The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [185]
All through dinner, he could not take his eyes from young Victoria, whose classical beauty was equaled only by her well-informed and lively conversation. He feared he might be staring too obviously at the slim, dark-haired girl with the high cheekbones; it was like admiring a beautiful sculpture and wanting to touch it. Her bewitching smile elicited an answering smile from all who received it. Henry did everything in his power to be the receiver and was rewarded on several occasions, aware that, for the first time in his life, he was becoming totally infatuated—and was delighted to be.
The ensuing courtship was an unusual one for Henry, in that he made no attempt to persuade Victoria to compliance. He was sympathetic and attentive, and when she had come out of mourning he approached her father and asked if he might request his daughter’s hand in marriage. Henry was overjoyed when first the general agreed and later Victoria accepted. After an announcement in The Times they celebrated the engagement with a small dinner party at the Ritz, attended by 120 close friends who might have been forgiven for coming to the conclusion that Attlee was exaggerating about his austerity program. After the last guest had left Henry walked Victoria back to her father’s home in Belgrave Mews, while discussing the wedding arrangements and his plans for the honeymoon.
“Everything must be perfect for you, my angel,” he said, as once again he admired the way her long, dark hair curled at the shoulders. “We shall be married in St. Margaret’s, Westminster, and after a reception at the Ritz we will be driven to Victoria Station, where you will be met by Fred, the senior porter. Fred will allow no one else to carry my bags to the last carriage of the Golden Arrow. One should always have the last carriage, my darling,” explained Henry, “so that one cannot be disturbed by other travelers.”
Victoria was impressed by Henry’s mastery of the arrangements, especially remembering the absence of his manservant, Barker.
Henry warmed to his theme. “Once we have boarded the Golden Arrow, you will be served with China tea and some wafer-thin smoked salmon sandwiches, which we can enjoy while relaxing on our journey to Dover. When we arrive at the Channel port, we will be met by Albert, whom Fred will have alerted. Albert will remove the bags from our carriage, but not before everyone else has left the train. He will then escort us to the ship, where we will take sherry with the captain while our bags are being placed in Cabin Number Three. Like my father, I always have Cabin Number Three; it is not only the largest and most comfortable stateroom on board, but it is situated in the center of the ship, which makes it possible to enjoy a comfortable crossing even should one have the misfortune to encounter bad weather. And when we have docked in Calais you will find Pierre waiting for us. He will have organized everything for the front carriage of the Flèche d’Or.”
“Such an itinerary must take a considerable amount of detailed planning,” said Victoria, her hazel eyes sparkling as she listened to her future husband’s description of the promised tour.
“More tradition than organization, I would say, my dear,” replied Henry, smiling, as they strolled hand in hand across Hyde Park. “Although, I confess, in the past Barker has kept his eye on things should any untoward emergency arise. In any case, I have always had the front carriage of the Flèche d’Or, because it assures one of being off the train and away before anyone realizes that you have actually arrived in Paris. Other than Raymond, of course.”
“Raymond?”
“Yes. Raymond, a servant par excellence, who adored my father. He will have organized a bottle of Veuve Clicquot ’37