Previously: Mercenary Leon fails on a mission because of David, better known as Edward the Prince of Wales. Socialite Wallis Spencer, also a spy, has an affair with German Joachim Von Ribbentrop and marries Ernest. David becomes king. Wallis divorces, David abdicates and they marry. They fail to kill Hitler.
The train ride, spent in silence from Germany to Paris, became a tense ordeal for David and Wallis. They had failed in missions before but never one of such consequence. The death of Adolf Hitler would have saved the whole world.
“Why couldn’t you have waited another five minutes?” Wallis asked, more in exasperation than anger.
“We didn’t have five minutes.” His reply was passionless. His schwermut had full control of his soul. “The reception line took longer than we thought. Everyone thought you were charming.”
“Is this fiasco my fault?”
David turned to smile. “Of course not. You can’t help it if you are charming.”
She puffed on her cigarette. “You’re pretty damn charming yourself, buster.” Wallis paused. “Someday we’ll have to go to the rodeo.”
“Rodeo? What do you mean by that?” He crinkled his brow.
“I thought you’d been to Calgary.”
David laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “Anyway, it was imperative for us to be on that train. If we were still in the chalet when Hitler began to show symptoms, we would have been in dire circumstances.”
“What’s next?” Wallis looked out the window and noticed a change in scenery. They were safe in France.
Once they were entrenched in their third-story suite in Paris’s Hotel Meurice, they stayed in seclusion as they awaited new orders from MI6. As the days stretched into weeks without word, they were happy to have a peaceful time to relax. They were both in their forties now and the marriage melodrama, blowing up a train and attempting to assassinate Adolf Hitler wore them out. David and Wallis received absolutely no invitations to soirees, and they were glad. The rumors indicated that the French elite were afraid to socialize with the Duke and Duchess out of fear of offending the British King. They preferred to sleep in, go to the hotel spa for sessions with the masseuse and have their meals in their suite. One or two invitations to lesser events came their way, but the couple ignored them. Their major ritual each day was reading the Parisian edition of the London Times. In fact, they began a competition to see who could finish the crossword puzzle first. They were evenly match.
In early November they both noticed a story on the social page about a charity sale on behalf of the British Episcopal Church of Christ in Neuilly. Each copy of their papers had the event circled in red. Before they could comment on it, there was a knock at the door. A bellboy handed David an envelope, bowed, waited for his tip, which Wallis provided, and walked away. The Duke opened the envelope and handed the contents to Wallis.
“We’ve been invited to a charity sale.” Her voice was flat. “How boring.”
“The red circles in our newspapers tell me otherwise.”
On the night of the charity event, David chose a conventional business suit—appropriate for a church gathering—and then sat in the drawing room waiting for Wallis to appear and holding his breath; after all she was an American and tended to overdress for certain occasions. On this evening, however she did not disappoint. Wallis wore a modest grey gown fitted tightly to her slender figure. And the neckline was properly high considering they were to attend an event in a church.
When they arrived at the reception hall, the Duke and Duchess heard polite reserved applause. A gentleman, evidently from the board of church elders, greeted them.
“The bishop wishes to have a word with the two of you before the sale officially begins,” he said. “Follow me.”
As they made their way through the crowd, Wallis waved and smiled, though some of the older ladies chose to turn a cheek. The gentleman opened the door to a dimly lit wood-paneled office and closed it with efficiency as the couple stepped in. A man dressed in cleric robes with his back to them sat at a desk.
“The church absolves you of your sins.”
David thought the voice sounded familiar.
When he turned in his chair, they saw a smiling General Trotter.
“I thought you might feel bad about not killing Hitler.”
“We don’t need absolution from you or any church.” Wallis was testy.
“It’s just as well.” Trotter stood and crossed around the desk. “A half dozen or more lieutenants, just as crazy but quite a bit more lucid, would have stepped in and kept the world moving toward war. My real purpose tonight is to inform of your new missions.”
“May we have a seat?” David asked. “This might take a while.”
“Please do. But this won’t take long. It’s more of a general outline for the next two years. We need more specific data. Troop movements. Artillery placement. Intent of the French people. We know the government is fragile but we need the pulse of the common citizen. We need to find you two houses, one near Paris to make the duke available to the front and one on the Riviera so Wallis can get a sense of the mood of the people. Also, the beach house would be more secluded for our communication.”
“The important question is,” Wallis said with a flair, “will I be allowed to decorate them anyway I wish?”
“Of course,” Trotter replied. “If you became frugal now, the world would know something was odd.” He looked at David. “I hope you have kept your flying skills honed. We need your observations of the Belgian countryside.”
“You can count on me.” David smiled. “At first I thought this was going to be boring.”
Trotter handed Wallis a slip of paper. “Read this to open the sale. Then bustle round, complimenting everything and buying a few knick knacks. Win them over.”
She shrugged. “It’s what I do best.”