Chapter Twenty

To Steal A King

Château de Candé, south of Tours, Indre-et-Loire, France, late April 1937.

"Darling, like it or not, ever since The Abdication, that's what they've all been sayin'! Your own family, the church, the politicians, the aristocracy... what you British call the Establishment. That I've stolen their king. Those who are more discrete, those who have the decency to keep their darned opinions to themselves, well I know for a fact that they think exactly the same of me".

"Wallis, you're exaggerating".

"Am I? Do you have any idea the spiteful, vicious letters I've received here in the mail? Thousands of them. Poison pen. Every one. Well, almost. Some addressed to The King's Whore. Dear Ernest wrote, sympathising with my predicament".

"Did he? How very kind of him!"

At the other end of the line, Wallis heard David's sharp intake of breath; she knew how jealous he had been of Ernest. Evidently, he still was.

"Yes, he did. And it was".
"Was what?"
"Kind of him to write. There were those from that Australian, too. I told you about him".

"I don't recall".

"You don't recall? David, that man threatened to kill me. When you reach here, I'll let you see what he wrote as well as read some of the others. My reputation has been well and truly trashed".

"I've no intention of reading them! I don't care what they say, what they think, or what they write! And that includes my own bloody family".

"You may not care, but I do!".

Some inner sense told David that he had blundered. This woman was unlike any of the others who had preceded her, of whom dear Freda and darling Thelma were but the most recent.

"Of course I care". His tone was matter-of-fact, completely devoid of any form of expression, as if he was discussing the weather.

"I don't think you do".

"That's a bloody stupid thing to say!"

Wallis recognised the annoyance creeping into David's voice. It was ever thus - when he was criticised - just like a spoilt child. In private, Ernest and she had referred to David as "Peter Pan", the boy who refused to grow up. She found herself wondering just how much more of this she could stomach but in the same instant realised that she would have to find a way to do so, as the bridges between Ernest and herself were now well and truly burned.

"I suppose it has to do with you being born royal".

"Just what do you mean by that?"

"What I mean is that your whole life has been lived as a fairy tale, every one of your needs attended to immediately, every whim, however ridiculous, indulged; pampered, wrapped up in cotton wool, cossetted so that you have never had to see unpleasant things!"

"That's not fair".

"Isn't it?"

"No, it isn't!"

Wallis seethed. Part of her annoyance was due to the fact that up until now it had always been David who had said he could not live without her. The supreme irony was that, in divorcing Ernest, she had given up the one man who had given her life stability. With him out of the picture all she could do was to cling to David, for better, for worse. Without him, what was she? Well, she already knew the answer to that: The King's Whore. In fact, to be accurate, The ex-King's Whore.

"Wallis, are you still there?"

David's voice was high, as was always the case when he became annoyed or was upset.

"Of course I'm still here! Where else would I be?"

"What you said just now... you're wrong you know".

"Am I? Am I really? Well, from where I am, I think it pretty well sums up the whole goddam situation!"

With that, Wallis slammed down the receiver, reached for a cigarette from out of the silver case lying on the table beside her, and then for the lighter, only to find that she was trembling so much that she was incapable of lighting it. Throwing both cigarette and lighter aside, she stood up and, in high dudgeon, went in search of Fern.


Idrone Terrace, Blackrock, Irish Free State, April 1937.

Given the news they had to impart, understandably, both Tom and Sybil spent some time with the McCloughlins before, arm in arm, they walked the short distance back to their own home on Idrone Terrace.

While Seamus had been resigned to the fact that Jimmy was dead, Clodagh was still disbelieving; held to the notion that Jimmy might have been taken prisoner. Even when Sybil explained, as gently as she could that while it was true enough Danny had not seen Jimmy die, that at the time had himself been posted missing, that he had been told later what had happened to Jimmy by Liam and by a lad called Develin who hailed from Athenry in County Galway. So, it seemed unlikely that Jimmy had been taken prisoner. Nonetheless, Clodagh stuck resolutely to her belief that since no-one who knew Jimmy had seen him die, then there was still hope and was insistent that, in the confusion of battle, it was quite probable that he had been taken prisoner. So she would write for word of what had become of Jimmy. But to whom should the letter be addressed? Tom said he would try and find out. Explained that out in Northern Spain Danny had met a British journalist by the name of Steer who might be able to help, but that Clodagh should not cling to what might turn out to be a false hope.

"It isn't a false hope," Clodagh said resolutely. "I know it isn't, for sure".

What Sybil did not say was that Danny had written what he had been told had happened to Jimmy; that he and two other Republican soldiers had been hit by a shell and blown to pieces so that nothing recognisable of any of them remained to be found.


"Do you think I should have said... what Danny said he had been told... about Jimmy? Would it have been a kindness if I had, to say that..."

"That a child ya brought into this world, nurtured, watched grow to manhood had been blown to smithereens so that nothing remained of him which could be given Christian burial?" Tom shook his head. "No-one should have to hear that. If it gives her comfort, let Clodagh believe all might still be well. After all, what right do either of us have to disabuse her of that notion? She'll come to realise soon enough the truth of how things really stand".


