“On my part it was a ‘how do I get out of this without making a public fuss’ sort of kiss. And actually it was quite chaste. Almost like a required stage kiss. Now your kisses, on the other hand . . .”

“Like this, you mean?” he asked and demonstrated. Things might have progressed a little further if a couple hadn’t strolled past us, laughing at a private joke. We broke apart.

“Where are you staying?” I asked.

“An awful little fleapit near the train station,” Darcy said. “I have only just arrived. And I don’t think my expenses would cover this place.”

“I’d invite you to my bungalow, but I’m sharing with my mother.”

“A bedroom? With your mother? Never.”

“No, silly. We have a bedroom each but there aren’t any spare beds.”

“I don’t mind sharing.” His eyes were glinting in the torchlight, teasing me now.

“I wouldn’t mind either, but there’s a nasty newspaper reporter who was on the ship plus a Hollywood gossip columnist prowling around.”

“Don’t worry. I can survive where I am—especially if you can get me included in the trip to the castle.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

He nodded. “I’ll be here.”

A sudden thought struck me. “You could always have Queenie’s bed.”

He laughed. “Share with Queenie? No thank you. I’m not that desperate.”

“No. She’s gone. Left me for greener pastures. Some woman who has always wanted an English maid offered her good money.”

Darcy was still laughing. “Does she know what she’s letting herself in for?”

“Who—Queenie or the woman?”

“Both, I should think. So thank you for your kind offer but I rather think it’s wiser not to.”

He brushed my cheek with his lips, ruffled my hair and was gone.

Chapter 16

FRIDAY, AUGUST 3, 1934

Off to Mr. Goldman’s castle. It should be fun.

In the morning there was a tap on my door. I leaped to open it, expecting it to be Darcy, but instead it was Algie.

“I thought I’d cadge a ride again, old sport,” he said.

“Weren’t you supposed to be on set with the rest of them at six?” I asked, deciding that I now actively disliked him.

“Dash it all, Georgie. A fellow wasn’t raised to go down a coal mine or to milk cows. Or to be on film sets at the crack of dawn. Besides, what kind of script consultation would they need at that ungodly hour?”

“Algie?” I shook my head. “If they actually needed advice on their script do you know anything at all about the Tudors? Are you actually related to them in any way?”

He had the grace to blush. “Well, you know, old thing, most old families can trace links to anybody they like. And I know that Henry the Eighth had eight wives.”