Джеффри Арчер - A Quiver Full of Arrows

Henry celebrated V-J Day in Times Square with a million Americans and immediately made plans for his return to Britain. He was surprised and disappointed when the British Embassy in Washington informed him that it might be some time before he was allowed to return to the land he loved, and despite continual pressure and all the influence he could bring to bear, he was unable to board a ship for Southampton until July 1946. From the first-class deck he waved goodbye to America and Eugene, and looked forward to England and Barker.

Once he had stepped off the ship onto English soil he headed straight for the Ritz to find his rooms exactly as he had left them. As far as Henry could see, nothing had changed except that his manservant (now the batman to a general) could not be released from the armed forces for at least another six months. Henry was determined to play his part in the war effort by surviving without him for the ensuing period, and remembering Barker’s words: “Everyone knows who you are. Nothing will change,” he felt confident all would be well. Indeed on the Bonheur-du-jour in his room at the Ritz was an invitation to dine with Lord and Lady Colquhoun in their Chelsea Square home the following night. It looked as if Barker’s prediction was turning out to be right: everything would be just the same. Henry penned an affirmative reply to the invitation, happy with the thought that he was going to pick up his life in England exactly where he had left off.

The following evening Henry arrived on the Chelsea Square doorstep a few minutes after eight o’clock. The Colquhouns, an elderly couple who had not qualified for the war in any way, gave every appearance of not even realizing that it had taken place or that Henry had been absent from the London social scene. Their table, despite rationing, was as fine as Henry remembered and, more important, one of the guests present was quite unlike anyone he could ever remember. Her name, Henry learned from his host, was Victoria Campbell, and she turned out to be the daughter of another guest, General Sir Ralph Lympsham. Lady Colquhoun confided to Henry over the quails’ eggs that the sad young thing had lost her husband when the allies advanced on Berlin, only a few days before the Germans had surrendered. For the first time Henry felt guilty about not having played some part in the war.

All through dinner, he could not stop staring at young Victoria, whose classical beauty was only equaled by her well-informed and lively conversation. He feared he might be staring too obviously at the slim, dark-haired girl with the high cheekbones; it was like admiring a beautiful sculpture and wanting to touch it. Her bewitching smile elicited an answering smile from all who received it. Henry did everything in his power to be the receiver and was rewarded on several occasions, aware that, for the first time in his life, he was becoming totally infatuated — and was delighted to be.

The ensuing courtship was an unusual one for Henry, in that he made no attempt to persuade Victoria to compliance. He was sympathetic and attentive, and when she had come out of mourning he approached her father and asked if he might request his daughter’s hand in marriage. Henry was overjoyed when first the General agreed and later Victoria accepted. After an announcement in The Times they celebrated the engagement with a small dinner party at the Ritz, attended by one hundred twenty close friends who might have been forgiven for coming to the conclusion that Attlee was exaggerating about his austerity program. After the last guest had left, Henry walked Victoria back to her father’s home in Belgrave Mews, while discussing the wedding arrangements and his plans for the honeymoon.

“Everything must be perfect for you, my angel,” he said, as once again he admired the way her long dark hair curled at the shoulders. “We shall be married in St. Margaret’s, Westminster, and after a reception at the Ritz we will be driven to Victoria Station, where we will be met by Fred, the senior porter. Fred will allow no one else to carry my bags to the last carriage, my darling,” explained Henry, “so that one cannot be disturbed by other travelers.”

Victoria was impressed by Henry’s mastery of the arrangements, especially remembering the absence of his manservant, Barker.

Henry warmed to his theme. “Once we have boarded the Golden Arrow, we will be served China tea and some wafer-thin smoked salmon sandwiches which we can enjoy while relaxing on our journey to Dover. When we arrive at the Channel port, we will be met by Albert, whom Fred will have alerted. Albert will remove the bags from our carriage, but not before everyone else has left the train. He will then escort us to the ship, where we will take sherry with the captain while our bags are being placed in cabin number three. Like my father, I always have cabin number three; it is not only the largest and most comfortable stateroom on board, but the cabin is situated in the center of the ship, which makes it possible to enjoy a comfortable crossing even should one have the misfortune to encounter bad weather. And when we have docked in Calais you will find Pierre waiting for us. He will have organized everything for the front carriage of the Flèche d’Or.”

“Such a program must take a considerable amount of detailed planning,” suggested Victoria, her hazel eyes sparkling as she listened to her future husband’s description of the promised tour.

“More tradition than organization I would say, my dear,” replied Henry, smiling, as they strolled hand in hand across Hyde Park. “Although, I confess, in the past Barker has kept his eye on things should any untoward emergency arise. In any case I have always had the front carriage of the Flèche d’Or because it assures one of being off the train and away before anyone realizes that you have actually arrived in the French capital. Other than Raymond, of course.”

“Raymond?”

“Yes, Raymond, a servant par excellence , who adored my father, he will have organized a bottle of Veuve Cliquot ’37 and a little Russian caviar for the journey. He will also have ensured that there is a couch in the railway carriage should you need to rest, my dear.”

“You seem to have thought of everything, Henry darling,” she said, as they entered Belgrave Mews.

“I hope you will think so, Victoria; for when we arrive in Paris, which I have not had the opportunity to visit for so many years, there will be a Rolls-Royce standing by the side of the carriage, door open, and we will step out of the Flèche d’Or into the car and Maurice will drive us to the George Cinq, arguably the finest hotel in Europe. Louis, the manager, will be on the steps of the hotel to greet us and he will conduct us to the bridal suite with its stunning view of the city. A maid will unpack for you while you retire to bathe and rest from the tiresome journey. When you are fully recovered we shall dine at Maxim’s, where we will be guided to the corner table furthest from the orchestra by Marcel, the finest headwaiter in the world. As we are seated, the musicians will strike up ‘A Room with a View,’ my favorite tune, and we will then be served the most magnificent langouste you have ever tasted, of that I can assure you.”

Henry and Victoria arrived at the front door of the General’s small house in Belgrave Mews. He took her hand before continuing.

“After we have dined, my dear, we shall stroll into the Madeleine where I shall buy a dozen red roses from Paulette, the most beautiful flower girl in Paris. She is almost as lovely as you.” Henry sighed and concluded: “Then we shall return to the George Cinq and spend our first night together.”

Victoria’s hazel eyes showed delighted anticipation. “I only wish it could be tomorrow,” she said.