They had reached the front gate of their own home. Sybil paused, turned, and, in silence, stood gazing out across the cold grey waters of Dublin Bay separated from the houses on Idrone Terrace by the line of the railway between Dublin and Rosslare. While Sybil continued looking at the sea, a Dublin bound train rattled noisily northwards through the station at Blackrock, disappearing in a cloud of steam and smoke. As the noise of the passing train faded, Sybil turned to Tom.

"If it was Danny, I would want to know the truth of it, however bad it was".

"Would ya, for sure?"
"Yes, I would. Didn't you think I would?"

"Knowing ya as I do, then yes".

Gently, Sybil touched her husband's arm.

"Let's go in. I think both of us could do with a cup of tea".

Tom nodded, opened the gate, and once again stood aside to let Sybil pass.

"Tea? Something stronger for me, for sure!"

Sybil forced a smile.

"Maybe I'll join you," she said softly.


Northern Spain, late April 1937.

Here in the north of Spain, given the deteriorating military situation, which even if it was not admitted to by the Republican government was every bit as bad as Steer had said it was, a few days after their conversation amid the still smoking ruins of Guernica, Danny and his pals learned that they would be moving south. To where was not specified but the understanding among the now pitiful handful of survivors of the group of Irishmen who had sailed for Spain on board the Pieter, was that they were bound for Valencia.


Yorkshire Coast, England, April 1937.

Matthew left the MG parked where it was, just off the track, and set off on foot towards the distant headland and the abandoned fort, both lost to sight amid the swirling mist. He hoped fervently that the information Prince Louis of Hesse had given him in a hurried telephone call was correct. Not that he doubted the man's sincerity or his words but the stakes in this matter, concerning as they did the life of the new king, yet uncrowned, were inordinately high. That Herr Hitler and the Nazis were behind the plot to have the Duke of Windsor, as he was now styled, replace his shy, stammering younger brother once more upon the throne, however unpalatable, made eminent sense. Something which Matthew had learned not only from what Prince Louis had told him but also from the way von Ribbentrop - a thoroughly unpleasant individual and the most indiscrete diplomat Matthew had ever encountered - had spoken when he had been a house guest at Downton but a matter of weeks ago.


Matthew's study, Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, March 1937.

"Given what I said earlier over dinner - which by the way was quite magnificent - you would do well to realise that among the British aristocracy, men who hold high office, are in positions of influence, who are exceedingly well disposed, there are many who do want..." The ambassador paused. "You have a phrase, I think, not for all the tea in China?" Regarding Matthew over the rim of his brandy glass, von Ribbentrop lounged back comfortably in his chair, stretched out his legs, towards the fireplace where a bright fire burned in the steel grate.

"Yes; it means not at any price".
"Exactly so. Well then, here in England there are those who, not for all the tea in China, would wish there to be another war with Germany. A war which Great Britain, for all her vast empire, could not possibly hope to win. Such men are prepared to take whatever steps they deem necessary in order to prevent such a sad occurrence".

For an ambassador, even one as indiscrete as von Ribbentrop, the implied threat was all too obvious.

Matthew shook his head.

"No-one here wants another war with Germany".

"Indeed". Von Ribbentrop was looking slowly about him, almost as if he was appraising the contents of the room and their value. "This room is quite..."
"What?"
"Charming. The furniture - the chairs over there by the windows... are, I think, Hepplewhite. The china on the mantelpiece... is Meissen is it not?"

"You are remarkably well informed".

The ambassador smiled.

"Lord Grantham, I make it my business to be so, not just in the provenance of furnishings and porcelain, but in all manner of things".

Matthew forced a smile.

"Well, when it comes to furniture, I am no expert, but I believe some of the china is indeed Meissen. Like this house, it has been in my wife's family for many generations".

"It is a most desirable residence".

Matthew was very well aware of the remark von Ribbentrop had made regarding his wish to live on St. Michael's Mount down in Cornwall, irrespective of the fact that it belonged to the St. Aubyn family.

"You spoke just now about the prospect of another war".

"Ambassador, England does not seek war with Germany".

"Then return to us our colonies: German East Africa, Southwest Africa, Kamerun, Togoland, and the rest. Allow us to establish a new German African Empire..."
"Herr Ribbentrop, the return of Germany's erstwhile colonies is not something which lies in the gift of this country. In any event, the British Government cannot permit..."

"Cannot or will not?"

"If you would allow me to finish..."

Von Ribbentrop nodded.

"By all means..."

"What I was about to say is this. The League of Nations..."

Von Ribbentrop shook his head dismissively.

"The League! A preening creature born out of that despicable treaty, a talking shop of whey faced fools! We in Germany are well out of it and, I would remind you, democratically so".

Ignoring von Ribbentrop's pithy observation, one which suggested that either he was unaware of Matthew's connection with the League of Nations or that if he knew of it, the man was being deliberately provocative, Matthew merely nodded.

