My Uncle Oswald

24

BY NOW Christmas was nearly on us and Yasmin said she wanted a holiday. I wanted to keep going. “Come on,” I said, “let’s do a royal tour first, kings only. We’ll nobble all the nine remaining monarchs of Europe. Then we’ll both take a good long rest.”

Romping with the royals, as Yasmin called it, was an irresistible prospect and she agreed to delay her holiday and spend Christmas in wintry Europe. Together we worked out a sensible itinerary which would take us, in the following order, to Belgium, Italy, Serbia, Greece, Bulgaria, Rumania, Denmark, Sweden, and Norway. I checked over all nine of my carefully prepared letters from George V. A. R. Woresley refilled my travelling liquid nitrogen container and supplied me with a new stock of straws, and off we went in the trusty Citroën, heading for Dover and the cross-Channel steamer, with the royal palace in Brussels our first stop.

The effect that the King of England’s letter had upon the first eight monarchs on our list was virtually identical. They jumped to it. They couldn’t wait to please King George, and they couldn’t wait to get a peek at his secret mistress. For them it was a fruity business. On every single occasion Yasmin was invited to the palace only a few hours after I had delivered the letter. We had success after success. Sometimes the hatpin had to be used, sometimes not. There were some funny scenes and one or two tricky moments, but Yasmin always got her man in the end. She even got seventy-six-year-old King Peter of the Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes, although he passed out at the end of it all and my girl had to revive him by throwing a chamberpot of cold water over his face. By the time we reached Christiania (now Oslo) at the beginning of April, we had eight kings in the bag and there was only Haakon of Norway left. He was forty-eight years old.

In Christiania we booked into the Grand Hotel on Carl J ohan’s Gate, and from the balcony of my room I could look straight up that splendid street to the royal palace on the hill. I delivered my letter at ten o’clock on a Tuesday morning. By lunchtime Yasmin had a reply in the King’s own handwriting. She was invited to present herself at the palace at two thirty that afternoon.

“This is going to be my very last king,” she said. “I shall miss popping into palaces and wrestling with royals.”

“What’s your general opinion of them,” I said, “now that it’s nearly over? How do they measure up?”

“They vary,” she said. “That fellow Boris of Bulgaria was terrifying the way he rolled me up in chicken wire.”

“Bulgarians are not easy.”

“Ferdinand of Rumania was pretty crazy, too.”

“The one who had distorting mirrors all around the room?”

“That’s him. Let us now see what revolting habits this Norwegian chap has got.”

“I hear he’s a very decent fellow.”

“Nobody’s decent when he’s had the Beetle, Oswald.”

“I’ll bet he’s nervous,” I said.

“Why?”

“I told you why. His wife, Queen Maud, is King George the Fifth’s sister. So our fake letter was supposedly written to Haakon by his brother-in-law. It’s all a bit close to the bone.”

“Spicy,” Yasmin said. “I like it.” And off she bounced to the palace with her little box of chocolates and her hatpin and other necessary items. I stayed behind and laid out my equipment in readiness for her return.

In less than one hour she was back. She came flying into my room like a hurricane.

“I blew it!” she cried. “Oh, Oswald, I did something frightful—awful—terrible! I blew the whole thing!”

“What happened?” I said, starting to quake.

“Give me a drink,” she said. “Brandy.”

I got her a stiff brandy. “Come on then,” I said. “Let’s have it. Tell me the worst.”

Yasmin took a huge gulp of brandy, then she leaned back and closed her eyes and said, “Ah, that’s better.”

“For God’s sake,” I cried, “tell me what happened!”

She drank the rest of the brandy and asked for another. I gave it to her quickly.

“Lovely big room,” she said. “Lovely tall king. Black moustache, courtly, kind, and handsome. Took the chocolate like a lamb and I started counting the minutes. Spoke almost perfect English. ‘I am not very happy about this business, Lady Victoria,’ he said, tapping King George’s letter with one finger. ‘This is not like my brother-in-law at all. King George is the most upright and honourable man I’ve ever met.’

“‘He’s only human, your Majesty.’

“‘He’s the perfect husband,’ he said.

“‘The trouble is he’s married,’ I said.

“‘Of course he’s married. What are you implying?’

“‘Married men make rotten husbands, your Majesty.’

“‘You’re talking rubbish, madam!’ he snapped.”

“Why didn’t you shut up right then and there, Yasmin?” I cried.

