Flora left the hotel suite two hours later to take the short journey back to the Villa Eugénie. The dinner she had just endured – and endured was the only word for it – had been one of agonising tension. The King’s guests had listened to his increasingly laboured breathing, pretending all was normal, yet fearing he was about to collapse as his convulsive cough overtook him. The King had eaten what Flora would label a substantial dinner for at least two people, and also – despite the disapproving looks of some of his guests – drunk a considerable amount of red wine.
‘I will stay here with him,’ Mrs Keppel had told Flora. ‘Send my love to the girls and tell them I will see them when Kingy is better.’
They had said their goodbyes, then Flora was escorted downstairs to the waiting Rolls-Royce. Leaning her head back on the plump leather seat, she felt completely mentally and physically drained by the events of the day.
28
Flora didn’t see Mrs Keppel for the following three days, so she and the children amused themselves by going out for bracing walks along the promenade, then returning to the Villa Eugénie for lunch. When the sun came out, they spent time sketching and painting the unusual plants that grew in the Villa’s gardens.
Having shown little interest in her painting up to now, Violet had attached herself to Flora. And indeed, her delicate watercolours showed genuine ability. But both sisters were unsettled, wondering why their familiar Biarritz routine had been disturbed. Flora could not enlighten them, having been told point-blank by Mrs Keppel to mention nothing about the severity of the King’s condition.
‘Why aren’t we going out for picnics with Mama and Kingy? It’s so dull just staying here at the Villa, and I haven’t even worn any of my new dresses yet,’ Sonia complained.
‘Because the weather has been so wet and Kingy doesn’t wish to catch a cold.’
‘But it’s sunny today, Flora, and we haven’t seen Mama for days now. She must be bored too.’
‘I am sure we will see her very soon, and Kingy too,’ Flora replied with a certainty she didn’t feel.
That evening after an early supper, Nannie took Sonia upstairs for a bath and Violet sat with Flora, scribbling away in the notebook she always carried with her.
‘Flora?’
‘Yes?’
‘Kingy is very ill, isn’t he? Will he die?’
‘Goodness, no, he just has a bad cold. Everyone is simply being cautious because he is the king.’
‘I know you’re lying. But it doesn’t matter.’ Violet turned to her notebook, chewing the end of her pencil.
‘What are you writing?’
‘Poetry, although I am quite dreadful compared to Vita. I believe she will be a writer one day. She seems to be having such a wonderful time in London preparing for the Season, I daresay she doesn’t even think of me at all.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ Flora reassured Violet, seeing the darkness in her eyes which always pre-empted her black moods.
‘It is. She is so beautiful, like an untamed thoroughbred . . . wild and unfettered. But, of course, life – and men – will tame her.’
‘Perhaps life tames us all, Violet. Perhaps it has to.’
‘Why? Why must we women marry someone who is chosen for us by others? Things are changing, Flora! Just look at what the suffragettes are doing for women’s rights! Surely it could be different? And marriage itself . . .’ Violet shuddered. ‘I cannot understand how two people who hardly know each other are meant to spend the rest of their lives together. And do . . . that unspeakable thing, despite being complete strangers.’
‘I’m sure you will understand all that when you get older, Violet.’
‘No, I won’t,’ she said simply. ‘People keep saying that, but I don’t like men. It’s like asking a cat and a dog to live and sleep together. We share nothing in common. Look at Mama and Papa.’
‘Come now! From what I have seen, your parents are quite happy together. And great friends.’
‘Then tell me why, at this moment, my father stays in London at the office, while Mama is here nursing a sick king?’
‘Perhaps it’s too much to ask your spouse to provide everything you need.’
‘I disagree. Vita fulfils me on every level. I would never become bored with her.’
‘Then you are lucky to have found such a friend.’
‘She is far more than my friend. She is my . . . everything. I don’t expect you to understand, or anyone for that matter.’ Violet stood up abruptly. ‘I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Flora.’
Mrs Keppel appeared at the Villa Eugénie early the following morning. They crossed each other on the stairs as Flora was on her way down to breakfast.
‘How is the King?’ Flora whispered.
‘Thank God, he has turned the corner. His fever is down, and for the first time, he slept peacefully last night.’
‘That is wonderful news.’
‘It is indeed. And this morning, he insists on joining friends for luncheon, so I must prepare myself. It has been a long few days and, to be blunt, I feel quite exhausted. Are the girls upstairs in their room?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I will go and reassure them. No doubt Bertie will wish life to resume as normal now he believes he is well again. And for the world to know that he is too. He even lit up one of his hateful cigars this morning.’
After that, life did return to normal. Flora helped dress the girls for outings with their mother and the King every day.
‘It’s awfully strange, Flora, as there are so many nice places we could sit and eat, yet Kingy insists we take our picnic on the side of the road!’ said Sonia, as she returned from one such outing and ripped her straw hat from her head.
‘It’s because he likes everyone in France to see him and bow and scrape in front of him,’ replied Violet cynically. ‘Perhaps he thinks it upsets the French king.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ said Sonia, ‘but really, he does look awfully old. And really quite ill.’
‘You could say the same thing about Caesar. That dog stinks to high heaven,’ complained Violet, brushing dog hair off her skirts.
The following day, Flora was presented with a letter, handed to her by the butler.
High Weald
Ashford, Kent
England
14th March 1910
Dearest Flora,