“What’s wrong indeed,” I said. I reached across the table and took his hand. “Can she cook?”

“Not as good as your grandma, but she ain’t bad. She ain’t bad at all.”

“Enjoy your lunch, Granddad.”

He looked almost bashful. “She can’t be after my money,” he said with a wheezy laugh, “so it must be my good looks.

Shall I meet you tomorrow, then? I’ll find out about your window cleaners and then we’ll go to Claridge’s.”

“All right,” I said, feeling my stomach twisting itself into a knot. Posing as a maid to get into a person’s room was serious business. If I was caught, I might well harm Binky’s cause rather than help it.

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Belinda’s mews and later Rannoch House
Sunday, May 1, 1932

Belinda roused herself shortly before five o’clock and came downstairs looking stunning in red trousers and a black riding jacket. This immediately reminded me that I had nothing to wear, even if I could get into Rannoch House, which didn’t seem likely. I lamented this to Belinda, who immediately opened up her wardrobe and fixed me up with a spiffing yachting outfit consisting of white skirt and blue blazer with white trim. It even came with a jaunty little sailor’s cap. The result, when I looked in the mirror, was quite satisfying.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wear this?” I asked Belinda.

“Good Lord, no. It’s not exactly the height of fashion, darling. You can get away with it, of course, but if I were to be seen in it at Cowes, bang would go my reputation.”

I thought privately that her reputation had probably gone bang already.

“Off we go, then,” she said, slipping her arm through mine.

“Belinda, I’m very grateful for everything you’re doing for me,” I said.

“Darling, think nothing of it. I would have been expelled from Les Oiseaux many times over if you hadn’t rescued me. And you are certainly in need of a friend at the moment.”

I couldn’t have agreed more. We took a taxi to the boat dock at Westminster pier, even though I suspect that neither of us had money to waste on taxies. But one had to arrive properly, as Belinda put it, and so we did.

The boat/ship/yacht currently tied up at the pier was large and sleek, bigger than any cabin cruiser I had seen—a sort of junior transatlantic liner. An awning had been erected on the rear deck (Is that called the poop? I’m not up in nautical terms). A gramophone was playing and couples were already dancing some kind of hop. I was so enthralled with the scene on board that I almost caught my foot in a rope lying across the top of the steps and would have sprawled forward if Belinda hadn’t caught me.