Cometh the Hour: A Novel (13 page)

“Cyrus, may I introduce my dear friend, the Lady Virginia Fenwick?”

“Nice to meet you, my lady,” said Cyrus.

“Please call me Virginia, all my friends do.”

“Thank you, Ginny. You can call me Cyrus, everyone does.”

Virginia didn’t comment. Bofie clapped his hands, and once he had everyone’s attention, said, “I’m sure you’re all ready for a spot of lunch.”

“I sure am,” said Cyrus, who left the ladies standing. Virginia was both appalled and delighted to find herself sitting on the right-hand side of the honored guest.

“How long do you plan to be in England?” she ventured.

“Just a few weeks. I’m here for what you people call the season, so I’ll be going to Wimbledon, Henley and, most important, Royal Ascot. You see, I have a filly running in the King George VI and Queen Elizabeth Stakes.”

“Noble Conquest.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Cyrus. “That’s impressive, Ginny.”

“Not really. I never miss Ascot, and your horse is already being talked about.”

“I’d invite you to be my guest,” said Cyrus, “but I guess you’ll be in the royal box.”

“Not every day,” said Virginia.

“I asked if you could sit next to me today,” confided Cyrus, as a plate of smoked salmon was placed in front of him, “because I’ve got a problem, and I have a feeling you’re the right person to solve it for me.”

“I will certainly do anything I can to help.”

“I don’t know how to get dressed, Ginny.” Virginia looked surprised, until he added, “And I’m told you have to wear a special outfit before you can enter the royal enclosure.”

“Top hat and tails,” said Virginia. “And if you’re lucky enough to have a winner, Her Majesty will present you with the cup.”

“That would be the greatest honor of my life. May I call her Liz?”

“Certainly not,” said Virginia firmly. “Even her family address her as ‘Your Majesty’.”

“Will I be expected to bow?”

“First things first,” said Virginia, warming to her task. “You’ll need to visit Gieves and Hawkes in Savile Row, who will be able to kit you out.”

“Kit me out?”

“Make sure that you’re appropriately attired.”

A waiter appeared by Cyrus’s side and refilled his glass with whisky, while another offered Virginia a glass of champagne.

“It’s just a shame they don’t have my favorite brand,” said Cyrus after he’d emptied his glass.

“Your favourite brand?”

“Maker’s Mark. I haven’t been able to find a hotel or restaurant in this city that stocks it,” he said, as a waiter leaned forward and lit his cigar. Cyrus took a few puffs and blew out a cloud of smoke, before saying, “I hope you don’t mind, Ginny.”

“Not at all,” said Virginia, as another waiter whisked away the empty plates. “Is your wife traveling with you?” she added, casting a fly.

“I’m not married, Ginny.”

Virginia smiled.

“But I plan to get myself hitched just as soon as I’m back in Louisiana.”

Virginia frowned.

“I’ve known Ellie May since we were in high school together but, goddamn it, I was too slow off the mark first time around, so Wayne Halliday upped and married her. They got divorced last year, so I’m not going to let her get away a second time.” Cyrus took out his wallet and produced a photo of Ellie May, who didn’t look likely to win any beauty pageants, but then perhaps she had other, more tangible, assets.

“Quite beautiful,” said Virginia.

“I think so.”

Virginia needed to reconsider her strategy.

“And that’s another thing I’ve got to do while I’m in London, Ginny, get myself an engagement ring. You see, I couldn’t risk buying a ring in Baton Rouge, because if I did, half the county would know an hour later, which wouldn’t make it much of a surprise for Ellie May. And I’ve no idea where to start,” he added as a T-bone steak almost the size of the plate was put in front of him.

Virginia sipped her champagne while she considered this new piece of information.

Cyrus picked up his knife and fork and glared at the steak before attacking it. “It has to be a bit special, Ginny, because Ellie May’s family came over on the
Mayflower
. She can trace her ancestors back nine generations. Bit like you, I guess.”

“The first recorded Fenwick was farming in Perthshire in 1243,” said Virginia, “but I confess we’re unable to trace anyone with certainty before that.”

Cyrus laughed. “You got me there. I know who my granddaddy was, ’cause he founded the company, but before that it gets a bit hazy.”

“Every great dynasty has to begin somewhere,” said Virginia, touching his hand.

