Ernest Simpson
Previously in the novel: Leon, a novice mercenary, is foiled in kidnapping the Archbishop of Canterbury by a mysterious man in black. The man in black turns out to be David, better known as Edward the Prince of Wales. Soon to join the world of espionage is Wallis Spencer, an up-and-coming Baltimore socialite. David and Wallis are foiled in their attempt to protect a socialite’s jewels.

By Christmas 1926 Wallis was visiting her college chum Mary and her husband Jacque Raffray at their elegant apartment on Washington Square in New York City. Aunt Bessie was with her, like a proper chaperone, but she never got in the way of Wallis having a good time. When the two young women shopped and lunched, Bessie stayed in the apartment reading the latest fashion magazines. Wallis and Mary lingered in discreet cafes, sharing intimate details of mutual friends.
On Christmas Eve the Raffrays held a party for their dearest and closest acquaintances. Everyone admired the decorations, table settings and music, but the party didn’t really begin until the bootlegger arrived. Bessie retired to her room early, as was her custom on trips with Wallis. After all, she didn’t want to be in the way. Amidst the giggles and chatter, Mary caught Wallis by the crook of her arm and guided her to a couple on the far side of the tree. They looked more than a little bored.
“Wallis, I want you to meet a fascinating man,” Mary whispered. “He’s in the shipping business and holds dual American and English citizenship.”
Wallis had not quite focused on the introduction until she remembered the part about dual citizenship.
“Hello, I’d like you to meet my friend Mrs. Wallis spencer.” Mary nodded to the couple. “Wallis, this is Ernest and Dorothy Simpson.”
Wallis looked at him closely. He was more than passably handsome, and his wife looked like she was in a perpetual state of grump.
She scooted closer to her man.
Wallis smiled and extended her hand, pretending not to notice the wife smiled back and extended her hand. Wallis grabbed Ernest’s hand instead. A low grumble escaped Dorothy’s lips.
“I just love a man with dark hair and mustache,” Wallis mumbled.
Ernest’s eyes twinkled. “Aren’t your husband’s hair and moustache dark?”
“Well, “she paused so a naughty smile could flicker across her thin, heavily painted lips, “some moustaches are better than others.”
“Ernest,” Dorothy interrupted with in a brusque tenor that could not be ignored. She paused to smile. Her own shade of lipstick was a soft, lady-like coral. “As I was telling you, I am coming down with one of my dreadful headaches. Really, we must leave now. I want to feel my best at Christmas dinner tomorrow with Mommy.” After a second, she added, with a condescending air, “Dear.”
Wallis raised an eyebrow. “Oh. You aren’t attending the midnight candlelight service at your church?”
“Why, no.” Dorothy seemed to be caught off balance. “Are you?”
“No.” Wallis caught Ernest’s elbow to lead him away. “Ernest, darling, you must see the view from the terrace. It’s really quite remarkable. You can see all the way to Times Square.”
They stood outside and looked in vain for the lights of Broadway. The breeze caused Wallis to shudder.
“Hmm, I was sure you could see Times Square from here.” She leaned into him. “Oh dear, it is a bit chilly, isn’t it?” Looking up into his eyes, she asked, “Now how exactly do you come to hold dual citizenship? It sounds exquisite.”
Before he could respond, Dorothy stormed through the door, already wearing her fur and extending Ernest’s overcoat.
“I must insist we leave immediately.” She shoved the coat into his hands and pushed him away from Wallis’s side. “It was simply wonderful meeting you, Mrs. Simpson—Spencer. I hope you have a safe trip home.”
Early in the morning, the day after Christmas, the telephone rang. Mary answered, listened then extended the receiver to Wallis who took it and purred a hello. Bessie sat in a nearby easy chair, reading the New York Times women’s section, particularly the wedding announcements.
“Hello, Wallis. This is Ernest. I hope you had a truly merry Christmas day.”
“Thank you, Ernest. How kind of you to call.”
“Have you ever visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art?”
“Why, no. I don’t think I’ve ever been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.”
“Don’t you remember, dear,” Bessie said. “We were there last week.”
Wallis snatched the newspaper from Bessie’s hands and threw it on the floor while still talking on the phone. “I hate to admit it, but I’m much more of a country girl. Love tromping through the woods. I’m terrible, aren’t I?”
“Of course, not. I’m an outdoorsman myself.”
“Yes, you are terrible, Wallis.” Bessie bent over to pick up the papers. “Why on earth did you toss my paper on the floor?”