"Yes, I believe you held a referendum on Germany's continuing membership of the League?"

Von Ribbentrop inclined his head.

"As we did over the return of the Saar. The vote renouncing Germany's membership of the League was overwhelming. 95% of the votes cast were in favour of rejecting the Versailles settlement. In such matters, the Fuhrer is always careful to listen to the will of the German people; pursues only those policies which have their support, and then acts accordingly".

"Indeed? So, does that mean German support for the Nationalists in Spain has the backing of the German people? I would venture to suggest that becoming embroiled in a war against a popularly elected government can hardly be construed as democratic".

Von Ribbentrop pursed a thin smile.

"Would you prefer instead the spread of Bolshevism, across the face of Europe?" he asked softly.

Matthew shook his head emphatically.

"No, of course not".

"Lord Grantham, there are those who would tell you that the Fuhrer is the antithesis of what he actually is. Please do not make the mistake of falling into the trap of believing the lies they peddle. No less a personage than your own king knows the Fuhrer's true worth. He has been most... sympathetic. His Majesty is well aware of the threat posed by Soviet Russia; he has never forgotten the murder of his godfather, the late tsar, and his whole family by the Bolsheviks".

Matthew nodded.

When it had happened, back in the late summer of 1918, the brutal, cold bloodied murder of the tsar and his immediate family had sent shock waves coursing through the ruling dynasties of Europe, most of whom were in some way related to the unfortunate Romanovs; no more so than the British Royal family with His Late Majesty King George V and the last tsar, Nicholas II, having been first cousins. Through his recent discussions with Prince Louis of Hesse, Matthew had learned that the young man and his brother George Donatus were nephews of the late tsar; their father, the ailing Grand Duke Ernst, being the brother of the late tsarina, the Empress Alexandra.

"Forgive me, Herr Ribbentrop, but you astound me. Did I understand you correctly, that His Majesty is sympathetic to the Nazi Party?" Matthew could not conceal his disbelief.

"I should have made myself clearer. I was speaking of the former king... presently styled His Royal Highness, the Duke of Windsor".

"Presently styled? Is he to change his status yet again?"

Von Ribbentrop smiled.

"Perhaps. One never knows just how swiftly destiny may make or unmake a king. However, it was through the insistence of the former king that Prime Minister Baldwin did not oppose Germany's peaceful re-occupation of the Rhineland, illegally occupied and administered for some years by the French. As for those who would criticise us in the face of the Franco-Soviet Pact, is Germany to permit herself to be encircled?"

"I feel certain that German fears of what you term encirclement are much exaggerated. In any case, you have an alliance with Poland, have you not? And, since last year, another with Italy - the Rome-Berlin Axis. However, I hardly think the former king would have insisted that the Prime Minister..."

"That is what the man himself told me he had..."

Realising he had said far more than he should, von Ribbentrop broke off in mid sentence; immediately changed the subject.

"I find Mrs. Simpson to be a most charming lady, though when I spoke of her at dinner I sensed your wife, gracious lady that she is, does not approve. Nor, I think, does your mother-in-law, which I must confess I found somewhat surprising".
"How so?"

"Is she herself not an American?"

"Indeed".

"I believe that you have not met Mrs. Simpson?"
"I have not".

"A great pity".

"And why is that?"

"Because I know the lady to be very well disposed. Had you the good fortune to have met her, I feel certain she would have been able to convince you that British fears regarding a resurgent Germany are groundless".

Matthew nodded. From his contacts at the Foreign Office, he was well aware of just how well disposed Mrs. Simpson was said to be towards Herr Ribbentrop. That the two were lovers, conducting an ongoing illicit liaison at an apartment in Bryanstone Court up in London. As to whether the story about the red roses was true...


Rosenberg, Lower Austria, April 1937.

Warmly wrapped against the chill wind blowing down from off the Alps - it was, after all, still early April - seated here, in her English rose garden, that was Edith's pride and joy, - she was re-reading the latest letter she had received from darling Max. Postmarked from Jerusalem, it had arrived at Rosenberg only yesterday.

Dearest, darling Mama,

Do please excuse my awful handwriting, but I am balancing my writing journal on my knees, sitting on a camp stool beneath a palm tree, watching Rob riding towards me across the sand on his camel! Well, not precisely his camel you understand, as it actually belongs to someone else, someone we have met out here and of whom you will have heard...

Max went onto explain how they had met Tibor and Harriet; not the precise details of their first encounter - pinned down on the road, crouching beside the truck, and under fire from Arab insurgents - that would have been ill-considered, merely saying that they had met near Nablus and which was true enough. That both Rob and he were enjoying themselves very much indeed. Told of their time spent in Haifa, and then the journey out to the excavation site at Samaria. That Rob had been learning how to ride a camel. Wisely, of course, Max said nothing of what had happened up on Mount Carmel, any more than he wrote of what had occurred on the road to Nablus, nor of his own slow jaunts around the camp seated on Harriet's camel.

