Max Collins - Carnal Hours

“She should be doing another benefit right now.”

“Really? Where?”

“Cleveland. She opens there tonight, according to a postcard I just got from her-and I know her policy is that the first Saturday of every engagement is a Red Cross benefit.”

“What a sweet girl,” the Duchess said.

A description Helen deserved but rarely got.

“Diane tells me you’re a good friend of Evalyn Walsh McLean,” the Duchess said.

I nodded, smiled sadly. “I haven’t seen her in years-but we were close, once. Close enough that I petted her pooch while he was wearing the Hope Diamond around his neck on a dog collar.”

She laughed again. “Ah, poor Evalyn. How did you happen to meet?”

“The Lindbergh case.”

The violet eyes narrowed. “Ah…she was fascinated by that, wasn’t she? I hear from a mutual friend that she’s similarly fascinated by our local Oakes tragedy.”

She turned to Di, took one of her hands in both of hers.

“Lady Medcalf, I must thank you for opening Shangri La’s gates once again-giving our hot little island a cool breath of sea air. You know, I keep expecting to turn and see Axel and that wonderful smile of his.” She sighed. “Since Harry’s death, social functions have been at a standstill. I must say, New York will be a relief.”

The band suddenly shifted from its Cole Porter kick and went into a lilting waltz. The Duchess’ face, already radiant, lit up.

She said, “You’ll have to excuse me-they’re playing ‘The Windsor Waltz’….”

Then she moved gracefully away, going near the bandstand to join the sandy-haired sad-eyed little man in a double-breasted white jacket and black tie who used to be the King of England.

And they waltzed, with the dance floor to themselves as the other guests looked respectfully on, two tiny celebrities smiling at each other in what might have been great love or just a practiced public pose. Either way, there was something bittersweet about it.

I turned to Di. “You had the perfect opportunity to tell her what I’m doing here.”

“You mean, by saying Evalyn McLean recommended you to Nancy?”

“That’s right. Don’t you think the Duchess will be irritated with you, when she finds out who I really am?”

She smirked and shrugged. “I can get away with murder where those two are concerned. I’ve known David longer than Wallis has, remember.”

“Well, when this waltz is over, would you introduce me to ‘David,’ and then spirit Wallis away? I want a word with the Duke.”

“You have but to ask.”

“Lady Diane, why are you so good to me?”

“No offense, but it’s not you, Heller: it’s Nancy. I want her to get her husband back. I lost mine a long time ago, and it still hurts.”

“Sorry. Where is Nancy, anyway?”

“She wasn’t invited; neither was Lady Oakes. It’s easier for you to do what you have to without those two around reminding the room about what they’re all here to forget.”

When the waltz was over, and the applause had died down for the Duke and Duchess, who nodded their recognition of the crowd’s kindness, Di took me over to them and said, “Your Royal Highness, this is…”

“Nathan Heller, isn’t it?”

His voice was soft, gentle.

“That’s right, Your Royal Highness.”

He extended his hand and I took it and the handshake was so brief it seemed almost not to have happened.

He turned his disappointed little boy’s gaze on his wife. “This is the detective whom Sir Harry hired to follow de Marigny. He’s working for Nancy Oakes, now.”

Not Nancy de Marigny: Nancy Oakes.

Wallis winced, ever so slightly, at this news, and when she smiled at me, it was a little chilly.

“Mr. Heller and I met, but he didn’t mention that fact.”

I tried to smile it off. “Seemed an unpleasant topic of conversation, Duchess. Forgive me if I seem to have misled you.”

“Not at all. David, Mr. Heller worked on the Lindbergh case for Evalyn McLean.”

“Is that so?” the Duke said pleasantly but skeptically. “Do you know Charles?”

“Once upon a time I did,” I said. “I haven’t seen Slim in years.”

His eyes flickered. I’d just used a nickname only Lindbergh’s closest friends were privy to.

“Duchess,” Di said, “Rosita Forbes has been dying to say hello, all evening.”

“Oh, well, I’d love to chat with Rosita. Lead the way, dear.”

And that left me with the Duke, standing to one side of the bandstand, where the musicians were taking a break while a piano player noodled Gershwin. We were standing near a potted palm and a pedestal with a bronze statue of an elephant with the mandatory erect trunk.

“Would you mind if I asked you a question, Your Highness?”

“By all means,” he said, and smiled, but his eyes were cold.

“Why did you call Melchen and Barker in to handle the Oakes murder, rather than go to Scotland Yard, or just leave it to your own local police?”

He twitched another smile as he plucked a glass of champagne off the tray of a blond waiter. “Mr. Heller, we had a riot here last year-perhaps you’ve heard about it.”

“Actually, yes,” I said, wondering what this had to do with my question. “I understand natives, hired to help build airfields, discovered they were being paid much less than the imported white American laborers doing the same work. Am I close?”

“More or less. Things got out of hand, Bay Street was a shambles, a pity all the way ‘round. As it happened, I was in the United States on a diplomatic mission…and, frankly, I was, and am, unhappy with the performance of the Nassau police in that matter. If they had been tougher , they might have contained the problem.”

“I see.”

“In addition to which, our police department does not have the proper fingerprint equipment. Captain Barker is an acknowledged expert, you know. And, frankly, the Nassau department is simply altogether too black.”

He sipped his champagne.

“With all due respect, sir, Scotland Yard isn’t ‘too black.’”

“Very true. But this is wartime-with the transport problems we have, Mr. Heller, it might have taken weeks for a London detective to reach Nassau. I knew Captain Melchen to be reliable-he’s been my bodyguard in Miami, on several occasions-and I knew he was literally minutes away.”

“I see.”

He smiled again, tightly. “Now, I simply must circulate. I wish you luck with your inquiries, despite my own antipathy toward the Count de Marigny.”

“Your Highness-forgive me. But I’ve tried to make appointments to see you, and haven’t gotten anywhere. Could you chat with me for just a few minutes more?”

The smile was lost in the folds of a face that for all its boyishness seemed prematurely old. “This is hardly the place for such a conversation.”

“Who else but you can explain why I’ve been denied access to official records of those coming and going to Nassau? And why I’ve been stopped from searching for a blowtorch? And…”

“My dear fellow, you are not an official investigator on this case. Your role is to aid the defense of Count de Marigny-a gentleman who I personally find indefensible, but that’s of no consequence. Excuse me….”

He moved away, and there was no following him. Soon he was at his bride’s side again, as they chatted pleasantly with Di and several other guests.

Out on the patio I spotted Christie and Mrs. Henneage, down by the elephant fountain, having a heated little discussion; she seemed worried, he was placating her. I’d rattled them. Good.

She came up the stone stairs first, while I faded into the background; but when Christie emerged onto the patio, I approached him.