“Do I hear your aunt?” Ernest asked.
“Yes, the poor dear is having another one of her fits. It’s best that we ignore her.” Wallis wagged a skinny finger at Bessie. “I hope you are volunteering to take me to the museum.”
“Are you available this afternoon?” he asked.
“Of course, I am.”
“Think your aunt would like to join us?”
“She’s having one of her fits, remember? It’s best to leave her alone in her bedroom.”
“Well, I like that,” Bessie muttered good-naturedly.
“I really do want to be a cultured lady. What I don’t know about art I’m sure you could teach me. After all there’s more to life than…well, life.”
“Well spoken. I’ll pick you at noon for lunch and then we’ll take on the museum.”
After she hung up, Wallis giggled.
“You do know it’s just as easy to woo a single man as a married one.” Bessie settled back in her chair to resume her reading.”
“But I don’t want it to be easy. What’s the thrill in that?” Besides, Wallis thought, it was her duty to king and empire to seduce Mr. Simpson.
That afternoon Wallis took Ernest’s arm as they began to explore the galleries.
“It’s a shame Dorothy couldn’t join us.” She was surprised by how sincere she sounded.
“Yes, she has a terrible headache. Too much Christmas cheer, I think.”
He took time and particular relish to explain the impressionism found in a small Monet. After he finished Wallis pointed to the next painting. Her arm grazed across his chest.
“And what is that?” she asked with total innocence.
“That’s my chest,” he replied in amusement.
“What?”
“You have your hand on my chest.”
“So I do.” She patted it. “How nice. Eventually she removed it and pointed again at the other painting. “I mean what is that painting over there?”
He smiled and placed his arm around her shoulders. “Well, let’s go find out.”
It had not been a full week into the new year when Wallis rang up Ernest with the excited announcement that Rose-Marie was coming to Broadway again.
“I am beside myself. I love the music though I’ve never seen it on stage. Please tell me you will be available the night of the 27th. That’s the opening night. It would be so much fun if we could see it together. Oh, of course, Dorothy if the poor thing is feeling well. Does she still have that dreadful headache?”
Wallis waited for a moment while Ernest chuckled.
“I do adore listening to you talk, Wallis dear.”
“It’s what I do best, darling.” She knew that was a lie. She could not share with Ernest what she really did best yet. It might scare him off. “So, how is poor sweet little Dorothy feeling?”
“Actually, she feels rather jaunty this morning.”
“Well, we do have three weeks before the opening.”
And on the premiere night of Rose-Marie Dorothy was not feeling well, neither unfortunately was Aunt Bessie. Mary and Jacque Raffray had tickets to another show. Wallis kept leaning into Ernest to ask questions about the play and he leaned back into her with the answer. She decided his breath smelled only slightly of tobacco and an interesting, expensive brand of gin.
As the winter weather softened, Ernest took Wallis on a personal tour of the docks where the Simpson family freighters were being loaded for their next voyage to England. She was dutifully awed by the length and breadth of the Simpson fortune.
Wallis tried to find a chic night club Ernest had not frequented, but, alas, he had been to them all. They had a good time anyway. In a dark corner they sat for the midnight performance of rhythm and blues. Wallis and Ernest scooted closer and closer to each other. They pretended the noisy music necessitated the intimacy. One night they found themselves kissing.
By the time spring officially arrived, they were taking leisurely day trips to soak up the Hudson River ambience. They took time, as they strolled through Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, to kiss. Up the road a bit was the charming village of Wappingers Falls. The cascades were more like frothy rapids than actual falls, but that did not deter their stroll along the river bank.
“I know the most fascinating story of the Wappingers Indians and their role in the sale of Manhattan to the Dutch. Do you want to hear it?” Wallis asked.
“No.” Ernest took her into his arms and the fervent kiss took her breath away. When he finally pulled away from her lips, Ernest whispered, “I know you’re divorcing Win in Virginia. I want to divorce Dorothy. Then we can marry.”
Wallis was surprised. She was ahead of the agency’s schedule. Also, if she agreed to a future marriage, Ernest might pursue the possibility of premarital intercourse. She could not risk his being repulsed by her peculiar physical condition. If he were appalled after the wedding, it would make no difference because this wasn’t going to be a long-term relationship anyway.
“I don’t know. I think you’re wonderful but when I first met Win I thought he was wonderful too.”
“The difference between Win and me is that your unvarnished truth that you want a divorce would infuriate him. I, on the other hand, completely understand why you don’t to jump immediately into a romance with me.”