And now I must end.

With my fondest love to you, darling Mama, to dear little Kurt, and to Frittie.

Your loving son,

Max


In Friedrich's letter, which had also arrived yesterday, he had said that while he was keeping a close eye on Max, he had repaid the trust placed in him. That he had been careful not to over exert himself and had taken the very greatest care.


Edith sighed; laid aside Max's letter.

So far so good then.

Not that she was entirely reassured, for why were they returning home earlier than envisaged, and from Alexandria rather from Haifa? Was everything as both son and father had recounted? Or were they engaged jointly in a conspiracy of silence in order to keep the truth from her? No, put that thought aside; it was unworthy. However, as the parents of any haemophiliac boy would undoubtedly know, such was often the way of it. Everything going along swimmingly when, as if from out of nowhere, it happened. A moment's carelessness, and so the nightmare would begin all over again.

However, if she herself was concerned for Max, when all she had heard, both from her darling and from Friedrich, was good news, how must Sybil be feeling with dearest Danny out there in Spain, in a country being torn apart by civil war? For, even here in Austria, the newspapers were full of the ongoing conflict, recounting the appalling atrocities, committed, it was said, by the Republican side. Not that Edith believed the Nationalists to be blameless. Knew only too well from what Tom had said that the first casualty in any war was the truth. Knew too, again from Tom, he speaking from bitter personal experience of what he had both seen and endured in Ireland, the only winner in a civil war was hatred which in turn spawned unimaginable bitterness and unspeakable cruelty.


Edith glanced up.

Saw once again the magnificent house, its beautiful gardens - not at their best admittedly so early on but for all that still arresting, and the alpine magnificence of their surroundings. Was reminded of what, on seeing Rosenberg for the first time, Isabel Henderson had said. That it was a house of which to dream and gardens in which to dream. However, while both of these things were undoubtedly true, had Edith been asked to choose between all of this and having darling Max standing here before her safe and well, there was no doubt in her mind as to which she would have chosen.


Excavation site, Samaria, Northern District, British Mandated Palestine, late March 1937.

Fortunately, the presence here in the camp of the detachment of British soldiers left behind by Eccles proved successful in deterring any further attacks being made on the site of the excavation. However, closing down the dig could not be accomplished overnight. The site occupied by the villa was extensive, with the remains uncovered so far comprising numerous rooms, corridors, two sets of baths, a hypocaust system, and a boiler, all of which had been constructed round what had once been a central courtyard. In its heyday, the building must have looked magnificent and any newly arrived visitor to the house could not fail to have been impressed by the painted frescoes which then adorned the walls of the vestibulum or grand entrance hall. So too by the tablinum and the triclinium - the living and dining rooms - which had been just as luxurious with their superb mosaic floors depicting respectively Theseus and the Minotaur and Neptune and The Four Seasons; an indication, if ever one was needed, both of the exquisite taste and immense wealth of the owners of the villa and their high social status. All this being the case, it was almost the end of the week before Friedrich and Horst pronounced themselves satisfied that everything that could reasonably be expected to have been done in the short space of time they had been allotted to try and protect the site and its precious contents from both the ravages of the elements and from would be looters, had been achieved.

All of the excavated rooms had to be completely backfilled with sand in order to protect what remained of their walls, along with the beautiful mosaics which had been found; those depicting Theseus and Neptune being almost perfect. Another mosaic, somewhat more fragmentary but just as delightful, forming the floor of yet another of the principal rooms, had set into it portrait tesserae medallions of marble which must have sparkled in the light of the oil lamps by which the villa would have been lit. The remains of a bronze tripod lamp bore witness to this and was but one of a, host of smaller artefacts recovered from the site. These encompassed all manner of domestic ephemera: pottery - much of it coarse for everyday use but some of it expensive Samian ware - a scattering of coins dating from the reigns of Marcus Aurelius and Septimus Severus, glassware, mostly broken but including an intact bowl enamelled with the delicate figures of marsh birds, and many and varied metal objects, spoons, keys and so forth, as well as a cache of magnificent silverware found buried in a recess below the floor of the triclinium; among which was the twin of the silver ewer which had been stolen by an Arab in the pay of Armitage.

While Horst had supervised the tedious business of the backfilling of the excavation with sand, Friedrich saw to it that the smaller finds were all neatly catalogued and then carefully crated into straw lined packing chests - Robert and Max helped with this once Rob felt sufficiently recovered from his encounter with the scorpion - for transportation by motor lorry to the Department of Archaeology at the Hebrew University on the slopes of Mount Scopus in Jerusalem.

Once this work was duly accomplished, all that then remained to be done was to settle the monies owing to the native workers, all of whom were local to the district and who, to a man, were very sad to see the dig closed down. Even if their contribution to the excavation had been in the form of heavy manual labour, in digging and shifting spoil in wheel barrows, working in the sweltering summer heat of Palestine, the excavation had provided them with a very welcome source of additional income which could not be replaced. And despite Friedrich's heartfelt assurances to the men that one day he would return, on both sides there was the tacit realisation that, given the fast deteriorating situation here in Palestine, this was the final parting of the ways.

