Читать книгу Gone With the Windsors - Laurie Graham - Страница 108

To George Lightfoot’s for a small supper party. Came: Penelope and Fergus Blythe, a House of Commons man called Bob Boothby, and old Lady Ribblesdale. She’s the one who paid lawyers to get her a good divorce settlement from John Astor, when had she but known it, she could have waited a little longer, waved him aboard the Titanic, and inherited everything. They say it would be a curse to see into the future, but I don’t imagine Ava Ribblesdale thinks so.

Mr. Boothby was just back from a visit with Mr. Hitler in Germany, and said the man is quite insane and we’d better start building battleships while we still have time. Fergus Blythe said Boothby was squawking like a parlor maid who’d seen a mouse. I do agree with Fergus that Mr. Hitler is Germany’s business and no one else’s.

Much talk, too, about whether Roosevelt is going to beat Hoover.

Penelope said, “He should. He seems full of bright ideas for getting men back to work.”

Indeed. Full of ideas that people like me will have to pay for.

Lightfoot ran things rather effortlessly, for a single man. Duck terrine, tenderloin of pork, damson tart.

All evening my mind kept drifting to Wally and Ernest. I wonder whether they had dinner with the Prince of Wales.