of the staircase in the octagonal hallway.
“Wallis,” the king said, “tell me what is going on.”
Without looking at Evangeline, Wallis took the king’s arm and turned him to face her. “One’s schoolfriends should be loyal,” she began. “Even fat, spinster, hairless ones whom one has spent a lifetime feeling sorry for and being kind to out of pity. Above all, one’s countrymen should be loyal. But if I have learned one thing in life, it is that one will always have enemies and that, however you choose to spell the word, it is jealousy that will eventually destroy everything that matters.”
Together the king and Mrs. Simpson went arm in arm into the yellow curtained drawing room followed by Osborne, who shut the door firmly behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Early on Sunday morning, with the late November sunshine struggling to make any impact on the cold temperatures, May set out once again on the road from London to Fort Belvedere. Sir Philip was sitting in the front seat as he so often liked to do. He had been helping Mr. Monckton with legal advice for many weeks now and was planning to stay the night at the Fort. He had been given the small bedroom at the back of the house that was usually reserved for the use of a visiting valet and May had been given the rest of the day off.
“I fear these comings and goings from London might last a good few days yet, my dear, so try and conserve your strength while you can.”
May was pleased to get home to Oak Street and had been enjoying looking out of her attic window watching the scene below. Mrs. Cohen was scrubbing her front door step opposite. She was as lean as her husband had been fleshy. Next door Mrs. Smith was also hard at work on her own doorstep, her pride ensuring standards were kept up, even though her high spirits had been extinguished by widowhood. Mr. Smith’s desperate leap into the river, his two children holding trustingly to his hands, had not been forgotten by anyone on the street. It was common knowledge that the unwanted pregnancy, the catalyst for the tragedy, had been seen to by a kindly woman who lived above the butcher’s.
“Gave me a good price, she did, seeing we are all part of the same neighbourhood,” Mrs. Smith had informed Rachel with a touching acceptance of her lot.
At lunchtime the following day the children were at school while their parents were at work or busy inside their homes. The street was unusually still. No one was at home at number 52 Oak Street except May. On hearing a double knock on the door May took the rungs of her attic ladder at well-practised speed and skipped down the flight of stairs. There was always the unlikely hope that Julian would tire of Spain and turn up at Oak Street out of the blue as he had done once before.
Sam was waiting on the doorstep.
“Are you all right?” she asked him as he followed her into the house. “You look so pale.”
“Actually, would you mind if we went out?” he asked her. “I want to be with you. But not here. Somewhere where it’s just us? I was coming to see if you fancied a trip to Sydenham to see the Crystal Palace? If we hurry we could take the train to Forest Hill and still get there in the light.”
May quickly recovered from her disappointment that Sam was not Julian, and went to get her coat. She had seen so little of her brother recently. He had not been home on leave since before the birth of Joshua and had missed the whole drama of Mosley’s march.
They reached the park and sat down on a bench within sight of Paxton’s spectacular glass structure. The building had been designed as the showcase for Queen Victoria’s Great Exhibition and for eighty years it had been a source of pride for Londoners. Brother and sister stared in admiration at the biggest and most beautiful greenhouse they had ever seen before Sam reached deep into the pocket of his navy coat and drew out a white envelope covered with muddy fingerprints.
In handwriting familiar to May and Sam ever since it had appeared on the flyleaf of their first schoolbooks, the name May Gladys Thomas was inscribed on the front and beneath it Sam Benjamin Thomas. May looked at Sam, puzzled and alarmed.
“A friend, well actually you know him. William?