Despite all of the ongoing activity at the site of the excavation, both Robert and Max found that they had a deal of time to themselves. This they spent, in part, helping to pack up the smaller finds from the dig, chatting with the British soldiers, playing cards and chess, going for several long walks into the hills, albeit with a couple of British Tommies in tow as an escort in order to guarantee the boys' safety, and also learning from Tibor how to sit and ride a camel. This last was by no means as straightforward as it looked. On one never-to-be-forgotten occasion, Robert, imagining he had at last mastered the business, struck his camel hard on the rump with his whip, just as he had seen Tibor do, confidently expecting the camel to move forward at a smart pace; only for the enraged animal to come to an immediate and sudden stop causing Robert to go sailing head first out of the saddle and to land ignominiously in a sand dune. Fortunately, it was only Rob's pride which suffered. Nonetheless, despite this undignified setback - of which there were indeed several - Robert persevered. Eventually, with Tibor having pronounced himself well satisfied with his pupil, he and Robert went off riding together, with Rob perched proudly and rather more securely atop his decidedly moody, and unpredictable mount.

Regrettably for Max, his haemophilia meant of course that riding a camel anywhere outside the confines of the site was absolutely out of the question. However, with his father's permission, he was allowed to do so within the camp, but only under the strictest supervision, and had to be content with being led upon it slowly round the camp by Harriet, Not that Max seemed to mind; it was not in his nature either to be jealous of Robert's good fortune, or to mope. Instead, he amused himself taking photographs with his father's camera of Robert, wearing a red chequered shemagh and clothes borrowed from one of the young Arab workers, trotting out across the sands beneath the date palms, looking for all the world like another Lawrence of Arabia of whom Uncle Tom had once spoken.


With the business of both closing down the excavation and the despatch of all the artefacts so far recovered from the site to the Department of Archaeology at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, this by means of a lorry travelling under armed escort, at last completed, a day later, along with Tibor and Harriet, Herr Horst, Friedrich, and the two boys found themselves once more back at the railway station at Tulkarem awaiting the arrival of the southbound express to Kantara East on the Suez Canal. Mindful of what had happened earlier, the British soldiers who had escorted them here remained waiting on the platform until the express had arrived.

Having said their goodbyes to the soldiers, along with the rest of their party, Rob and Max boarded the train, stood watching from the window of their compartment as the two British Army lorries rattled away in a cloud of dust and petrol fumes, bound for Jerusalem.

Then they themselves were away, onwards to Cairo by way of Lydda - St. George was said to have been born here - Gaza, and Rafa, where they would cross the border into Egypt, thence through El Arish, as far as Kantara East, across the Suez Canal by ferry, and so onwards by Pullman train from Port Said to the Egyptian capital. A journey lasting some twelve hours but which would be completed in comfort, not to say luxury, as the express boasted both sleeping and restaurant cars. After spending the best part of a fortnight sleeping on camp beds, and at times taking cold showers, Robert and Max, and no doubt everyone else, greatly appreciated the modern amenities on offer on board.


If they had been asked what they expected to see when they reached the Suez Canal, other than a stretch of water, Robert and Max would have been unable to say. However, both of them were left distinctly unimpressed by what was considered by one and all to be a marvel of engineering: a broad waterway, one hundred and twenty miles long, linking the Mediterranean Sea with the Red Sea. However, here, close to a crumbling small mosque, below which a path led down to a tumble down wooden jetty, and from where a ramshackle ferry, the rails of which were festooned with shabby lifebelts, shuttled slowly back and forth from one side of Kantara to the other, save for several white sailed feluccas, devoid of traffic, the canal was scarcely three hundred feet wide. So, maybe the boys' indifference to what they had encountered here was understandable.

Not so Cairo...


Misr Railway Station, Cairo, Kingdom of Egypt, April 1937.

Seen from the massive arched portico of the ornate building that was Misr railway station, Cairo appeared dominated by the many domes and minarets of the Citadel; built in the twelfth century by Sultan Salah El-Din, for whom it was named, and also known as The Citadel of the Mountain, which rose high, towering over a competing sea of all manner of other domes, minarets, and roofs.

While their luggage was loaded into two motor taxis - horse drawn carriages now having all but disappeared from the city streets - Rob and Max stood waiting in the bright sunshine, beside the colossal sculpture known as Nadhat Misr. The warm air was leaden, heavy with all manner of exotic scents from the bazaars, mixed with the aroma of coffee, the scent of many perfumes, the reek of cigarettes, and the fug of petrol fumes. Looking about them, the boys had their first experience of the hubbub that was Cairo. A kaleidoscope of colours, a discordance of competing noises, and a blending of all manner and races of peoples, both rich and poor, which made up the city that, ancient and modern, was the vibrant, sprawling capital of Egypt.

