A Quiver Full of Arrows Read online

  All through dinner, he could not stop staring at young Victoria, whose classical beauty was only equaled 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 one hundred twenty 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 we will be met by Fred, the senior porter. Fred will allow no one else to carry my bags to 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, we will be served 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 the cabin 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 a program must take a considerable amount of detailed planning,” suggested 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 the French capital. Other than Raymond, of course.”

  “Raymond?”

  “Yes, Raymond, a servant par excellence, who adored my father, he will have organized a bottle of Veuve Cliquot ’37 and a little Russian caviar for the journey. He will also have ensured that there is a couch in the railway carriage should you need to rest, my dear.”

  “You seem to have thought of everything, Henry darling,” she said, as they entered Belgrave Mews.

  “I hope you will think so, Victoria; for when we arrive in Paris, which I have not had the opportunity to visit for so many years, there will be a Rolls-Royce standing by the side of the carriage, door open, and we will step out of the Flèche d’Or into the car and Maurice will drive us to the George Cinq, arguably the finest hotel in Europe. Louis, the manager, will be on the steps of the hotel to greet us and he will conduct us to the bridal suite with its stunning view of the city. A maid will unpack for you while you retire to bathe and rest from the tiresome journey. When you are fully recovered we shall dine at Maxim’s, where we will be guided to the corner table furthest from the orchestra by Marcel, the finest headwaiter in the world. As we are seated, the musicians will strike up ‘A Room with a View,’ my favorite tune, and we will then be served the most magnificent langouste you have ever tasted, of that I can assure you.”

  Henry and Victoria arrived at the front door of the General’s small house in Belgrave Mews. He took her hand before continuing.

  “After we have dined, my dear, we shall stroll into the Madeleine where I shall buy a dozen red roses from Paulette, the most beautiful flower girl in Paris. She is almost as lovely as you.” Henry sighed and concluded: “Then we shall return to the George Cinq and spend our first night together.”

  Victoria’s hazel eyes showed delighted anticipation. “I only wish it could be tomorrow,” she said.

  Henry kissed her gallantly on the cheek and said: “It will be worth waiting for, my dear. I can assure you it will be a day neither of us will ever forget.”

  “I’m sure of that,” Victoria replied as he released her hand.

  * * *

  On the morning of his wedding Henry leaped out of bed and drew back the curtains with a flourish, only to be greeted by a steady drizzle.

  “The rain will clear by eleven o’clock,” he said out loud with immense confidence, and hummed as he shaved slowly and with care.

  The weather had not improved by mid-morning. On the contrary, heavy rain was falling by the time Victoria entered the church. Henry’s disappointment evaporated the instant he saw his beautiful bride; all he could think of was taking her to Paris. The ceremony over, the Grand Pasha and his wife stood outside the church, a golden couple, smiling for the press photographers as the loyal guests scattered damp rice over them. As soon as they decently could, they set off for the reception at the Ritz. Between them they managed to chat to every guest present, and they would have been away in better time had Victoria been a little quicker changing and the General’s toast to the happy couple been considerably shorter. The guests crowded onto the steps of the Ritz, overflowing onto the pavement in Piccadilly to wave goodbye to the departing honeymooners, and were only sheltered from the downpour by a capacious red awning.

  The General’s Rolls took the Grand Pasha and his wife to the station, where the chauffeur unloaded the bags. Henry instructed him to return to the Ritz now that he had everything under control. The chauffeur touched his cap and said, “I hope you and madam have a wonderful trip, sir,” and left them. Henry stood in the station, looking for Fred. There was no sign of him, so he hailed a passing porter.

  “Where is Fred?” inquired Henry.

  “Fred who?” came the reply.

  “How in heaven’s name should I know?” said Henry.

  “Then how in hell’s name should I know?” retorted the porter.

  Victoria shivered. English railway stations are not designed for the latest fashion in silk coats.

  “Kindly take my bags to the end carriage of the train,” said Henry.

  The porter looked down at the fourteen bags. “All right,” he said reluctantly.

  Henry and Victoria stood patiently in the cold as the porter loaded the bags on his trolley and trundled them off along the platform.

  “Don’t worry, my dear,” said Henry. “A cup of Lapsang Souchong tea and some smoked salmon sandwiches and you’ll feel a new girl.”

  “I’m just fine,” said Victoria, smiling, though not quite as bewitchingly as usual, as she put her arm through her husband’s. They strolled along together to the end carriage.

  “Can I check your tickets, sir?” said the conductor, blocking the entrance to the last carriage.