“Please don’t pretend to misunderstand my question. I don’t mean to embarrass you. I’ll be discreet.”
She began to rise. “I’m feeling uncomfortable. One of us should go….”
I touched her arm, gently. “Mrs. Henneage, Mr. Christie is going to great lengths to place himself adjacent to the murder room. His story is incredible-nobody in Nassau believes him.”
She sat back down, and swallowed. “I don’t think Mr. Christie would lie about something like that.”
“Rumor has it he’s protecting a woman. That woman is you, isn’t it, Mrs. Henneage?”
“Please…Mr. Heller…I’m going to go now-”
I held my hand up in a gentle stop gesture. “If Count de Marigny is acquitted…and I have reason to believe he will be…then the police will start looking for another suspect. If you care about Mr. Christie, your alibi would prevent him from being the next innocent man to stand trial.”
Her eyes were as earnest as they were beautiful. “Do you…do you believe Mr. Christie is innocent in this?”
“I don’t know. I know he was seen driving at midnight in Nassau, the night of the murder. Was he on his way to see you?”
She frowned, but it was a hurt frown. “Mr. Heller, I’m a married woman. I love my husband. I miss my husband. I have children, and I love them, too.”
“I appreciate that. But just answer this question: did Harold Christie spend the night of July seventh at your home?”
“No,” she said.
But her eyes said something else.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, please,” she said, starting to rise again.
“No, I’ll go. Enjoy your hors d’oeuvre-I won’t bother you again, tonight.”
She smiled tightly and nodded, relief and irritation merging, and I wandered back toward the ballroom.
Damn! She was lying, but her eyes had told the truth. That son of a bitch Christie had spent at least part of the night with the lovely Effie. Which meant he wasn’t the murderer, or at least, his hand wasn’t on the murder weapon….
As I entered the ballroom, Di was suddenly on my right, touching my arm. “Here’s someone you should meet, Nathan.”
She was standing chatting with a handsome little woman in white and gold, down to her gold-trimmed white gloves; her gold necklace and earrings collectively probably weighed more than she did.
Wallis Simpson looked more attractive than her photographs-what I had always taken for rather plain features were, when animated, beautifuclass="underline" luminous violet eyes; high cheekbones, broad brow, firm jaw, but most of all a wide, generous smile, her lipstick startlingly scarlet against flesh too pale for the Bahamas.
“Your Royal Highness, this is Nathan Heller,” Di said. “Nathan, the Duchess of Windsor.”
“Quite a thrill for a Chicago boy,” I said, taking the fingertips she offered, returning her smile, though mine couldn’t compare.
“A pleasure for a girl from Virginia to meet up with another American,” she said. Her Southern accent had a tinge of British; mannered, perhaps, but not without a certain charm.
“I’ve heard impressive things about your work with the Red Cross, Duchess. And a canteen for soldiers of both races….”
“Why thank you, Mr. Heller. Who’s been telling you these stories about me?”
I smiled. “I don’t know if I should say.”
The wide smile twisted whimsically. “Come now, Mr. Heller-you’re among friends.”
“Well, actually, it was Sally Rand.”
For just a second the Duchess seemed shocked, her big violet eyes frozen; then she laughed ripplingly. Di was already laughing.
The Duchess arched an eyebrow. “How is it you know Miss Rand?”
“We go back to the Century of Progress together-where she first made fans with her fans. I was arresting pickpockets.”
“She did give a charming performance for the Red Cross,” the Duchess admitted, “although, frankly, I’m afraid David was a little embarrassed. But I was impressed by the funds she helped raise.”
“She should be doing another benefit right now.”
“Really? Where?”
“Cleveland. She opens there tonight, according to a postcard I just got from her-and I know her policy is that the first Saturday of every engagement is a Red Cross benefit.”
“What a sweet girl,” the Duchess said.
A description Helen deserved but rarely got.
“Diane tells me you’re a good friend of Evalyn Walsh McLean,” the Duchess said.
I nodded, smiled sadly. “I haven’t seen her in years-but we were close, once. Close enough that I petted her pooch while he was wearing the Hope Diamond around his neck on a dog collar.”
She laughed again. “Ah, poor Evalyn. How did you happen to meet?”
“The Lindbergh case.”
The violet eyes narrowed. “Ah…she was fascinated by that, wasn’t she? I hear from a mutual friend that she’s similarly fascinated by our local Oakes tragedy.”
She turned to Di, took one of her hands in both of hers.
“Lady Medcalf, I must thank you for opening Shangri La’s gates once again-giving our hot little island a cool breath of sea air. You know, I keep expecting to turn and see Axel and that wonderful smile of his.” She sighed. “Since Harry’s death, social functions have been at a standstill. I must say, New York will be a relief.”
The band suddenly shifted from its Cole Porter kick and went into a lilting waltz. The Duchess’ face, already radiant, lit up.
She said, “You’ll have to excuse me-they’re playing ‘The Windsor Waltz’….”
Then she moved gracefully away, going near the bandstand to join the sandy-haired sad-eyed little man in a double-breasted white jacket and black tie who used to be the King of England.
And they waltzed, with the dance floor to themselves as the other guests looked respectfully on, two tiny celebrities smiling at each other in what might have been great love or just a practiced public pose. Either way, there was something bittersweet about it.
I turned to Di. “You had the perfect opportunity to tell her what I’m doing here.”
“You mean, by saying Evalyn McLean recommended you to Nancy?”
“That’s right. Don’t you think the Duchess will be irritated with you, when she finds out who I really am?”
She smirked and shrugged. “I can get away with murder where those two are concerned. I’ve known David longer than Wallis has, remember.”
“Well, when this waltz is over, would you introduce me to ‘David,’ and then spirit Wallis away? I want a word with the Duke.”
“You have but to ask.”
“Lady Diane, why are you so good to me?”
“No offense, but it’s not you, Heller: it’s Nancy. I want her to get her husband back. I lost mine a long time ago, and it still hurts.”
“Sorry. Where is Nancy, anyway?”
“She wasn’t invited; neither was Lady Oakes. It’s easier for you to do what you have to without those two around reminding the room about what they’re all here to forget.”
When the waltz was over, and the applause had died down for the Duke and Duchess, who nodded their recognition of the crowd’s kindness, Di took me over to them and said, “Your Royal Highness, this is…”
“Nathan Heller, isn’t it?”
His voice was soft, gentle.
“That’s right, Your Royal Highness.”
He extended his hand and I took it and the handshake was so brief it seemed almost not to have happened.
He turned his disappointed little boy’s gaze on his wife. “This is the detective whom Sir Harry hired to follow de Marigny. He’s working for Nancy Oakes, now.”
Not Nancy de Marigny: Nancy Oakes.
Wallis winced, ever so slightly, at this news, and when she smiled at me, it was a little chilly.
“Mr. Heller and I met, but he didn’t mention that fact.”
I tried to smile it off. “Seemed an unpleasant topic of conversation, Duchess. Forgive me if I seem to have misled you.”
“Not at all. David, Mr. Heller worked on the Lindbergh case for Evalyn McLean.”