Since 1922, the country had become nominally independent of British rule, a kingdom now ruled over by Farouk I who, at sixteen, was the same age as young Robert Crawley. While the previous year had seen the death of Farouk's father, the old king, the wily and politically astute, Fuad, it had also witnessed the signing of the Anglo-Egyptian Treaty which provided for the withdrawal of all British troops, save for those protecting the Suez Canal. Nevertheless, British presence in the country still remained very strong.


Seeing the expressions of outright bewilderment etched upon the faces of the two boys, Friedrich smiled benevolently.

"Welcome to Cairo".

Friedrich explained that while the city was very old, what was here before everything else in this part of the world - even the pyramids - was the Nile. A river that stretched for thousands of miles almost from Lake Victoria all the way to the Mediterranean Sea. The river was the reason for Egypt's existence.

"But, when one experience's all of this," Friedrich spread his hands expansively, "for the very first time, it is, I grant you, rather overwhelming! It was the same for me. That was back in... " He smiled. "Well, longer ago than I care to remember. And, also, for your darling mother".

Friedrich smiled at Max who, if the truth be told during these last few days had given his dearest Mama scarcely more than a fleeting thought. This, not only on account of all that had happened since their arrival in Palestine, some of which would have horrified her, but because, along with Robert, Max had been enjoying himself tremendously. This apart, Max was growing up, was no longer a little boy, was fast becoming a young man. So, while he adored Mama dearly, Max was very much appreciative of the fact that on this trip, first to Palestine and now to Egypt, darling Papa had allowed him to take far more responsibility for himself than ever did Mama.

There was another reason for Max's reluctance to think too much about his mother; this on account of the fact that Mama had forwarded him yet another postcard from China, from Elena. The shame of what Max had allowed her to do to him out on the Boat Deck on board the liner was still very much upon him. Even though Max knew that his parents loved each other dearly, he recoiled in horror at the thought of his mother ever doing such a thing to his father. So, because of this, Mama's letter to him, received a few days ago, enclosing the most recent postcard from Elena, announcing that she and her family were returning to Italy, remained as yet unanswered. Indeed, given what had happened, Max found himself wondering if he would ever be able to kiss his mother again without thinking of that.


Even if he had forgotten the name for it, Max had heard of fellatio from Danny when, in one of his several discourses to Rob and Max on the vexed question of sex, their Irish cousin had explained, and in some detail, what this entailed. At the time neither Robert nor Max had quite believed Danny but he had assured them that happen it did and that it was perfectly normal. Well, Max could assert to the former, and that, at least for him, it had been a highly pleasurable experience. He assumed it had been for Elena too; otherwise why else would she have done what she had? However, Max considered the whole episode to have been somehow degrading, both of himself for having allowed it to happen, and for Elena for having done what she had.

While they were staying with the Schmitts in Haifa, Max had mentioned to his father that Elena had told him her family lived not far from Trieste whereupon Papa had asked if he would like to see her again. Max had said he didn't have the full address. With a wry smile his father had said it should not be too difficult to ascertain. Circumstances being what they were, of which his father was thankfully ignorant, Max hoped that his father was joking. Perhaps it was just as well that, with their own plans now having changed, the Schönborns would have passed through Italy and be safely back in Austria long ere Elena and her family returned home from China.


With the very last of their luggage safely loaded into the two taxis, they clambered aboard, Friedrich telling the boys that they would be staying here for a couple of days, at Shepheard's, one of the most famous hotels in the world. "The food is as good as anything served at the Ritz in Paris, the Adlon in Berlin, or the Grand in Rome. You remember the Adlon, don't you Max?" Said by way of explanation, to Tibor and Harriet, that Max and he had stayed there when they had travelled to England en route to the Isle of Man and the TT the previous year. The Adlon stood on the Unter den Linden, close to the Brandenburg Gate. Max nodded his head but then admitted that, while he recalled the name, and a large arch with a horse drawn chariot atop it, which he had seen from their hotel bedroom, he remembered little else about the place.

"What I do remember is Uncle Tom letting me sit on his motorcycle". Max grinned. So, did Robert. He recalled that occasion very well; had seen the photograph which Uncle Friedrich had taken of Max, seated astride his Irish uncle's Brough Superior, grasping the handlebars, crouching low, and wearing Uncle Tom's motoring goggles and leather jacket. Remembered too Uncle Friedrich saying he would have to prepare Aunt Edith for the photograph and explain how it came to have been taken given that, because of his haemophilia, Max had never been allowed to ride a bicycle, let alone a motorbike.

Friedrich shook his head. "You're very hard to please, my boy! The Suez Canal left you unmoved. I take the very greatest trouble to put us up in some of the finest hotels in the world, and all you remember is sitting on Uncle Tom's motorcycle!" Everyone, Max included, laughed.


Château de Candé, south of Tours, Indre-et-Loire, France, late April 1937.

