Jeffrey Archer - Cometh the Hour

“What about Ellie May?” he murmured.

“I’m not going to tell her, if you don’t,” whispered Virginia, as she pulled down the zip on his jeans and placed a hand inside his pants. He took another swig of whisky straight from the bottle, before lunging at her.

Virginia continued to focus on the job at hand and, after she had pulled off his boots and socks, she deftly removed the rest of his clothing, until he was naked. She looked down at him and smiled. She’d never seen anything so small. He took another swig and slipped off the sofa and onto the floor, his head narrowly missing the table. Virginia sank down onto the carpet beside him. She was about to pull him on top of her, when he passed out. She rolled him over gently, so he was sprawled on the carpet.

She jumped up, ran to the door, opened it a few inches and hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the outside doorknob. She returned to Cyrus’s side, fell to her knees and, gathering all her strength, placed her arms under his shoulders and dragged him across the carpet and into the bedroom. She left him on the floor as she pulled back the sheets and blanket on the vast king-sized bed. She then knelt down beside him and, with one final Herculean effort, pulled him up off the floor and onto the mattress, grateful that he was only five foot five. He was snoring contentedly as she covered him gently with the sheet and blanket. She filled another glass with Maker’s Mark and placed it on the small table by his side of the bed. Virginia then closed the bedroom door, drew the heavy curtains and turned out all the lights one by one until the room was in total darkness.

When she finally climbed into bed beside him, she was only wearing one thing.

Virginia spent most of the night wide awake, listening to Cyrus’s thunderous snores. He tossed and turned, and when he did wake, it was only for a few moments before the snores erupted again. She couldn’t believe Ellie May had ever slept with this man.

Virginia lay there, for hour upon hour, realizing it could be a long night. Not only was Cyrus drunk, but probably suffering from jet lag. She spent her time preparing a plan that would be set into motion the moment he awoke. She even rehearsed the lines she would deliver until they were word perfect.

He woke just after six the next morning, but it was some time before he properly entered this world, which gave Virginia time to carry out an undress rehearsal. A few minutes before seven, Cyrus stretched out an arm and, after some fumbling, managed to switch on his bedside light, the cue for Virginia to close her eyes, turn over and let out a soft sigh. When Cyrus looked around and saw her lying next to him, she heard a voice say, “What the hell?”

Virginia yawned and stretched her arms, pretending to wake slowly. When she opened her eyes, she was greeted with a vision of Bottom: an unshaven face, mouth wide open, sweating profusely and stinking of whisky. All Cyrus needed was a pair of ass’s ears to complete the image.

“Good morning, my darling,” said Virginia. She leaned across and kissed him, catching a full waft of his morning breath, but she didn’t recoil, just smiled, and wrapped her arms around his damp, podgy body. She began to move a hand up his leg.

“You were magnificent last night, my little dumpling,” she said. “A lion, a veritable lion.”

“What happened last night?” Cyrus managed, snatching at the sheet to cover his naked body.

“You were unstoppable. I don’t know how many times we made love, and it was so romantic when you told me you’d never met anyone like me and we must spend the rest of our lives together.”

“I said what?”

“‘But what about Ellie May?’ I insisted. ‘How could I even think about Ellie May now I’ve met a goddess,’ you replied. ‘I shall make you the Queen of Louisiana.’ Then you got out of bed, fell on one knee and asked me to be your wife.”

“I did what?”

“You proposed, and I confess I was overwhelmed by the thought of spending the rest of my life with you in Baton Rouge. You then placed the ring on my finger.” She held up her left hand.

“I did?”

“You did, and now we must let the world share our happiness.” Cyrus’s mouth remained open. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, my darling,” continued Virginia, getting out of bed and pulling open the curtains to let the sun flood in. Cyrus’s mouth remained open as he stared at her naked body. “As soon as I’m dressed, I’m going home to change. After all, even though I’m now your fiancée, we wouldn’t want anyone to see me in the same clothes I was wearing last night, would we, my little dumpling.” She giggled as she leaned over and kissed him on the mouth.

Virginia picked up the phone by his side of the bed. “Breakfast for one,” she said. “Tea, toast and Oxford Marmalade, and perhaps a Virgin Mary. My fiancé has a dreadful hangover. Thank you, yes, as soon as possible.” She put the phone down. “I’ll be back around ten, dumpling,” she promised, “and then we can go shopping. I think we should start at Moss Bros. You’ll need a top hat and tails for Ascot, and perhaps a gray silk cravat if you’re going to be seen regularly in the royal box. And then you can join me while I spend a little time looking at Hartnell’s spring collection. I’ll need to find something worthy of the winner of the King George VI and Queen Elizabeth Stakes,” she added as she pulled on her skirt and did up her blouse.

There was a knock at the door. Virginia left the bedroom and opened the door to allow a waiter pushing a trolley to enter.

“My fiancé is still in bed. Do go through. Your breakfast has arrived, my darling,” Virginia said as she followed the waiter into the bedroom. “And be sure to drink your Virgin Mary,” she added as the tray was placed on his lap, “because we’ve got a busy day ahead of us.” Once again she leaned over and kissed Cyrus, who was now sitting bolt upright and staring blankly at her. “I must also give some thought to the wording of our engagement announcement in the Court Circular. Something simple but dignified,” she said, “letting the world know the significance of our two families coming together. Of course everyone will expect a society wedding at St. Margaret’s, Westminster, although I’d prefer a quiet affair, perhaps in Baton Rouge.” The waiter proffered the bill. “I’ll sign it,” said Virginia, who, before ushering him out, added 20 percent, to make sure the young man couldn’t possibly forget what he had just witnessed. She then gave Cyrus one final kiss and said, “See you in a couple of hours, dumpling.”

She had slipped out of the room before he could reply.

Virginia walked quickly down the long corridor, purpose in her stride, and took the lift to the ground floor. As she passed the reception desk, none of the porters gave her a second look. They were well accustomed to ladies slipping out of the hotel early in the morning, some paid, others not — and certainly Virginia intended to be paid in full. A liveried porter opened the front door for her and asked if she needed a taxi.

“Yes, please.”

He raised an arm, let out a piercing whistle and a taxi miraculously appeared a moment later.

Virginia did as she’d told Cyrus she would. She returned home, where she spent some considerable time soaking in a warm bath, before washing her hair and changing her clothes. She then selected an appropriate outfit for returning to the Ritz.

Over breakfast, she took her time reading the morning papers. After all, the shop she intended to visit didn’t open until ten. She left her flat in Cadogan Gardens just after nine forty, and took another taxi, this time to Bond Street, which looked like a desert at that time in the morning. She was dropped outside the House of Cellini a few minutes after ten.