breathless and her pupils dilated.
‘Not exactly,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Tell me something, Molly. How was it you met the Prince of Wales? I mean, to put it crudely, you weren’t moving in those sort of
circles in Kenya. That man you were consorting with – what was his name, Davenant? He wasn’t exactly out of the top drawer if you’ll forgive me for saying so.’
‘Douglas? Yes, he was rather awful, wasn’t he? He couldn’t stay in the colony after Raymond shot himself – not without marrying me and neither of us wanted that. I
don’t hold it against him. We never pretended we loved each other or anything like that. We were lovers, yes, but only because we were so bored. Raymond was such a swine . . . ’
‘You loved him once,’ Edward said reprovingly.
‘I know I did,’ she said sombrely, ‘but he was so weak. Drunkards are such bores, aren’t they, darling? I thought I could make him something important in the colony
– top dog – but he was too idle, too bloody weak.’
She spoke with a contempt which chilled Edward. He now remembered why they had never become lovers. He had been sorry for her, he had admired her spirit – she was as brave as a lion and
flew totally without fear – but she was cold. She had never spoken of her own childhood but it cannot have been happy. She had never managed to learn how to love. That was Edward’s
diagnosis. Freud might have been interested in her, he thought. She was seductive, she could pretend to love but poor Raymond had not lived up to her expectations and had been humiliated by her. He
must have known long before he found her in bed with the odious Douglas Davenant – a remittance man of the worst kind who had never done a day’s work in his life – that she was
cuckolding him. She had driven the man to drink and suicide. It was as simple as that and yet, as soon as she got back to England, she had been taken up by the Prince and his circle. Edward knew he
had some pretty raffish friends but it needed some explaining.
‘Raymond left me quite well off, you know,’ she said, looking at him speculatively.
‘Yes, but how did you meet the King – or rather the Prince as he was then?’
‘I met this very sweet man in Cape Town. Lewis Van Buren. I don’t know whether your paths have ever crossed?’ He shook his head. ‘Well, he was an absolute dear. He took
charge of me and took me back home and introduced me to David.’
‘Were you and this man lovers?’ he inquired brutally.
She blushed and Edward felt he had been a cad.
‘Sorry, my dear, but you do attract men, don’t you?’
‘Well, if you want to know, we were lovers, very briefly. He’s a diamond merchant – very rich.’ She opened her eyes wide. ‘I mean very rich. A Jew but a nice
Jew. I liked him. I felt . . . I felt safe with him.’
‘And he introduced you into royal circles?’ Edward said ironically.
‘Yes, I think he had lent the Prince money . . . anyway, he knew him very well. He said the Prince would love me . . . and he did,’ she said simply.
Edward understood that Van Buren was one of those useful men who hang about the rich and famous – lend them money, find them women and do their dirty work. He wondered if Verity might find
out something about him through the paper.
‘I see. Look, Molly, there are things we have to talk about. I know it’s not my business but, as a friend, I hate to see you get into trouble . . . ’
‘Oh God, Edward, you’re not going to lecture me, are you? Anyway, I’m not the one who’s going to get into trouble. I’ve seen a lot of things and I could tell a lot
of tales . . . but I don’t want to. I just want to be treated . . . fairly. I’m not just a whore to be chucked out with the garbage . . . ’
At that moment, to Edward’s relief, there was a light knock on the door and Fenton informed him his bath was ready for him.
‘Molly, I’d better go and do my ablutions, don’t y’know,’ he said
‘Not exactly,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Tell me something, Molly. How was it you met the Prince of Wales? I mean, to put it crudely, you weren’t moving in those sort of
circles in Kenya. That man you were consorting with – what was his name, Davenant? He wasn’t exactly out of the top drawer if you’ll forgive me for saying so.’
‘Douglas? Yes, he was rather awful, wasn’t he? He couldn’t stay in the colony after Raymond shot himself – not without marrying me and neither of us wanted that. I
don’t hold it against him. We never pretended we loved each other or anything like that. We were lovers, yes, but only because we were so bored. Raymond was such a swine . . . ’
‘You loved him once,’ Edward said reprovingly.
‘I know I did,’ she said sombrely, ‘but he was so weak. Drunkards are such bores, aren’t they, darling? I thought I could make him something important in the colony
– top dog – but he was too idle, too bloody weak.’
She spoke with a contempt which chilled Edward. He now remembered why they had never become lovers. He had been sorry for her, he had admired her spirit – she was as brave as a lion and
flew totally without fear – but she was cold. She had never spoken of her own childhood but it cannot have been happy. She had never managed to learn how to love. That was Edward’s
diagnosis. Freud might have been interested in her, he thought. She was seductive, she could pretend to love but poor Raymond had not lived up to her expectations and had been humiliated by her. He
must have known long before he found her in bed with the odious Douglas Davenant – a remittance man of the worst kind who had never done a day’s work in his life – that she was
cuckolding him. She had driven the man to drink and suicide. It was as simple as that and yet, as soon as she got back to England, she had been taken up by the Prince and his circle. Edward knew he
had some pretty raffish friends but it needed some explaining.
‘Raymond left me quite well off, you know,’ she said, looking at him speculatively.
‘Yes, but how did you meet the King – or rather the Prince as he was then?’
‘I met this very sweet man in Cape Town. Lewis Van Buren. I don’t know whether your paths have ever crossed?’ He shook his head. ‘Well, he was an absolute dear. He took
charge of me and took me back home and introduced me to David.’
‘Were you and this man lovers?’ he inquired brutally.
She blushed and Edward felt he had been a cad.
‘Sorry, my dear, but you do attract men, don’t you?’
‘Well, if you want to know, we were lovers, very briefly. He’s a diamond merchant – very rich.’ She opened her eyes wide. ‘I mean very rich. A Jew but a nice
Jew. I liked him. I felt . . . I felt safe with him.’
‘And he introduced you into royal circles?’ Edward said ironically.
‘Yes, I think he had lent the Prince money . . . anyway, he knew him very well. He said the Prince would love me . . . and he did,’ she said simply.
Edward understood that Van Buren was one of those useful men who hang about the rich and famous – lend them money, find them women and do their dirty work. He wondered if Verity might find
out something about him through the paper.
‘I see. Look, Molly, there are things we have to talk about. I know it’s not my business but, as a friend, I hate to see you get into trouble . . . ’
‘Oh God, Edward, you’re not going to lecture me, are you? Anyway, I’m not the one who’s going to get into trouble. I’ve seen a lot of things and I could tell a lot
of tales . . . but I don’t want to. I just want to be treated . . . fairly. I’m not just a whore to be chucked out with the garbage . . . ’
At that moment, to Edward’s relief, there was a light knock on the door and Fenton informed him his bath was ready for him.
‘Molly, I’d better go and do my ablutions, don’t y’know,’ he said
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