Within a very short space of time of Wallis having put the telephone down on David, he telephoned the château again. To begin with she was adamant; refused to take his call. However, hearing from Fern just how upset he had sounded, when he telephoned again, Wallis relented. Now, she damned herself for giving in. For, as she had said to Ernest, David was like a spoilt little boy, who sulked, who lost his temper, whenever he was denied something he wanted or, as now, someone. David had just spent - God knows how long - indulging in a self-pitying, whining monologue, detailing yet again just how badly he considered he had been treated during these past few months - by everyone to whom he had looked for support only to find deceit and treachery. And now, even Wallis had turned against him.

At the other end of the telephone, Wallis bit back a pithy retort. If only David had kept his nerve, as she had urged him to do, and waited until he had been crowned, then he could have done just as he pleased. Instead, he had just thrown in the towel and walked away. Wallis chewed on her lower lip . Silently, she began to count to ten. When he was like this, there was no reasoning with him. Sitting here in the gathering twilight in the villa, Wallis found herself wondering, and not for the first time, what on earth had she done? There had been a chance, months ago, to have put an end to all of this foolish nonsense, but then events had spiralled out of control, and the moment had slipped away. Now she found herself trapped, facing a life with a man who was infatuated about her. But did she even love him? Really love him? Wallis thought not.


Despite both his heavy drinking and the way he had then treated her, she had loved Win Spencer, a naval aviator, who hailed originally from Kansas. Eventually, however, she had come to the painful realisation that they were totally unsuited, were making each other dreadfully unhappy, and that the marriage was a failure. An attempt to start over again, in China, where Win had been posted, came to nought and they had divorced, upon learning of which dear Uncle Sol had done just as he said he would, and cut Wallis out of his will. He had told her that she would not see a single cent. And she hadn't.

Then, through her childhood friend, Mary Kirk, now married and living in New York, Wallis had chanced to meet with Ernest Simpson, a shipping broker. Half English on his father's side, charming, witty, reserved, well read, with impeccable manners, and just separated from his wife after four years of marriage. Then, in 1927, with both of them now at last free of their first spouses, with Ernest having been given charge of his father's London office, he had asked her to marry him.

She hadn't said yes straightaway. No girl ever did. That apart, once bitten, twice shy. Wallis didn't want to make the same mistake again. Did she love Ernest? Well, she was certainly fond of him, he would provide for her, and over there in London, it would also be an opportunity to put the past well and truly behind her, to make a fresh start, well away from the disapproving, wagging tongues of American society. But would that be enough to see them through? Wallis supposed it would be. So, in 1928, Ernest and she had married, in London, at the Registry Office in Chelsea, and promptly thrown themselves into society with which Ernest had connections, attending house parties and all manner of social functions. However, it was Ernest's sister, Maud, who provided them with the real entrée into the highest echelons of British society. So it was that, two years later, in 1930, having through another friend, Consuelo Thaw, met Thelma Furness, the current mistress of the Prince of Wales, they had been invited to Thelma's country house, Burrough Court, in Leicestershire, where they had met Edward, Prince of Wales, known to his close friends as David.

By this time, as Wallis was later to learn, David had already been involved with a string of married women, of whom Thelma was but the latest. Quite how far any of these relationships had progressed, was open to question. Given the fact that at their first encounter Wallis had made an ill-judged quip in response to a remark made by the prince regarding Americans and their love of central heating, she had assumed that she had well and truly blotted her copybook. Nonetheless, a further meeting between them had taken place at Burrough Court and then other encounters at a string of house parties. Later, despite being a divorcée, Wallis was presented at Court, at Buckingham Palace. Eventually, the prince himself had extended an invitation to Ernest and Wallis to come and stay at his new home, Fort Belvedere, in Windsor Great Park. So scarcely twelve months after they had first met she and Ernest had found themselves on intimate terms with the prince.

Things between David and her might have progressed no further than they had - after all, he was known to become bored very easily - but then, as a result of the Depression, Ernest began experiencing severe money problems, leading to difficulties between them insofar as they were no longer in a financial position to continue living the high life. Then something else happened. As was only to be expected, David had grown bored with Thelma. All unsuspecting - had she really been that naïve - in 1934, when she had left for the States to visit her sick mother, Thelma had asked Wallis to look after David.

And so it had begun; made easier by the fact that Ernest was often away working. Nonetheless, it did not take long for him to realise that the as yet uncrowned king had become infatuated with his wife which led to an inevitable confrontation between the two men, with Ernest asking David to make clear his intentions. The answer he received had been that Wallis would be seeking a divorce and that once that was finalised, David intended to marry her.


At last, David fell silent. For a moment, Wallis said nothing.

"Well, that's you, darling. All I have to say is, oh dear, what a shame, never mind!"

"What?" David sounded incredulous, as well he might.

"Most men are men at twenty one. Take it on the chin, stop behaving like a spoilt child, and act like a man".


Shepheard's Hotel, Ibrahim Pasha Street, Cairo, April 1937.

