed to himself. He had seen that look in his nephew’s eyes before. He was smitten and, for the moment at least, everyone else was invisible.
    Sunny called his son back to shake hands with Edward who asked him how he was enjoying Eton. Harry was at first monosyllabic despite his mother’s prompting. However, Edward persevered and was rewarded. He knew two or three boys at the school – sons of friends of his – one of whom turned out to be Captain of Cricket and Harry’s hero. Edward soon discovered that Harry was a typical schoolboy with a love of all things sporting – particularly cricket – and a fascination with cars. Inevitably, they discussed the embarrassing technical faults of the Phantom, the strengths