those arms leapt Preezie and Pookie, panting and licking and wriggling, terrier coats as glossy as the duchess’s own coiffure, festive red bows tied around their necks. Detto settled himself at her feet, looking soulful. The duke followed, although he stopped short of his wife’s arms and merely stuck his hands in his pockets and grinned at the sight before him, the scene of mutual worship.
“You see,” he said, “you see, Mrs. Randolph, if only the damned papers would show them this. Did you ever see such affection?”
“Hardly ever,” I said. “Good morning, Your Highness. Merry Christmas.”
“Yes, yes. Happy Christmas. Fine day, eh?”
“The cake, David, darling. Get me a piece of cake.”
The duke bent forward and plucked a generous wedge of rum cake from the plate on the coffee tray. The duchess snatched it from his fingers and broke it in two. In her lap, the dogs went wild. “Be patient, darlings,” she said, laughing, and the darlings went still, didn’t they, except for the furious wagging of their identical tails, while they received their Christmas rum cake from the fingers of the Duchess of Windsor, just like your dog at home.
“Aren’t they precious,” said the duchess, in her throatiest voice.
“Aren’t they,” I said.
“It’s just because it’s Christmas. Ordinarily we’re very strict.”
“Very strict,” said the duke.
“Poor darlings, they’ve had such a time of it. This awful, awful war.”
“At least they’re out of danger, aren’t they? A long way from Europe.”
She buried her face in the silky pillow behind Preezie’s ear. “Yes, thank God. I only wish it were over, don’t you? One way or another, so we can get on with our lives, so we can settle somewhere, and David can take on a more suitable job. Governor of Australia, perhaps, that’s proper work for a man of his training. Don’t you wish that? Just that it were over.”
“Preferably by victory, of course.”
“Oh, of course,” said the duke. “Naturally one longs for victory.”
The dogs, having finished their snack, now leapt back onto the rug and covered the duke’s shoes. “David, since you’re here,” said the duchess.
“What, my darling?”
“Shall we give Lulu her present?”
“Oh! Yes, yes.”
“My goodness, it’s hardly—I wasn’t expecting—”
“Of course you weren’t. But we wanted to give you something, a little token. David, go fetch Lulu’s present from under the tree. We’re so awfully grateful, you know.”
“Awfully grateful,” said the duke. Obedient as ever, he had gone to the tree, dogs at his heels, and bent to rummage out a small wrapped box from the bounty beneath. I stared at his pinstriped back, his immaculate shoulders, his shiny gold hair, and thought, as I occasionally did, My God, he was the king of England.
The duchess watched him return. “It’s just a token, of course.”
“There’s really no need at all—”
“Now, now. Not another word. David and I, there’s nothing we admire so much as loyalty, Lulu, and you’ve been so loyal, such a good friend to us.” She took the box from her husband’s hand. “And I want you to know how much that means to us, in our humble little way, stuck as we are out here like this.”
“You’re too kind. I’ve done my job, that’s all. Just earning a living.”
She placed the gift in my hands. “We both know it’s so much more than that.”
The box was heavier than it looked, wrapped in green foil paper. The tag read To Lulu, Merry Christmas from the Windsors, the same way you might write Merry Christmas from the Browns, except in Wallis’s elegant handwriting that no mere Mrs. Brown could possibly duplicate. I untied the bow and the paper fell apart, revealing a plain red box stamped Cartier.
“Open it,” said the duchess.
I lifted the lid, and I’ll be damned if a pair of sapphire earrings didn’t glitter there in a pavé diamond setting, all nestled in velvet. I remember gasping. I don’t think I said an actual word. One of the dogs nipped my ankle, and I didn’t even flinch.
Wallis set her hand on my knee.
“As I said. There’s nothing we admire so much as loyalty.”
You know, it’s a funny word, loyalty. Loyalty to what? And why? And especially how, that’s the kicker. It seems to me that loyalty requires a suspension of logic, of truth even. Like faith, like superstition, a thing you cling to in defiance of what lies before you in plain sight. On the other hand—like faith or superstition, like love itself—where’s the comfort in a world without it? We human beings possess a marvelous capacity