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am by the Party I’d be as much a pariah as Churchill.”
    “Oh, my goodness, you’re quite a long ways off from anything like that.” She took his jaw in her fingers. “I thought you liked Winston. You got along famously when your father had him up to Ashton Park at Christmas.”
    “I admire his fight. And his national pride. But I don’t wish to be banished to the wilderness anytime soon and join him in solitary confinement.”
    “You’re Lord Preston’s son. No one’s going to do that.”
    “Not yet.”
    “What do you mean, not yet? Not ever.” She kissed him lightly on thelips. “You really have got yourself tied up in knots. I shall have to unravel them.”
    He stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray. “How will Charlotte Squire do that, I wonder?”
    “Oh, I have a tried and true Lancashire method.”
    “Which is?”
    “Me. Just me.”
    She kissed him with a strength and passion that pushed him back farther and farther into the sofa. Her blue eyes glittering, she paused and looked down at his face.
    “How’s that?” she asked.
    “It’ll do for a start.”
    “Will it?”
    She placed both hands on his shoulders and kissed him much longer and with even more vigor. A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, and she drew back.
    “Whatever’s the matter? Have I hurt you somehow?”
    “I want you to be proud of me. I want you and the boys to be proud of me.”
    “My goodness, Edward, we are proud of you, I’ve told you that. You’re a fine husband and a brilliant father. No one could ask for more.”
    “I dread the day you’re disappointed with me. I dread it like the grave.”
    “Edward. Stop it. That’s never going to happen. I adore you. Owen and Colm adore you.” She put her arms tightly around his back and hugged him to herself. “What’s gone wrong, love? What’s put a knife in your heart? You could never do anything that would turn the boys or me against you. It’s impossible.”
    June 7, 1934
    The Grand Hall at Olympia
    Edward sat with his head down, two Blackshirts guarding his room from intruders. Sir Oswald Mosley had looked in on him just minutes before. The hall was crammed and the grounds were bustling. The rally would be a smashing success, and Edward would be the centerpiece of the event. Mosley’s delight had been obvious.
    “Lord Preston’s son. An MP of the grand old Conservative Partykicking off the traces and joining the British Union of Fascists to better serve his country. A true patriot. Why, you’ll sway thousands, Lord Edward. Mind you, stay right here until I announce you. We don’t want anyone to spot you and spoil the surprise. Especially the press. They’ll have full access to you once you’ve declared your allegiance to the BUF and have stepped down from the stage.”
    Edward finished one cigarette and lit another off it before dropping it in the ashtray. A band was playing. He imagined the red, white, and blue lightning flag of the British Union of Fascists being unfurled. He heard some singing but couldn’t make out the words. Sir Oswald’s voice rang out over the Marconi public address system. Edward had heard a hundred similar speeches in public and whenever Sir Oswald sat across the table from him. But now he did not listen. Instead, he went over his own words in his head.
    It sometimes becomes necessary in the long march of human progress for a man to break formation and head in another direction, keeping his steps in time with another band and another marching tune. That is what I am doing today. Not because I don’t love my country but because I do love my country. Not because I don’t honor truth and justice but because I honor them enough to change allegiances in order to better serve them. Not because I don’t care for the British public or its values but because I care for the British public above all others. God, country, the good of the British people — they are why I am declaring my break with the Conservative Party and