Gone With the Windsors. Laurie Graham

and then she and Doopie danced Giselle for me in their bedroom slippers. I don’t think chocolate counts as candy. Chocolate is chocolate.

      10th March 1933

      Dinner at Judson and Hattie Erlanger’s. According to Pips, Hattie’s family owns much of Eccleston Square. All the more regrettable then that she doesn’t invest some of her wealth in getting her teeth straightened. And why don’t the English keep their diamonds clean?

      The talk turned to Wally. I only mentioned that she longs to be presented at Court, and Gladys Trilling practically leaped out of her seat. She said, “Oh but that can never happen. Surely Wally and Ernest are both divorced?”

      According to Gloria and Hattie, divorce is death to any Court ambitions.

      I said, “But what about Thelma Furness? She’s about to get her second divorce, but that doesn’t seem to deter the Prince of Wales.”

      Hattie said, “There’s all the difference in the world between sharing Wales’s bed and being brought into the presence of Their Majesties, and I’m sure Thelma Furness has always understood her position.”

      If that’s the case, I’m surprised she hasn’t explained it to Wally. They’re such friends these days, they must surely commiserate with each other about the taint of divorce. How frustrating. A youthful error with Win Spencer and now Wally’s greatest desire is forever beyond her reach. Well, I’m not going to be the one who tells her.

      14th March 1933

      Philip Sassoon has invited me to his house by the ocean for Easter. A fête champêtre at Port Lympne! Whatever it is, I can’t wait.

      16th March 1933

      The most extraordinary thing. I was with Wally at Bryanston Court early last evening, when the door opened and in walked the Prince of Wales. He said, “You didn’t invite me, but here I am anyway.”

      Wally didn’t miss a beat. She said, “Why sir! I hope you know you’re welcome anytime. We’re very informal tonight, just an old school friend, Maybell Brumby.”

      She was pulling faces at me behind his back, reminding me to curtsy. She doesn’t understand that when I was at Carlton Gardens, Violet had royalties trooping through on an almost daily basis.

      His Royal Highness has very blue eyes and a rather high-pitched voice.

      “Brumby?” he said. “A big name in Baltimore, I seem to remember. Iron, was it?”

      Iron, coal, nickel, cobalt, silver, bauxite. Wherever it was in the world, Danforth Brumby would find it and have it grubbed out of the ground and turned into dollars.

      I said, “Yes sir, Brumby Steel and Chemical, founded by my late husband. And you may have heard of my late father, too. John Patterson was a legend for his worker housing.”

      “Is that so?” he said. “Well, you must tell me about it someday. I’m awfully keen on worker housing.”

      Wally didn’t like that. She thinks she’s the only one who knows how to draw people out. She thinks I’m just a pretty face.

      The Prince made us all scotches and soda, very much at home. He’d obviously done it before. Wally’s a sly one. He told us about his week. He’d been in the North, cheering up paupers. Wally was plying him with questions, but he really wanted to know about me, what brought me to London.

      I said, “Well, funnily enough, sir, you did. I came last year, after my bereavement, to visit my sister Violet. And if it weren’t for you, I very much doubt my sister would be here. If you hadn’t gone to Sulphur Springs with Donald Melhuish all those years ago, Violet wouldn’t have met him and married him and moved to London. So, in a roundabout way, you’re entirely responsible.”

      He has a funny little laugh.

      “Melhuish!” he said. “Of course! When was that?”

      It was 1919.

      He said, “And you’re Violet Melhuish’s sister? Remarkable! You look nothing like her. A fine soldier, Melhuish. We were together at Verdun, you know?”

      When Ernest came home, he didn’t seem particularly surprised to find the Prince of Wales sitting on his couch, so I wonder how long this has been going on? Great shows of affability, but I believe I noticed Ernest relax when the Prince said he couldn’t stay to dinner.

      He said, “No, Ernest. As comfortable as I am, I can’t stay, not even for Wally’s goulash. I have to dine with Their Majesties.”

      He kissed Wally on the cheek as he left.

      She said, “Oh Maybell, your face when the Prince walked in! I wish I could have snapped it.”

      I said, “You might have warned me. You were obviously expecting him.”

      She said, “Not really. He’s dropped by a few times but he never calls ahead.”

      I said, “But you didn’t even tell me he’d been here. Why the big secret? You were shouting it from the rooftops when he invited you to Fort Belvedere.”

      Ernest said, “We certainly did not. We’ve always been discreet about our friendship, and so must you be. Please don’t go telling all and sundry about this evening. His Royal Highness feels at home here, thanks to Wally. She has the right touch. Clever girl.”

      So that’s why she’s been shopping with such abandon. Ernest’s paid her a good dividend for hauling in the Prince of Wales. Well, their secret is safe with me. Apart from Pips and Violet, I won’t tell a soul.

      17th March 1933

      I made a point of speaking to Melhuish on the telephone this morning. He said, “You’ve missed Violet. She had a meeting at nine and then she’s going directly to the Habberleys. We’re there for the weekend.”

      I said, “It was you I wanted. I was with the Prince of Wales last evening and he most particularly asked to be remembered to you.”

      Stopped him in his tracks. “Wales?” he said. “Really? Were you at the Belchesters?”

      I said, “No, at the Ernest Simpsons.”

      “Simpson, Simpson?” he said. “Know the name, but can’t place him.”

      I said, “You met him at my soiree. He was in the Guards, and his wife is called Wally. She talked to you about salmon flies. She was a school friend, but these days Violet disapproves of her.”

      He said, “Does she? Well, Vee’s a good judge of people. As for Wales, these days I’m not entirely sure how sound he is. There was a time. We had a good war together, but he doesn’t appear to have done much since. From what I hear, all he does nowadays is plague his tailor and run his valets ragged. He’s a bloody clotheshorse, Maybell. If you ask me, we’re going to get a dandy for a king.”

      It says it all. The Prince is so modern and unstuffy, and Melhuish is so set in his ways. How left behind he must feel.

      Stood Wally lunch at the Dorch. Penelope Blythe came to our table and said, “Oh Wally, I hear His Royal Highness is back from Northumberland. How is he?” I could have killed her. I’d sworn Pips and Hattie to absolute secrecy.

      Wally doesn’t seem as anxious about things as Ernest, though.

      She said, “Well, of course, nothing the Prince of Wales does goes unnoticed. And why shouldn’t he call in on friends at the cocktail hour?”

      I said, “I suppose what’s remarkable is that he comes to an address like Bryanston Court.”

      “Not at all,” she said. “That’s the kind of prince he is.”

      The