“Oh! Oh, yes. Of course.” He held out his hand to me, and although he’d turned in my direction and fixed his gaze politely on my face, I thought his eyes were unfocused, that he wasn’t really looking at me. Not past me, mind you, the way some people do, searching out someone of greater interest, but the opposite direction. Inward, toward himself. “Duke of Windsor,” he said, pronouncing the word duke like an American, dook.

I made a slight curtsy. “Your Royal Highness. Leonora Randolph. I’m honored to—”

“Charmed, of course.” He dropped my hand—he had a grip that wasn’t so much limp as motionless, without life—and turned to the duchess. “Have you seen Thorpe about?”

“Not since he arrived.”

“Oh, damn.” The duke cast his nervous eyes about the palms and the shadows. “Neither have I.”

“Is something the matter?” she asked, but the duke was already bolting off. I suppose I stared after him, at least until his bright figure disappeared into the tangle of darker ones. I remember a feeling of disbelief—had I, or had I not, just met the former king of England, and did it matter if he hadn’t actually perceived my existence?—and then the tug of the duchess’s hand on my elbow.

“Mrs. Randolph, do you know Mr. Christie?” she said.

“I’m afraid not.” I held out my hand to the other man, who was plain and balding, thick-necked, green-eyed. His temples gleamed with perspiration. He was shorter even than Oakes, and next to Sir Harry’s bull shoulders, looked as slight as a lamb. “Leonora Randolph,” I said.

The man took my hand and smiled. “Harold Christie. Pleasure.”

His palm was damp. I extracted my fingers and said the pleasure was all mine. “I’ve already heard so many interesting things about you, Mr. Christie.”

“Ah.” He cast a glance to the duchess—nervous or modest, I couldn’t tell. “I hope—I hope—good things.”

“Aren’t you practically a one-man Bahamas development office? So they tell me.”

“Oh, it’s quite true,” said the duchess. “Mr. Christie’s done so much to improve the colony.”

Back and forth glanced Mr. Christie. “That’s too kind. I love the Bahamas, that’s all. Only doing what I can for them.”

“How awfully good of you,” I said.

“Turns a nice penny, too, from time to time,” said Oakes. “Isn’t that right, Christie? Turned a few of those pennies on my account.”

“From which your account profited considerably, I believe.”

“Don’t stop you borrowing a fortune from me, either. Eh, Christie? That Lyford Cay scheme of yours?”

“You’ll be begging me for a plot of your own there, when it’s finished.”