Free Something Wicked by David Roberts

damage the reputation of the club if . . .’
    ‘I quite understand,’ Edward said soothingly, ‘and I am most grateful. I promise Miss Browne will keep away from your members and their guests.’
    It was after eleven when he parked the Lagonda in front of the clubhouse and, arm in arm, they strolled over to the tennis courts where several figures in white were slamming balls back and forth. He tucked her into a deck-chair and draped the rug over her despite her protests that she was quite hot enough already. Edward then left her to beard Bruce-Dick.
    That proved not to be as difficult an interview as he had feared. Although Bruce-Dick was elderly, he was no fool and studied Edward with interest. Since he had spoken to him on the telephone, he had made a few enquiries and was impressed by what he had heard. It helped that he had been in the same regiment as Edward’s brother Frank who had been killed in the first few days of the war in France.
    ‘He was a splendid chap. Terrible tragedy that he was the first of our young men to go. And you, Lord Edward – I heard a rumour that you were working for the FO and detecting crimes . . .’ He became almost roguish. ‘The Duke – does he . . .?’ Seeing Edward’s face, he quickly changed the subject. ‘Miss Browne is, I believe, a famous foreign correspondent. My dear wife was quite overcome when I told her you were visiting us. She would be delighted if you . . . if both of you . . .’ he added bravely, ‘would care to dine with us one night.’
    Edward, rather sourly, was reminded of something Verity had once quoted at him. She had been reading The Ordeal of Richard Feverel and Meredith, who was obsessed with the nature of snobbery, had noted – rather acutely, Edward considered – that ‘the national love of a lord is less subservience than a form of self-love; putting a gold-lace hat on one’s image, as it were, to bow to it.’ He thought this was a case in point. Had he but known it, Emily Bruce-Dick had gone quite pink when she suggested to her husband that he might proffer the invitation.
    ‘That is very kind of her,’ Edward said, with as sincere a smile as he could muster, ‘but Miss Browne is recuperating – as I mentioned – from a slight bout of TB and is not allowed out of the sanatorium for more than an hour or two at a time.’ He noticed that Bruce-Dick was trying not to look relieved. ‘But I, on the other hand, would be delighted to come.’
    Bruce-Dick beamed with pleasure. Phyllis Court was not short of aristocrats among its members but Lord Edward was someone rather special – not just the son of a duke but famous in his own right – and Bruce-Dick had visions of appearing in the illustrated papers arm in arm with his new friend.
    The formalities over, Edward returned to find one of the tennis players sitting beside Verity and engaging her in conversation. Fearing that it might be too much for her, he hurried to her side. He was relieved to find her animated and enjoying the attention of the attractive young woman who rose to her feet when she saw him. She held out her hand.
    ‘Kay Stammers,’ she said, without waiting for Verity to introduce her. ‘You’re Lord Edward Corinth, aren’t you? We met briefly at Brooklands. You won’t remember.’
    ‘Of course I remember, Miss Stammers. I am so pleased to meet you again and have an opportunity to wish you luck at Wimbledon.’
    Kay Stammers had beaten Helen Wills Moody when she was only seventeen and won the Wimbledon women’s doubles with Freda James in 1935 and 1936. She had won the French Open and was confidently expected to win the women’s singles at Wimbledon. She was also an accomplished aviatrix who had learnt to fly at the London Aeroplane Club.
    ‘I am so thrilled to meet Miss Browne. I have just been telling her that, as soon as she is feeling stronger, she must let me take her up in my plane. Don’t look like that, Lord Edward. She would be perfectly safe and has just