Page 32 of A Change of Location
“Not during his last years. If Alicia makes derogatory remarks about ‘my son, the pooftah,’ you’ll know who she means.”
“Alicia?”
“My grandmother. The Dowager Duchess of Wellford. Through her marriages, she worked her way down the peerage ladder and back up again. Just now she perches at the very top of the social pinnacle. Three husbands to date. Number of lovers—unknown. Possibly incalculable. Even by her.”
Her eyes opened wide. “I never heard anybody talk about their grandmother that way.”
“Nobody’s got one like Alicia. Her affairs, before and after my grandfather divorced her, were legendary. By the time I was incarcerated at Eton, she was gone. Though she’s never terribly far off. Whenever she needs attention, or suffers from extreme boredom, she turns up at a christening or a wedding or funeral, current husband or paramour in tow. We remember those events by what she wore, who she brought, and whose composure was most shattered by something she said or did. You claim to have issues with your family. How do you rate mine for dysfunction?”
“You win, hands down,” she said airily.
His silver-haired grandparent floated over like a geriatric fairy, in layers of silk chiffon. A large ruby pendant dangled from her diamond necklace, and the bracelets circling her thin wrists were laden with matching gemstones.
“Darling, splendid to see you. And I must say, you look awfully distinguished, which is a nice change. Who have we here?”
“We have here Hannah Ballard. All the way from America.”
“Dear me. Isobel has kept quiet about this one. So like her.”
“Mother hasn’t yet had the pleasure.” He explained about the impending film production.
“How thrilling. Movie people are fascinating. I had a—an admirer in Portofino, a director. Or was he a producer? Italian, devastating charm.” The memory brought a sparkle to Alicia’s dark and piercing eyes, which had lanced Hannah. “You must find England quite baffling. So different to where you live.”
“Not much,” Hannah responded. “That’s why the colonists called it New England.”
“Her mother hails from Somerset,” Martin volunteered. “You’ll have heard of Wendy Edney, I’m sure.”
“Dear me, yes. That lovely little garden girl on the television. And she’s over there now? Extraordinary. Whatever does she do?”
Hannah smiled. “Everything she did when living here. She designs gardens and presents television programs. She writes articles and books, and she goes on lecture tours.”
Martin relished Hannah’s deft handling of his grandmother. With an unfaltering smile and calm voice, she resisted the older woman’s attempt to patronize her. The busybodies observing them so closely would be amazed to know Alicia was being challenged by this tiny American. Hannah could certainly hold her own if he succeeded in introducing her to the prince.
Alicia’s escort was the only stepson with whom she remained on speaking terms, a paunchy middle-aged chap burdened with supervision of the family estate. Its lawful owner, the current title holder, had absconded to Italy to luxuriate in la dolce vita. Alicia, no doubt, maintained the relationship out of pure self-interest. If she was stalking a fourth spouse, which wouldn’t surprise Martin in the least, she’d want to stage her campaign from an absent earl’s majestic house. Was her intended victim among the wrinklies populating the room?
“What do you think of her?” he asked Hannah when the duchess drifted off.
“She could be a character from an Evelyn Waugh novel.”
“Close. Straight out of Nancy Mitford. She’s a bolter.”
“Do all these people have titles?”
“I’ve no idea. It’s not a prerequisite to owning or inheriting country property. Shall we find our assigned table?”
He refrained from placing his guiding hand on her back. No touching—not with Alicia’s beady eyes upon him. He’d cautiously established that their connection was wholly professional. Peering down the front of Hannah’s dress, leaning too close, smiling at her too often—forbidden behavior. Which of course made him want to do all three at once.
***
Sirs, lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses, and a royal highness. None of Hannah’s adventures as Liz’s plus-one compared to this once-in-a-lifetime experience. She didn’t mind that conversation in her vicinity was mind-numbingly dull. Or that as an American, her nationality wasn’t exotic enough to rouse interest. Her profession generated a flicker of curiosity in the ancient gent seated on her left, but the attempt to clarify her function failed. At a loss, she dropped her mother’s name. This inspired a droning description of a garden with a rockery, in a voice so over-the-top posh that she struggled to maintain a straight face.
During the prince’s brief remarks, her thoughts strayed homeward. The Palindrome Posse would be beyond thrilled to receive her description of the world-class hotel, impressive titles, wines older than she was, and gasp-inducing jewels everywhere she turned. Eve would carp about the patriarchy and hereditary privileges accrued through colonialism. Mim would relish the fashion notes.
Chase couldn’t care less about English elites or her temporary proximity to royalty. But she would certainly let him know about this night. She’d email a press photo of the prince, she decided, with the caption We had dinner together!!!
She wondered how these society people would react if they discovered she was a killer’s niece.
Maybe, Hannah surmised, I’m not the only one with a dark secret. Every kind of scandal could be lurking behind extensive pedigrees and formal manners.