After a whirlwind ride along the bustling, wide streets of modern Cairo, lined on either side by trees and fine buildings, the city's squares graced with beautiful gardens and all manner of monuments, the busy traffic controlled splendidly by white uniformed shawishes, they had all now arrived safely, and in one piece, at Shepheard's Hotel.

Sometime later, having freshened up, seated in wicker chairs, and sipping cold drinks out on the hotel's famous terrace which commanded a lofty and shaded view of all of the comings and goings on the street below, Friedrich proposed that if everyone agreed, tomorrow they would travel out to Giza and see the pyramids.

Author's Note:

While the Duke of Windsor remained in Austria awaiting Wallis Simpson's divorce being made final, after staying with Herman and Katherine Rogers at their villa near Cannes, so as to ensure her better protection, Wallis had gone on to stay with their friends, Charles and Fern Bedaux, at their home, the Château de Candé, south of Tours. It was here that Edward and Wallis would be married in May 1937.

Charles Eugène Bedaux (1886-1944), a French-American millionaire, was not only a friend of British royalty but also of the Nazi hierarchy in Germany. After the Windsors' wedding, it was Bedaux who arranged their trip to Nazi Germany. Arrested by the French in Algeria in 1942 and turned over to the Americans, Bedaux was flown to the United States to await trial for treason and trading with the enemy. While still in American custody, he committed suicide in 1944. Fern Lombard (1892-1972) was his second wife.

Freda Dudley Ward (1894-1983) English socialite and mistress of Edward Prince of Wales from 1918 until supplanted, in 1929, by the American born Thelma Furness (1904-1970) who in turn would be replaced by her friend Wallis Simpson.

The Saar had been placed under the control of the League of Nations by the Treaty of Versailles, allowing France to exploit its coalfields for 15 years. In January 1935 its inhabitants voted to return to Germany, the vote being overwhelmingly in favour; a major propaganda boost for Hitler who could claim that his policies had the backing of the German people.

Under the Treaty of Versailles, Germany had been forbidden to erect fortifications or station troops in the Rhineland. Once the French withdrew from the area, it was not if but when the Germans would send troops back into the Rhineland and on 7th March 1936 Hitler announced that his troops had entered the area. The British took no action and without British support the French would not act, feeling they were safe behind the defences of their newly constructed Maginot Line.

In 1934, Germany and Poland had concluded an alliance, breaking Germany's diplomatic isolation, while also weakening France's series of anti-German alliances in Eastern Europe.

A report from the FBI suggested that von Ribbentrop had sent seventeen red roses to Wallis Simpson; a bloom for each of the times they had slept together.

The Hebrew University in Jerusalem was established in July 1918 and had been formally opened in April 1925.

Rafa now Rafah. A the time of the story, while there had been a railway bridge over the Suez Canal, erected by the British in 1918, it proved a hindrance to traffic on the Canal and was removed after the end of the Great War.

The railway publicity of the period promoted the illusion that it was possible to travel all the way from London to Cairo by train. This ignored the fact that one had to take two ferries, one to cross the Bosphorous, and the other to cross the Nile (as mentioned in the story) while part of the journey, between Tripoli and Haifa, had to be made by motor bus because there was no railway existing between these two places.

Nadhat Misr - "Egypt Awakened" - a huge sculpture depicting a sphinx and a woman raising her veil, representing Egypt past and present, sculpted by Mahmoud Mukhtar in 1928. The sculpture now stands outside Cairo University Gate.

T.E. Lawrence (1888-1935) "Lawrence of Arabia" had been killed in a motorcycle accident two years earlier, in May 1935. In my stories, he and Tom Branson correspond.

Shepheard's Hotel in Cairo opened in 1841. Founded by Samuel Shepheard, an Englishman, and rebuilt several times, it was the finest hotel in Cairo, renowned throughout the world for both its opulence and the standard of its cuisine. It was burnt down during the Cairo Fire in 1952 that saw the destruction of many prominent buildings in the city and which were considered to be linked both to foreigners and the hated regime of King Farouk.

For Friedrich and Max's time spent at the Hotel Adlon in Berlin, see my story Rain, Steam, and Speed.

Fuad I (1868-1936) ruled Egypt from 1922 until his death in late April 1936. He was succeeded by his son Farouk (1920-1965) who became the penultimate king of modern Egypt. Whilst initially very popular, Farouk would become known for his wanton extravagance and dissolute lifestyle which, in part, led to the Egyptian Revolution of 1952, and his own enforced abdication in favour of his infant son. Shortly thereafter, the monarchy was abolished and Egypt became a republic.

Win Spencer - Earl Winfield Spencer Jr. (1888-1950). After he and Wallis divorced, he would go on to marry a further three times.

Ernest Simpson's sister Maud was married to Major Peter Kerr-Smiley, a Unionist MP, with a town house in Belgrave Square, London and who was a member of several prominent gentlemen's clubs including the Carlton.

When asked by Edward if she missed central heating, Wallis retorted that the prince disappointed her, that every American who came over to England was always asked the very same question; added that she "... had hoped for something rather more original from the Prince of Wales".