The Shadow Queen (36 page)

Alice’s china blue eyes widened and her mouth began to tremble at the corners. “No babies?” she whispered, the unspeakable prospect driving everything, even the word
divorce
, from her mind. “Not ever?”

Wallis closed the distance between them, taking her mother in her arms. “No, Mama,” she said huskily, Alice’s tears wet against her cheek. “Not ever.”

Alice had wept and, when she had recovered from her weeping, had said with a stubbornness Wallis almost admired: “It makes no difference to the shame a divorce would bring on both Montagues and Warfields, Wallis. If you won’t listen to me, perhaps you’ll listen to Bessie.”

If the situation hadn’t been so painful, Wallis would have laughed at the idea of her mother telling her she should listen to Bessie when she knew it was something her mother had never done.

Bessie, though, was almost as pragmatic as a Warfield and not in a million years could Wallis imagine her much-loved aunt insisting she remain in a marriage where she was treated so appallingly. It was an assumption that proved to be ill founded.

“Y
ou may separate,” her aunt said to her, her homely face distressed, “but you cannot possibly divorce, Wallis. It would be an action your reputation would never recover from. As for your argument about not being able to give Win the sons he wants …” Her voice trailed off and a look of deep pain crossed her face. “Not everyone can have the children they would like to have, Wallis. Even if Win were to marry again, there is no guarantee there would be children and, even if there were, no guarantee that one of them would be a boy.”

The gentle reminder that she, Bessie, had never been fortunate enough to have children wasn’t lost on Wallis, who felt deep shame at not having been more sensitive to her aunt’s widowed and childless situation.

“I’ll make coffee for us all,” she said, bringing the conversation to an abrupt conclusion and aware of her aunt’s and her mother’s deep relief.

It was a relief that only made her feel more ashamed, for she had no intention of taking their word as law. They were Montagues, but as well as being a Montague, she was also a Warfield, and the only person whose word was law for a Warfield was Uncle Sol’s. If she could persuade her Uncle Sol to give her his support where a divorce from Win was concerned, her mother and her aunt would begin to think differently about things.

“A
divorce?
A divorce
? Are you mad, Wallis?” Solomon Warfield was puce with indignation. “Have you completely lost your mind?”

“No, Uncle Sol.” Wallis dug her nails deep into her palms. “Win is a violent alcoholic and—”

“What do you expect when, instead of marrying a young man from Baltimore high society you marry a naval officer whose family comes from Kansas?” Spittle formed at the corners of Sol’s traplike mouth. “You did what you’ve always done, Wallis. You did exactly as you wanted. Spencer was your choice and now you’re going to have to live with it. There’ll be no divorces in the Warfield family. Not while I have breath in my body.”

Determinedly Wallis stood her ground. “I’m only twenty-three, Uncle Sol. I’m young enough to start my life afresh and—”

“HOW?”
Sol’s bellow nearly took the roof off 34 Preston Street. “How, in the name of all that is holy, do you intend to keep yourself? You have no money. The little your grandmother left you, you spent foolishly on a quite unnecessary extravaganza of a wedding. You have no marketable abilities. When it comes to math, you can’t add up a column of ten figures without coming to three different totals!
I
am certainly not going to fund you! My days of doing that are over! I’m telling you now Wallis, once and for all, I WILL NOT LET YOU BRING THIS DISGRACE UPON OUR FAMILY NAME! Warfields don’t divorce. They never have and, God so help me, they never will!”

W
ith Uncle Sol’s furious words ringing in her ears, she had made the long, long trip back to San Diego. With so much adamant family opposition, she didn’t see how she could divorce Win. What her uncle had said had been too painfully true. She had no family money on which to rely. As a Warfield, she hadn’t been brought up to earn her own living. None of the girls she had ever associated with at Arundell or at Oldfields had ever gone to university or given a passing thought to becoming financially independent. For girls brought up as she had been brought up, life was simple. After school and finishing school they became debutantes and, when their debutante year was over, they made highly suitable marriages. She had ticked three out of the four boxes—and she had also married. The problem was, she hadn’t done so suitably.