“That’s kind of you to say so,” said Cyrus. “And to think I was nervous about sitting next to a member of the royal family.” He put down his knife and fork, but only to pick up his cigar and take another gulp of whisky.

When Bofie asked Cyrus a question, Virginia turned to the person on her right, in the hope of finding out more about Cyrus T. Grant III. Mr. Lennox turned out to be Cyrus’s trainer. It took Virginia a few moments to realize that Mr. Lennox trained Cyrus’s horses, not Cyrus himself, which may have explained why his boss looked unlikely to be up for a morning gallop. She pumped Lennox for information, and quickly learned that Thoroughbreds were the real love of Cyrus’s life. After his grandfather had died, his father Cyrus T. Grant II had continued to build up the family company, and when he died, Cyrus T. Grant III was made an offer that allowed him to give up the canning business and concentrate on his stud farm. He’d already won the Kentucky Derby, and he now had his eyes set on the King George VI and Queen Elizabeth Stakes.

Once Virginia had gleaned all the information she needed, she turned her attention back to Cyrus, who may not have cared that much for Scotch whisky, but still seemed quite happy to consume several drams of the golden nectar between each mouthful of steak. An idea was beginning to form in Virginia’s mind.

“If you’re not doing anything particular this afternoon, Cyrus, why don’t I take you to Bond Street and see if we can find something a little special for Ellie May?”

“What a swell idea. Are you sure you can spare the time?”

“I’ll just have to rearrange my diary, won’t I, Cyrus.”

“Gee, Ginny, and to think the folks back home kept telling me the English are so uptight and standoffish. Won’t I have something to tell them when I get back to Baton Rouge.”

“I do hope so.”

When Cyrus eventually turned to his left to speak to Bofie again, Virginia slipped out of her seat and went across to have a word with the maître d’.

“Would you be kind enough to send one of your waiters to Fortnum’s and pick up two bottles of Maker’s Mark. Put them in a bag, and hand them to me as I leave.”

“Of course, my lady.”

“And put them on the bill.”

“As you wish, my lady.” She handed the maître d’ a pound note, painfully aware that he was probably better off than she was.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Virginia returned to her place and quickly guided Cyrus back onto his favorite subject—Cyrus. She allowed him to talk about himself for the next twenty minutes, only interrupting with carefully prepared questions.

Over coffee, Virginia leaned across to Bofie and said, “I’m going to take Cyrus shopping this afternoon.”

“Where will you start?” he asked.

“Asprey, Cartier, and possibly Cellini.”

“Cellini?” said Bofie. “Aren’t they a little nouveau?”

“I’m sure you’re right, Bofie, but I’m told they now have the finest selection of stones.”

“Then let’s start there,” said Cyrus as he got up from the table, seemingly unaware that several of the guests hadn’t yet been served coffee. While he was being helped on with his raincoat, the maître d’ deftly handed her ladyship a Fortnum’s bag. Once Virginia had kissed Bofie on both cheeks, she linked her arm into Cyrus’s and led him up the path to Bond Street.

They glanced in the windows of Cartier and Asprey, but didn’t go in, as Cyrus seemed set on Cellini. When they arrived outside the thick glass door displaying a large golden “C,” Virginia rang the bell and a moment later a man appeared, dressed in tailcoat and striped trousers. When he saw Virginia, he immediately unlocked the door and stood aside to allow them to enter.

“Mr. Cyrus T. Grant and I,” she whispered, “are looking for an engagement ring.”

“Many congratulations, madam,” said the assistant, whom Virginia didn’t disillusion. “Perhaps you’d allow me to show you our latest collection.”

“Thank you,” said Virginia. They were guided toward a pair of comfortable leather chairs next to the counter, before the assistant disappeared into a back room.

Cyrus, clearly not a man who liked to be kept waiting, began to fidget, but he perked up the moment the assistant returned carrying a tray displaying a large selection of magnificent diamond rings.

“Wow,” he said. “Now that’s what I call spoiled for choice. Where do I start?”

“They’re all so beautiful,” purred Virginia. “But I’ll leave you to decide, my darling,” she said, choosing her words carefully.

Cyrus stared down at the sparkling stones for some time before he selected one.

“A fine choice, if I may say so,” said the assistant. “Every other woman will be certain to admire it.”

“They’ll be as jealous as hell,” said Cyrus.

Virginia certainly agreed with that.

“Shall we try it on the lady’s finger, so you can see how it looks?”

