him there.
That day her expansive hand gestures showed off the ruby and diamond bracelet that encased her wrist, while pinned to her navy blue jacket was a huge diamond broach that Evangeline could not remember seeing before.
Fortieth-birthday presents, perhaps, Evangeline wondered, twisting the signet ring on the little finger of her own left hand, a confirmation gift from her godmother Joan all those years ago. The finger beside it seemed more naked than ever. As Evangeline contemplated her absence of jewels Wallis shifted nearer her on the sofa and was now sitting slim thigh alongside thick.
“So, Vangey, perhaps we should think of getting you a new canine friend? I expect you are still missing Wiggle and we have had some happy news. Slipper is about to become a father. Let me make you a little happier, with a new puppy, Vangey. You always look so anxious.”
And suddenly Evangeline’s unadorned fingers found themselves clasped within those encircled by precious stones, the physical contact returning Evangeline in a moment to the distressing events of two decades ago. Confessing to a sudden rush of heat Evangeline got up and moved over towards the open window.
Below her in the Mall all appeared orderly. The Union flags were flying and a small crowd was waiting for a glimpse of the king, who was expected to ride past at any moment. Earlier that afternoon, the wide-open spaces of Hyde Park had provided a perfect stage for Edward VIII’s presentation of the king’s Colours to three guards regiments. Horses huffed and stamped and pawed at the grass. Helmets gleamed in the sunshine. London was July-blowsy with the weight of full-grown leaves on the trees. A military band wound its way through the Wellington Arch at Hyde Park Corner, the drums and trumpets alerting those royalists waiting at Constitution Hill that the king was on his way.
As the small figure on horseback wearing his ceremonial scarlet uniform and bearskin emerged through the arch, he passed a man in a brown suit with a snappy moustache holding a newspaper. Suddenly the newspaper fell from the man’s hand revealing a revolver pointed directly at Edward VIII. With impressive speed, the king’s personal detective knocked the gun from the man’s hand to the ground as a policeman moved forward quickly to arrest the would-be assassin.
Throughout the day worried officials were shown in and out of the king’s private apartments, trying to unravel the security lapses that had made such an incident possible. Given that two further rounds of ammunition had been found in McMahon’s bag, the fragility of the king’s physical safety as he went out and about doing his “kinging” job had been exposed. Special Constable Anthony Dick, who had been detailed to look after the king that morning, came into the king’s private sitting room to explain what the police had discovered. An Irish journalist, George Andrew McMahon, had pulled a loaded gun on the king, and the quick thinking of the detective had saved the king’s life. Constable Dick confirmed that the assassin was mentally unbalanced. The words “May I love you?” had been found written on his discarded newspaper. The full implications of the gunman’s intentions were received by the king with impressive calm.
An equerry knocked at the door. He was holding a telegram. “Please forgive the interruption, sir, but this is a message of some importance, sir.”
The few words pasted in ticker tape onto the cream paper conveyed the Chancellor of Germany Adolf Hitler’s anxiety at “the news of the abominable attempt on the life of Your Majesty” and included his heartiest congratulations on the king’s lucky escape.
“Interesting how fast news travels these days,” observed the king. “Who would have thought Hitler had heard of the incident already? He must have his spies everywhere.”
Wallis and Evangeline had been sitting quietly in a corner of the room for the past hour. Wallis had been unnaturally subdued. However, on hearing about the telegram Wallis jumped up.
“That will be down to Ribbentrop, David. He is already taking his ambassadorial duties most seriously, you know, even though he hasn’t yet arrived in London for the appointment. I hear he is due in a month or so, which is rather nice. Even so, he never misses a trick! We must remember to give him a welcome dinner as soon as he arrives.”
Evangeline and the king simultaneously caught Constable Dick’s concerned expression.
“What is it, Constable?” the king asked, a note of defensiveness in his voice.
“Excuse me, sir, but I have neglected to