She’d been too swept off her feet to care that Win wasn’t from a prestigious Baltimore family. She hadn’t cared that his family wasn’t wealthy on the scale that her Uncle Sol or her friends’ families were. She hadn’t cared about his reputation for having a temper, because it had never occurred to her that his temper would ever turn on her. She hadn’t cared about anything but being the first debutante of her year to marry and the excitement and glamour of having a husband who was one of only a small handful of pioneer aviators.

It was an impetuosity for which she was paying the price. She had, as her Uncle Sol had remarkably refrained from saying, made her bed and now she had no choice but to lie in it.

Win’s first words to her when they were together again were, “I’ve been detailed to take charge of a detachment of aviators training at March Field in Riverside. It’s still California, so there’s no sense in you uprooting yourself from here.”

It was the longest sentence he’d said to her for months. Through the open door leading into their bedroom she saw that his case was already packed.

She leaned against the doorjamb, dizzy with relief at the prospect of having the house to herself; of being able to live in it free from fear.

He swung on his heel, striding into the bedroom, snatching up his suitcase.

“Don’t think just because I’m not here keeping an eye on you that I won’t know if you start getting up to tricks with anyone,” he said viciously as he walked back toward her. “You start fooling around and I’ll know about it the second after it’s happened.”

She hadn’t the slightest intention of fooling around with anyone, but she didn’t say so. She couldn’t. Her throat was too tight for her to speak.

Without a kiss good-bye or a word of affection he slammed out of the house.

Silence enfolded her like a warm embrace. She had no idea how long he was going to be away, but she knew one thing. Every minute they were apart was a minute she was going to treasure.

W
ithin days, her always full social life picked up speed.

“Don’t sound so surprised by it,” Corinne said, deeply amused. “Win isn’t comfortable company for anyone anymore. People would much rather have you at their dinner parties without Win than with him.”

“Is that why Rhoda and Marianna Fullam never went out of their way to be overfriendly to me, and are now inviting me to accompany them to nearly every event they attend?”

Rhoda and Marianna were the daughters of Rear Admiral Fullam, and the set they moved in was very high-flying. Thanks to them, Wallis now found herself attending polo matches at Del Monte and beach parties in La Jolla and had even, via Rhoda, met and had her photograph taken with Charlie Chaplin at the del Coronado.

“Rhoda and Marianna absolutely adore you, Skinny, but for them, Win is a fly in the ointment. You can’t blame them. No one wants to socialize with someone who is always in a black mood and who drinks not to have a good time but to get seriously drunk.”

I
t was the Fullam sisters who early the following year first leaked the news to her that Britain’s Prince Edward was scheduled to spend a full day in San Diego while en route to Australia aboard the battle cruiser HMS
Renown
.

The news was so cataclysmic, Wallis was terrified it was nothing but wild speculation. Corinne silenced her fears.

“No, Skinny. It’s true and the news will be made public before the end of the week. The governor and the mayor will head the welcoming party, and they’ll be accompanied by dozens of local and military officials.”

“Will Henry be one of them?”

“I certainly hope so. I don’t think wives will be included in the welcoming party, though. Our turn to be presented will come later. There’s bound to be a grand ball so that the very maximum number of people will be able to get a close-up view of him.”

Over the next few weeks, more and more details were made public of the plans being made. There was to be an official Navy luncheon aboard the battleship
New Mexico
. This piece of news sent Wallis’s heart racing. Throughout the latter part of the war Win had been in command of San Diego’s North Island air station. Surely that meant he would be recalled from March Field in order to attend the luncheon aboard the
New Mexico
? And surely it meant she, too, would be presented to the prince?

With Win no longer around to take exception at her doing so, she got out all her old pinup photographs of Prince Edward and propped them up on her dressing table. What would he be like in the flesh? Would he be just as heart-stoppingly handsome? Would he be the embodiment of all her romantic daydreams?

Corinne passed on any news she received from Henry almost the instant she heard it.