“Good idea,” said Cyrus as the assistant placed the ring on the third finger of Virginia’s left hand.

“And its provenance?” asked Virginia, looking more closely at the huge diamond.

“The stone is South African, my lady, from the Transvaal. 6.3 carat, certified rare yellow, unblemished. VVH2.”

“How much?” asked Cyrus.

The young man checked his coded stock list and said, “Fourteen thousand pounds, sir,” as if it were loose change for a customer who shopped at Cellini.

Cyrus whistled through his teeth.

“I agree,” said Virginia, as she admired the ring on her finger. “I expected it to be far more, and it certainly would have been, had we gone to Cartier or Asprey. How clever of you, Cyrus, to have chosen Cellini.” Cyrus hesitated. “If someone wanted to marry me,” she said taking his hand, “this is exactly the sort of ring I would want.”

“God damn it you’re right, Ginny,” he said, taking out his check book. “Wrap it up.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Cyrus wrote out a check and placed it on the counter. “Do you have a men’s room?”

“Yes, sir, down the stairs on the right. You can’t miss it.”

As Cyrus slowly pushed himself up out of his chair, Virginia thought he might. She stared lovingly down at the ring before removing it from her finger and placing it in its smart leather box, also embossed with a gold “C.”

“If I were to change my mind…” she said casually.

“Just come back whenever it’s convenient, my lady. We’ll always be happy to accommodate you.”

Virginia was pulling on her leather gloves when Cyrus reappeared. She gave him one look before saying, “I think we’d better get you back to your hotel, my darling. Lucky it’s so close.”

“Good idea, Ginny,” said Cyrus as he took her arm.

The assistant handed her a small bag which contained the even smaller leather box, before accompanying them to the door. As she stepped out onto the street, Virginia checked the opening times printed discreetly on the window.

“Ellie May is going to be so excited,” Virginia said as they walked slowly down Old Bond Street toward the Ritz.

“All thanks to you,” said Cyrus, clinging firmly onto her while she guided him across Piccadilly.

“I always enjoy afternoon tea at the Ritz,” said Virginia. “But you may not feel up to it.”

“Of course I’m up to it,” said Cyrus, staggering unsteadily up the steps and into the hotel.

“Perhaps the first thing you should do,” she added as they passed the tearoom, “is put Ellie May’s ring in the safe in your room.”

“You think of everything, Ginny. Let me get my key.”

When Virginia saw the size of the Nelson Suite, she suggested they take tea in its large drawing room rather than go back downstairs to the crowded Palm Court.

“Suits me,” said Cyrus. “Why don’t you make the order while I go to the john?”

Virginia picked up the phone and ordered tea and buttered scones for two. She then took one of the bottles of Maker’s Mark out of the bag and placed it in the center of the table. When Cyrus walked back into the drawing room it was the first thing he saw. “Where did you get that?”

“I didn’t tell you, it’s also my favorite.”

“Then let’s have a small one to celebrate,” said Cyrus.

When Virginia saw what Cyrus meant by a small one, she was glad she’d ordered two bottles.

A gentle knock on the door and a trolley was wheeled in. A smartly dressed waitress set up tea for two on the table by the sofa. Virginia poured two cups, as Cyrus sat down next to her. She sipped her tea while Cyrus poured himself another whisky. He clearly had no interest in Earl Grey. She moved a little closer, letting her skirt ride up well above her knees. He stared down at her legs, but didn’t move. She edged even closer and placed a hand on his thigh. He quickly downed his glass and refilled it, which gave her enough time to undo a couple of buttons of her silk blouse, while moving her other hand farther up his leg. He didn’t resist when she began to unbuckle his cowboy belt and unbutton his shirt.

“What about Ellie May?” he murmured.

“I’m not going to tell her, if you don’t,” whispered Virginia, as she pulled down the zip on his jeans and placed a hand inside his pants. He took another swig of whisky straight from the bottle, before lunging at her.

Virginia continued to focus on the job at hand and, after she had pulled off his boots and socks, she deftly removed the rest of his clothing, until he was naked. She looked down at him and smiled. She’d never seen anything so small. He took another swig and slipped off the sofa and onto the floor, his head narrowly missing the table. Virginia sank down onto the carpet beside him. She was about to pull him on top of her, when he passed out. She rolled him over gently, so he was sprawled on the carpet.