“Oh, I couldn’t, Oswald. Once I get going like that I can’t ever seem to stop. Do you know what I said next?”

“I can’t wait,” I said. I was beginning to sweat.

“I said, ‘Look, your Majesty, I mean after all when a strong, good-looking fellow like George has been having rice pudding every night for years and years, it’s only natural he’s going to start wanting a dish of caviar.’”

“Oh, my God!”

“It was a silly thing to say, I know that.”

“What did he answer?”

“He went green in the face. I thought he was going to strike me, but he just stood there spluttering and fizzing like one of those fireworks, those bangers, the ones that go on spluttering for a long time before the big explosion comes.”

“And did it come?”

“Not then. He was very dignified. He said, ‘I will thank you, madam, not to refer to the Queen of England as a rice pudding.’

“‘I’m sorry, your Majesty,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean it.’ I was still standing in the middle of the room because he hadn’t asked me to sit down. To hell with it, I thought, and I chose a large green sofa and draped myself along it, all ready for the Beetle to strike.”

“‘I simply cannot understand George going off the rails like this,’ he said.

“‘Oh, come on, your Majesty,’ I said. ‘He’s only following in his dad’s footsteps.’

“‘Pray what do you mean by that, madam?’

“‘Old Edward the Seventh,’ I said. ‘Dash it all, he was dipping the royal wick all over the country.’

“‘How dare you!’ he cried, exploding for the first time. ‘It’s all lies!’

“‘What about Lillie Langtry?’

“‘King Edward was my wife’s father,’ he said in an icy voice. ‘I will not have him insulted in my house.’”

“What in God’s name, Yasmin, made you go on like that for?” I cried. “You get a really nice king for once and all you do is insult the hell out of him.”

“He was a lovely man.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“I had the devil in me, Oswald. And I was enjoying it, I suppose.”

“You simply cannot talk like that to kings.”

“Oh yes I can,” Yasmin said. “I have discovered, you see, Oswald, that it doesn’t really matter what you say to them in the beginning or how angry you make them, because the good old Beetle always rescues you in the end. It’s always them that finish up looking silly.”

“But you said you’d blown it?”

“Let me go on and you’ll see what happened. The tall King kept pacing up and down the room and muttering to himself, and of course I kept watching the clock all the time. For some reason the nine minutes seemed to be going rather slowly. Then the King said, ‘How could you do this to your own queen? How could you lower yourself to seducing her dear husband? Queen Mary is the purest lady in the land.’

“‘You really think so?’ I said.

“‘I know it,’ he said. ‘She’s as pure as the driven snow.’

“‘Now, just you hang on one second there, your Majesty,’ I said. ‘Haven’t you heard all the naughty rumours?’

“When I said that, Oswald, he whipped round as though he’d been bitten by a scorpion.”

“Jesus, Yasmin, you’ve got a bloody nerve!”

“It was fun,” she said. “I only meant it as a joke.”

“Some joke.”

“‘Rumours!’ the King shouted. ‘What sort of rumours?’

“‘Very naughty rumours,’ I said.

“‘How dare you!’ he roared. ‘How dare you come in here and talk like that about the Queen of England. You are a strumpet and a liar, madam!’

“‘I may be a strumpet,’ I said, ‘but I’m not a liar. There is, you see, your Majesty, a certain equerry at Buckingham Palace, a colonel in the Grenadiers, a fine good-looking fellow he is, too, with his big black bristly moustache, and every morning he meets the Queen in the gymnasium and gives her keep-fit lessons.’

“‘And why shouldn’t he?’ snapped the King. ‘What’s wrong with keep-fit exercises? I do them myself.’

“I looked at my watch. The nine minutes were just coming up. Any moment now this tall proud King would be transformed into a randy old lecher. ‘Your Majesty,’ I said, ‘many’s the time George and I have peeped through the window at the end of the gym and seen—’ I stopped. I lost my voice, Oswald. I just couldn’t go on.”

“What happened, for God’s sake?”

“I thought I was having a heart attack. I began to gasp. I couldn’t breathe properly and a sort of goose-pimply feeling was spreading over my whole body. I really thought, honestly I did, I really thought I might be going to kick the bucket.”

“What was it, for God’s sake?”