“The prince will arrive here on April seventh and will be accompanied by his cousin, Lord Louis Mountbatten,” she said to Wallis over the telephone. “After he has been officially welcomed and has had lunch, there will be receptions aboard the
Aroostook
and HMS
Renown
, followed by a grand parade through the city streets that will culminate in the stadium, where it is expected he will give a speech. In the evening there is to be a Mayoral Ball at the Hotel del Coronado, followed by a banquet. An invitation for Win and yourself will be with you any day, so get shopping for the most splendid evening gown you can find!”

Splendid evening gowns were in short supply in San Diego, and so she took the train to Los Angeles, returning with a pearl-embroidered gown of turquoise slipper satin that sheathed her greyhound-slim body like a sheet of ice. With it she would wear high-buttoned white satin gloves, white satin shoes, and, around her throat, a choker of pearls that had belonged to her grandmother.

In an agony of suspense she waited for the official invitation card to arrive. When it did, it was an invitation to the Mayoral Ball only, and there was no mention of the banquet that was to follow the ball.

“You’ll receive a separate invitation to the banquet,” Corinne said to her reassuringly. “Henry and I have already received ours, and so have the Raineys.”

Win made a terse telephone call informing her he would be arriving in San Diego on the morning of the seventh. That he wasn’t arriving in the city until the actual day of Prince Edward’s visit was a clear indication to her that he hadn’t been invited to the luncheon aboard the
New Mexico
.

She didn’t need to wonder why. That his drinking was finally beginning to ruin his career was something too starkly obvious.

Another day went by without the invitation to the banquet arriving.

Then another day went by.

“Win and I are not going to be invited to the banquet,” she said at last to Corinne, her voice bleak. “I guess Win’s certainty that he’s being sidetracked is just all too true.”

Corinne, who as well as having been invited to the Mayoral Ball and the banquet had also been invited to accompany Henry to the luncheon aboard the
New Mexico
, said awkwardly, “I’m sorry, Skinny. There’s nothing I can do. The invitations aren’t something Henry has any control over.”

“I know that, Corinne.” Wallis managed a smile, determined not to let her mortification at not being invited to the banquet show. She would pretend that not being included among the crème de la crème didn’t matter to her. To behave any differently would only draw extra attention to her and Win’s exclusion.

As the day of the prince’s visit drew nearer, she was seized by a single, overpowering anxiety. What if Win drank too much at the Mayoral Ball? In showing himself up, he would show her up, too. If Win became visibly unsteady on his feet, he would be forcibly escorted from the ballroom—and she would have to leave with him.

The prospect of such humiliation kept her awake at night. She also lay awake wondering how she could arrange to be presented to Prince Edward at the ball. There would never be another opportunity for such a thing to happen. The evening of April 7 was going to be a once-in-a-lifetime occasion.

She stared up at the ceiling, wondering if Rear Admiral Fullam might be in a position to introduce her to the prince. She would speak to Rhoda and Marianna and ask them to have a word with their father.

And whatever else happened, the minute Win stepped through the door on the morning of San Diego’s big day, she was going to have to keep him away from his bottles of gin. This was one occasion in his life when he simply could not be seen to be inebriated in public.

T
he first words he said as he came in through the door were, “It’s all a huge fuss over nothing. Who cares if a British prince stays overnight in San Diego? What has he ever done in life but be born with a silver spoon in his mouth? It’s bullshit and I’m not having any part of it.”

Wallis sucked in a deep, steadying breath. For a man of Win’s rank, attending the Mayoral Ball wasn’t something that was a matter of choice. If he didn’t go, his absence would be noted and would be another black mark against him.

With great difficulty she forced lighthearted gaiety into her voice. “You can’t miss the biggest event San Diego has ever had, Win. There are going to be over a thousand people there, many of them coming from as far away as San Francisco.”

“More fool them.” He shrugged himself out of his jacket and ripped off his tie. “This country is a republic. Fawning over royalty sticks in my craw.”

Her stomach muscles began tightening in painful knots. If she persisted in trying to persuade him differently, he would lose his temper completely and she would then run the risk of finding herself trussed up like a chicken, with no way of freeing herself.