TWENTY MINUTES LATER an ambulance, siren blaring, pulled up outside the castle gates.
Two orderlies, under the direction of Virginia, followed her quickly up to the duke’s bedroom. They lifted him gently on to the stretcher and then proceeded slowly back downstairs. She held Perry’s hand and he managed a weak smile as they lifted him into the ambulance.
Virginia climbed in and sat on the bench beside her husband, never letting go of his hand as the ambulance sped through the countryside. After another twenty minutes they arrived at the local cottage hospital.
A doctor, two nurses and three orderlies were waiting for them. The duke was lifted on to a trolley which was wheeled through the open doors to a private room that had been hastily prepared.
All three doctors who examined him came to the same conclusion, a minor heart attack. Despite their diagnosis, the senior registrar insisted that he remain in the hospital for further tests.
Virginia visited Perry in hospital every morning, and although he repeatedly told her he was right as rain, the doctors wouldn’t agree to release him until they were convinced he had fully recovered, and Virginia made it clear, in Matron’s hearing, that he must carry out the doctors’ orders to the letter.
The following day she telephoned each of the duke’s children, repeating the doctors’ diagnosis of a minor heart attack, and as long as he took some exercise and was careful with his diet, there was no reason to believe he wouldn’t live for many more years. Virginia emphasized that the doctors didn’t feel it was necessary for them to rush home, and looked forward to seeing them all at Christmas.
A diet of watermelon, boiled fish and green salads with no dressing didn’t improve the duke’s temper, and when he was finally released after a week, Matron presented Virginia with a list of ‘dos and don’ts’: no sugar, no carbohydrates, no fried food, and only one glass of wine at dinner – which was not to be followed by brandy or a cigar. Just as important, she explained, was that he should take a walk in the fresh air for an hour a day. Matron gave Virginia a copy of the hospital’s recommended diet, which Virginia promised she would give to Cook the moment they got home.
Cook never caught sight of Matron’s diet sheet, and allowed the duke to start the day as he always had, with a bowl of porridge and brown sugar, followed by fried eggs, sausages, two rashers of bacon and baked beans (his favourite), smothered in HP Sauce. This was accompanied by white toast with butter and marmalade and piping hot coffee with two spoonfuls of sugar. He would then retire to read The Times in his study, where a packet of Silk Cut had been left on the armrest of his chair. At around eleven thirty, the butler would bring him a mug of hot chocolate and a slice of coffee cake, just in case he felt a little peckish, which kept him going until lunch.
Lunch consisted of fish, just as Matron had recommended. However, it wasn’t boiled but fried in batter, with a large bowl of chips near at hand. Chocolate pudding – Matron had made no mention of chocolate – was rarely turned down by the duke, followed by more coffee and his first cigar of the day.
Virginia allowed him an afternoon siesta, before waking him for a long walk around the estate so he could work up an appetite for his next meal. After he’d changed for dinner, the duke would enjoy a sherry, perhaps two, before going through to the dining room, where Virginia took a particular interest in selecting the wines that would accompany their meal. Cook was well aware that the duke liked nothing better than a rare sirloin steak with roast potatoes and all the trimmings. Cook felt it was nothing less than her duty to keep his grace happy, and hadn’t he always had second helpings of everything?
After dinner, the butler would dutifully pour a balloon of brandy and clip the duke’s Havana cigar before lighting it. When they eventually retired to bed, Virginia did everything in her power to arouse the duke, and although she rarely succeeded, he always fell asleep exhausted.
Virginia kept to her routine slavishly, indulging her husband’s slightest whim, while appearing to any onlooker to be caring, attentive and devoted. She made no comment when he could no longer do up the buttons on his trousers, or dozed off for long spells during the afternoon, and told anyone who asked, ‘I’ve never seen him fitter, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he lived to a hundred,’ although that wasn’t quite what she had in mind.
Virginia spent some considerable time preparing for Perry’s seventy-second birthday. A special occasion, was how she described it to all and sundry, on which the duke should be allowed, just for once, to indulge himself.