Page 164 of The Love Letter

He was back down ten minutes later, his jacket on. ‘I have to go, I’m afraid. My temporary replacement will be here any second. Monica’s a nice girl, American. I’m sure you’ll get on.’

‘Okay.’ Zoe shrugged. ‘Bye then.’

‘Bye.’ Simon could barely bring himself to look her in the eyes as he left the kitchen.

39

At Rose’s request, Joanna had taken a couple of small bottles of whisky from the mini-fridge, poured them into two glasses and added ice.

‘Thank you, my dear.’ Rose took a sip. ‘Far too much excitement for an old lady like me.’ She settled back more comfortably in her chair, cradling her whisky glass in her hands. ‘As you already know, I was working for a time as a lady-in-waiting for the Duchess of York. Our families had known each other for years and so it was natural that I travelled down from Scotland with her when she married the Duke. They were very happy, living between their houses in Sandringham and London. Then the Duke’s health began to deteriorate. He had a bronchial condition, which, given the health problems he’d had as a child, was cause for some concern. The doctors advised complete rest and fresh air for a number of months to help him recover. But there was the problem of what to tell the country. In those days, the royal family were in some ways regarded as immortal, you see.’

‘So the idea of a double to stand in for him during his absence was put forward?’ Joanna confirmed.

‘Yes. It used to be quite common amongst public figures, as I’m sure you know. Coincidentally, a senior adviser at the palace happened to visit the theatre one night. And there he saw a young actor who he thought could pass perfectly adequately for the Duke of York at state functions, factory openings and the like. The young man, one Michael O’Connell, was brought in and given “Duke lessons” for a few weeks, as the Duchess and I used to giggle. Once he’d passed the “test”, the real Duke was shipped off to Switzerland to recover forthwith.’

‘He was the image of him,’ said Joanna. ‘I was completely convinced they were one and the same person.’

‘Yes. Michael O’Connell was already an extremely talented actor. He had always been good at impersonations – it was his “act” back then. He lost his Irish brogue completely, even perfected the slight stutter.’ Rose smiled. ‘And literally, my dear, hebecamethe Duke. He was duly installed in the royal household and it all worked like a charm.’

‘How many people knew about this?’

‘Only those that absolutely had to. I’m sure some of the servants thought it odd when they heard the “Duke” singing Irish ballads whilst shaving in the morning, but they were paid to be discreet.’

‘Was that when you and Michael became friends?’

‘Yes. He was such a nice man, so eager to please and took the whole situation in his stride. Yet I always felt rather sorry for him. I knew he was being used, and once he was no longer needed, he’d be paid off and waved away without so much as a backward glance.’

‘But it didn’t quite happen like that, did it?’

‘No,’ Rose sighed. ‘The thing was, he had such charisma. He was the Duke, with an added dimension. He had a great sense of humour, used to send the Duchess into fits just before they were about to attend a function. I was always convinced that he laughed her into bed, if you’ll excuse the tasteless expression.’

‘When did you realise they were lovers?’

‘Not for a long time afterwards. I thought, just like everyone else who knew her, that the Duchess was playing her part like the trouper she was. Then the Duke came home a few months later, fit and well, and Michael O’Connell was packed off back to his life. And that would have been the end of it if it hadn’t been for the fact that . . .’ Rose caught her breath.

‘What?’

‘The Duchess believed that she had fallen head over heels in love with Michael. At the time, I’d left the palace in order to prepare for my wedding to François. I went back to visit her one day and she asked whether I’d be prepared to help her, if I would be a “messenger” for her so she and Michael could keep in contact. She was quite desperate. What else could I do but agree?’

‘So you began to meet with William Fielding outside Swan and Edgar?’

‘Was that his name? The young boy from the theatre, anyway,’ Rose clarified.

‘He became quite a well-known actor too.’

‘Not in France,’ Rose said with a sniff of hauteur. ‘Of course, at the time I was madly in love with François, so the fact that the Duchess was so in love too rather gave us a bond. We were both so young.’ Rose sighed. ‘We believed in romance. And because Michael and the Duchess had been put together, then torn apart, with no possibility of a future, it made the situation all the more poignant.’

‘Did they see each other after he left the employ of the royal household?’

‘Only once. The Duchess was terribly concerned for him, for his safety, especially when her secret, one might say, exploded into public view.’

‘Someone found out about the affair?’

Rose’s eyes twinkled. ‘Oh yes, my dear. More than one.’

‘Was that when they sent Michael O’Connell off to Ireland to stay at the coastguard’s house?’

‘Yes. You see?’ Rose gave her an approving smile. ‘You know most of the story already. The Duchess came crying to me one day, saying that he’d written to say he was being sent away back to Ireland. He didn’t want to compromise her sensitive position, so he thought it best if he agreed and left the country as they wished him to do. Of course –’ she raised her eyebrows – ‘he was never meant to return.’