“You must be sure they see exactly what they would expect to see,” he told her. “Behave like any normal mother-to-be, with only a few weeks to go before she gives birth.”
Virginia continued to see Bofie and his chums regularly, for lunch, even dinner, at which she munched sticks of cucumber and drank glasses of carrot juice, eschewing champagne for the first time in her life. And when pressed, she never even hinted who the father might be. The gossip columns settled on Anton Delouth, the unsuitable young French man who had accompanied her to Tenerife, never to be seen again. The Express kept reprinting the one blurred photograph they had of them lying on a beach together.
Virginia relentlessly carried out her daily routine, with touches of sheer genius supplied by Desmond Mellor. A chauffeur-driven car picked her up once a week from Cadogan Gardens and drove her slowly to 41A Harley Street, never running a red light, never seeking a faster lane. After all, she was heavily pregnant and, more important, she didn’t want the two Pinkerton detectives to lose sight of her. On arrival at 41A, a large, five-story Georgian town house with seven brass name plates by its door, Virginia reported to reception for her weekly appointment with Dr. Keith Norris.
Dr. Norris and his assistant then examined her for over an hour before she returned to the car and was driven home. Desmond had assured her that the doctor was completely reliable and would personally deliver the child in his private clinic.
“How much did you have to pay him to keep his mouth shut?”
“Not a penny,” replied Desmond. “In fact, he only hopes that I’ll keep my mouth shut.” He let her wait for a moment before he added, “When Dr. Norris’s attractive young nurse became pregnant, he certainly didn’t want Mrs. Norris to find out why he’d chosen Mellor Travel to organize her trip to a clinic in Sweden.”
Virginia was reminded once again that she didn’t need this man as an enemy.
“There are two more people who must be informed of the impending birth,” said Mellor, “if you want the world to believe you’re pregnant.”
“Who?” asked Virginia suspiciously.
“Your father and Priscilla Bingham.”
“Never,” said Virginia defiantly.
*
“Never” turned out to be a week later, in the case of Priscilla Bingham. When Virginia rang her old friend in Lincolnshire, Priscilla was reserved and somewhat distant—they had parted on sour terms after Virginia had caused the breakup of her marriage—until Virginia burst into tears and said, “I’m pregnant.”
Priscilla’s ex-husband Bob Bingham, like everyone else, was curious to know who the father might be, but that was the one thing Priscilla couldn’t prise out of Virginia, even during a long lunch at the Mirabelle.
Virginia took a little longer to obey Desmond’s second command, and even as the Flying Scotsman pulled into Edinburgh Waverley she was still considering returning to King’s Cross without leaving the train. However, she concluded she couldn’t win either way. If she told her father she was pregnant, he would probably cut off her allowance. On the other hand, if Buck Trend failed to secure a settlement and Papa were to discover she’d never been pregnant in the first place, he would undoubtedly disown her.
When Virginia walked into her father’s study at ten o’clock that morning, looking eight months pregnant, she was shocked by his reaction. The earl assumed the Daily Express had got it right and Anton Delouth was the father, and the cad had run off and deserted her. He immediately doubled her allowance to ￡4,000 a month and only asked one thing in return: that once Virginia had given birth, she might consider visiting Fenwick Hall more often.
“A grandson at last,” were the words he kept repeating.
For the first time, Virginia didn’t curse the fact that she had three brothers who’d only sired daughters.
*
On Priscilla’s advice, Virginia placed an advertisement for a nanny in The Lady, and was surprised by how many replies she received. She was looking for someone who would take complete responsibility for the child: mother, governess, mentor and companion, as she had no intention of fulfilling any of these obligations. Priscilla helped her prune the applicants down to a short list of six, and Desmond Mellor suggested she interview them on separate days, so the two detectives would have something new to report back to Grant’s lawyers in Baton Rouge.
After Virginia and Priscilla had interviewed the final five—one of them didn’t turn up—they both agreed that only one of the candidates ticked all the required boxes. Mrs. Crawford was a widow and the daughter of a clergyman. Her husband, a captain in the Scots Guards, had been killed in Korea, fighting for Queen and country. Mrs. Crawford turned out to be the eldest of six children and had spent her formative years raising the other five. Equally important, she had no children of her own. Even the earl approved of his daughter’s choice.