Jeffrey Archer - Cometh the Hour

“As you wish, my lady. And perhaps in the fullness of time you would be kind enough to let me know to which bank we should transfer your overdraft. Meanwhile, we will, I fear, be unable to honor any of your current outstanding checks until we have received his lordship’s monthly payment.”

“That’s fortunate really,” said Virginia, “as I’ve recently visited my father in Scotland, and he agreed to raise my allowance to three thousand pounds a month.”

“That is indeed good news, my lady, and will unquestionably help to alleviate your current short-term problem. However, I should point out that following that meeting with your father, his lordship wrote to inform the bank that he was no longer willing to guarantee your overdraft. And he made no mention of any increase in your monthly allowance.”

Virginia spent the morning at a new hairdresser, had her nails manicured and picked up her favorite Chanel outfit from the dry cleaners before returning to Cadogan Gardens.

As she stared at herself in a full-length mirror, she felt she didn’t look too bad for forty-two, well, forty-three... well... She took a taxi to Harry’s Bar just before 1 p.m., and when she mentioned the name Cyrus T. Grant III to the concierge, she was immediately accompanied to the private dining room on the second floor.

“Welcome, my darling,” said Bofie as she entered the room. He quickly took her to one side and whispered, “I know Cyrus is just dying to meet you. I’ve already told him you’re a member of the royal family.”

“I’m a distant niece of the Queen Mother, whom I’ve only met at official functions, though it’s true my father occasionally plays bridge with her when she stays at Glamis Castle.”

“And I told him you had tea with the Queen only last week.”

“Buck House or Windsor?” asked Virginia, joining in the game.

“Balmoral. So much more exclusive,” said Bofie as he grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

Virginia pretended not to notice the guest of honor, who was surrounded by admirers, and wondered if they would have been hanging on his every word had he not been the twenty-eighth richest man in America.

Cyrus couldn’t have been an inch over five foot five, and sadly didn’t have Gary Cooper’s looks to compensate. He was wearing a red-and-white check jacket, blue jeans, a pale blue silk shirt and a leather bootlace tie. His Cuban heels made him almost the same height as Virginia. She wanted to giggle, but somehow managed to keep a straight face.

“Cyrus, may I introduce my dear friend, the Lady Virginia Fenwick?”

“Nice to meet you, my lady,” said Cyrus.

“Please call me Virginia, all my friends do.”

“Thank you, Ginny. You can call me Cyrus, everyone does.”

Virginia didn’t comment. Bofie clapped his hands, and once he had everyone’s attention, said, “I’m sure you’re all ready for a spot of lunch.”

“I sure am,” said Cyrus, who left the ladies standing. Virginia was both appalled and delighted to find herself sitting on the right-hand side of the honored guest.

“How long do you plan to be in England?” she ventured.

“Just a few weeks. I’m here for what you people call the season, so I’ll be going to Wimbledon, Henley and, most important, Royal Ascot. You see, I have a filly running in the King George VI and Queen Elizabeth Stakes.”

“Noble Conquest.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Cyrus. “That’s impressive, Ginny.”

“Not really. I never miss Ascot, and your horse is already being talked about.”

“I’d invite you to be my guest,” said Cyrus, “but I guess you’ll be in the royal box.”

“Not every day,” said Virginia.

“I asked if you could sit next to me today,” confided Cyrus, as a plate of smoked salmon was placed in front of him, “because I’ve got a problem, and I have a feeling you’re the right person to solve it for me.”

“I will certainly do anything I can to help.”

“I don’t know how to get dressed, Ginny.” Virginia looked surprised, until he added, “And I’m told you have to wear a special outfit before you can enter the royal enclosure.”

“Top hat and tails,” said Virginia. “And if you’re lucky enough to have a winner, Her Majesty will present you with the cup.”

“That would be the greatest honor of my life. May I call her Liz?”

“Certainly not,” said Virginia firmly. “Even her family address her as ‘Your Majesty’.”

“Will I be expected to bow?”

“First things first,” said Virginia, warming to her task. “You’ll need to visit Gieves and Hawkes in Savile Row, who will be able to kit you out.”

“Kit me out?”

“Make sure that you’re appropriately attired.”

A waiter appeared by Cyrus’s side and refilled his glass with whisky, while another offered Virginia a glass of champagne.

“It’s just a shame they don’t have my favorite brand,” said Cyrus after he’d emptied his glass.

“Your favourite brand?”

“Maker’s Mark. I haven’t been able to find a hotel or restaurant in this city that stocks it,” he said, as a waiter leaned forward and lit his cigar. Cyrus took a few puffs and blew out a cloud of smoke, before saying, “I hope you don’t mind, Ginny.”

“Not at all,” said Virginia, as another waiter whisked away the empty plates. “Is your wife traveling with you?” she added, casting a fly.

“I’m not married, Ginny.”

Virginia smiled.

“But I plan to get myself hitched just as soon as I’m back in Louisiana.”

Virginia frowned.

“I’ve known Ellie May since we were in high school together but, goddamn it, I was too slow off the mark first time around, so Wayne Halliday upped and married her. They got divorced last year, so I’m not going to let her get away a second time.” Cyrus took out his wallet and produced a photo of Ellie May, who didn’t look likely to win any beauty pageants, but then perhaps she had other, more tangible, assets.

“Quite beautiful,” said Virginia.

“I think so.”

Virginia needed to reconsider her strategy.

“And that’s another thing I’ve got to do while I’m in London, Ginny, get myself an engagement ring. You see, I couldn’t risk buying a ring in Baton Rouge, because if I did, half the county would know an hour later, which wouldn’t make it much of a surprise for Ellie May. And I’ve no idea where to start,” he added as a T-bone steak almost the size of the plate was put in front of him.

Virginia sipped her champagne while she considered this new piece of information.

Cyrus picked up his knife and fork and glared at the steak before attacking it. “It has to be a bit special, Ginny, because Ellie May’s family came over on the Mayflower . She can trace her ancestors back nine generations. Bit like you, I guess.”

“The first recorded Fenwick was farming in Perthshire in 1243,” said Virginia, “but I confess we’re unable to trace anyone with certainty before that.”

Cyrus laughed. “You got me there. I know who my granddaddy was, ’cause he founded the company, but before that it gets a bit hazy.”

“Every great dynasty has to begin somewhere,” said Virginia, touching his hand.

“That’s kind of you to say so,” said Cyrus. “And to think I was nervous about sitting next to a member of the royal family.” He put down his knife and fork, but only to pick up his cigar and take another gulp of whisky.

When Bofie asked Cyrus a question, Virginia turned to the person on her right, in the hope of finding out more about Cyrus T. Grant III. Mr. Lennox turned out to be Cyrus’s trainer. It took Virginia a few moments to realize that Mr. Lennox trained Cyrus’s horses, not Cyrus himself, which may have explained why his boss looked unlikely to be up for a morning gallop. She pumped Lennox for information, and quickly learned that Thoroughbreds were the real love of Cyrus’s life. After his grandfather had died, his father Cyrus T. Grant II had continued to build up the family company, and when he died, Cyrus T. Grant III was made an offer that allowed him to give up the canning business and concentrate on his stud farm. He’d already won the Kentucky Derby, and he now had his eyes set on the King George VI and Queen Elizabeth Stakes.