“That’s what the King asked me. He’s truly a decent man, Oswald. Half a minute before I’d been saying beastly insulting things about his in-laws in England, and all of a sudden he was deeply concerned for my welfare. ‘Do you wish me to call a doctor?’ he said. I couldn’t even answer him. I just gurgled at him. Then all of a sudden this terrific tingling sensation started in the soles of my feet and it spread quickly all the way up my legs. I’m getting paralyzed, I thought. I can’t talk. I can’t move. I can hardly think. I’m going to die any moment. Then wham! It hit me!”

“What hit you?”

“The Beetle, of course.”

“Now wait a minute . . .”

“I’d eaten the wrong goddamn chocolate, Oswald! I’d mixed them up! I’d given him the plain one and eaten the Beetle myself!”

“Jesus Christ, Yasmin!”

“I know. But by then I’d guessed what had happened and my first thought was, I’d better get the hell out of the palace before I make an even bigger ass out of myself than I already have.”

“And did you?”

“Well, that was a bit easier said than done. For the first time in my life I was finding out what it felt like to get the Beetle.”

“Strong stuff.”

“Terrifying. It freezes your mind. You can’t think straight. All you’ve got is this fierce throbbing sexy sensation pouring all over you. Sex is the only thing you can think about. It was all I could think about anyway, and I’m very much afraid, Oswald . . . I couldn’t stop myself, you understand—I simply couldn’t stop myself . . . so I . . . well, I leaped off the sofa and made a dive for the King’s trousers. . .”

“Oh, my God.”

“There’s more to come,” Yasmin said, taking another gulp of brandy.

“Don’t tell me. I can’t bear it.”

“All right, then, I won’t.”

“Yes,” I said. “Go on.”

“I was like a madwoman. I was all over him. I caught him off balance and pushed him down onto the sofa. But he’s an athletic kind of bird, that old King. He was very quick. He was up in a flash. He got behind his desk. I climbed over the desk. He kept shouting, ‘Stop, woman! What’s the matter with you! Get away from me!’ And then he really started yelling, yelling out loud I mean. ‘Help!’ he yelled. ‘Someone get this woman out of here!’ And then, my dear Oswald, the door opened and the Queen herself, little Queen Maud in all her glory, came sailing into the room holding a piece of needlework in her hand.”

“Bound to happen.”

“I know.”

“Where were you when she came in?”

“I was leaping over his big Chippendale desk to get at him. Chairs were flying all over the place and in she came, this tiny, quite pretty woman . . .”

“What did she say?”

“She said, ‘What are you doing, Haakon?’

“‘Get her out!’ yelled the King.

“‘I want him!’ I shouted. ‘And I’m going to have him!’

“‘Haakon!’ she said. ‘Stop this at once!’

“‘It’s not me, it’s her!’ he cried, running for his life round the room. But I had him cornered now and I was just about to fling myself at him good and proper when I was grabbed from behind by two guards. Soldiers they were. Lovely-looking Norwegian boys.

“‘Take her away,’ gasped the King.

“‘Where to, sire?’

“‘Just get her out of here quick! Dump her in the street!’

“So I was frog-marched out of the palace and all I remember is I kept saying awful dirty things to the young soldiers and making all sorts of sexy suggestions and they were hooting with laughter . . .”

“So they dumped you?”

“In the street,” Yasmin said. “Outside the palace gates.”

“You’re damned lucky it wasn’t the King of Bulgaria or somewhere like that,” I said. “You’d have been thrown into a dungeon.”

“I know.”

“So they dumped you in the street outside the palace?”

“Yes. I was dazed. I sat on a bench under some trees trying to pull myself together. I had one great advantage, you see, Oswald, over all my victims. I knew what was wrong with me. I knew it was the Beetle that was doing it to me. It must be simply awful feeling the way I felt and not knowing why. I think that would scare me to death. So I was able to fight it. I remember sitting there and saying to myself, what you need, Yasmin old girl, what you need to straighten you out is a few good digs in the backside with the hatpin. That made me giggle. And after that, but very slowly, this ghastly sexy feeling began to go away and I got a hold of myself and I stood up and walked along the street to the hotel and here I am. I’m sorry I messed it up, Oswald, I really am. It’s the first time ever.”

“We’d better get out of here,” I said. “I don’t think these people would ever do anything nasty to us but the King is bound to start asking a few questions.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“I think he’s going to guess my letter was a forgery,” I said. “I bet anything you like he’s checking it out with George the Fifth right this very minute.”

“I’ll bet he is, too,” Yasmin said.

“Hurry up and pack then,” I said. “We’ll slide out of here at once and drive back across the border into Sweden. We’re going to get lost.”