“Simply ‘Mrs.,’ ” my mother said sweetly, “and how about you? Are you still married to anybody?”

There was a moment’s frosty silence before the table went back to talk of the weather and the next day’s game of golf.

“Tomorrow we shall go out riding, do you think?” Siegfried asked me. “Myself I ride magnificently. I am a magnificent horseman. I know no fear.”

This couldn’t be happening to me. I was trapped in a room with my mother, Mrs. Simpson, Fish-Lips, Darcy, and/ or someone who was trying to kill me. How much worse could things get?

Somehow I survived dinner. The redeeming feature was the magnificent food. For one who had been living on baked beans, there was one heady course after the next—turtle soup followed by sole Veronique followed by squab followed by roast beef followed by charlotte russe followed by anchovies on toast. I was amazed at the amount I was able to eat, given my nervous state. And wine to accompany each course.

I noted that Mrs. Simpson picked at her food and cast glances in the direction of the prince, who was doing a lot of cow-eyed gazing in her direction.

“I’m afraid I have to eat like a sparrow these days or I put on weight,” she commented to those around her. “You’re so lucky. Germans like their women fat.” This last remark addressed to my mother, of course.

“In which case I should eat up if I were you,” my mother said, glancing at the prince whose royal ancestor included the Elector of Hanover and Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. She was clearly enjoying herself. I was relieved when Lady Mountjoy indicated that the ladies should withdraw and we followed her into the drawing room where coffee awaited us. My mother and Mrs. Simpson, now already sworn enemies, were still exchanging the most deliciously honeyed barbs. I would have enjoyed observing this spectacle, but Belinda was sitting beside me, offering to put cream and sugar into my coffee. I declined both.

“But I thought you always claimed that black coffee at night kept you awake,” she said.

I looked across at my mother. Could I count on her as an ally? As a mother she hadn’t exactly fulfilled the role, but surely she’d want to protect her only child. The men arrived soon after.

“David, come and sit here.” Mrs. Simpson patted the sofa beside her. There was an almost discernible gasp from the rest of the party. Princes are “sir” in public, even to their closest friends. His Highness just smiled and hurried to perch on the arm at her side. Mr. Simpson was nowhere in sight. Gone to play billiards, so I was told. Darcy settled himself between Marisa and Imogen and didn’t once look in my direction.