“No, but it suits Amanda’s current circumstances to be thought of as the loving spouse.”
“Time may change that, too,” said Fiona.
“I doubt it,” said Pimkin. “Amanda is stupid, that has been proven beyond reasonable doubt, but she has a survival instinct second only to a mongoose. So while Charles is spending all the hours of the day advancing his glittering career she would be foolish to search publicly for greener pastures. Especially when she can always lie in them privately.”
“You’re a wicked old gossip,” said Fiona.
“I cannot deny it,” said Pimkin, “for it is an art at which women have never been as accomplished as men.”
“Thank you for such a sensible wedding present,” said Alexander, joining his wife of two hours. “You selected my favorite claret.”
“Giving a dozen bottles of the finest claret serves two purposes,” said Pimkin, his hands resting lightly on his stomach. “First, you can always be assured of a decent wine when you invite yourself to dine.”
“And second?” asked Alexander.
“When the happy couple split up you can feel relieved that they will no longer have your present to quarrel over.”
“Did you give Charles and Amanda a present?” asked Fiona.
“No,” said Pimkin, deftly removing another glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “I felt your return of the bogus Earl of Bridgwater was quite enough for both of us.”
“I wonder where he is now?” said Alexander.
“He no longer resides in Eaton Square,” said Pimkin with the air of one who has divulged a piece of information which can only guarantee further rapt attention.
“Who would want the phony earl?”
“We are not aware of the provenance of the buyer, as he emanates from one of Her Majesty’s former colonies, but the seller …”
“Stop teasing, Alec. Who?”
“None other than Mrs. Amanda Seymour.”
“Amanda?”
“Yes. Amanda, no less. The dear, silly creature retrieved the false earl from the cellar where Charles had buried him with full military honors.”
“But she must have realized it was a fake.”
“My dear Amanda wouldn’t know the difference between a Holbein and an Andy Warhol but she still happily accepted £10,000 for the impersonation. I am assured that the dealer who purchased this fabricated masterpiece made what I think vulgar people in the City describe as’a quick turn.’”
“Good God,” said Alexander. “I only paid £8,000 for it myself.”
“Perhaps you should get Amanda to advise you on these matters in future,” said Pimkin. “In exchange for my invaluable piece of information I’m bound to inquire if the real Earl of Bridgwater is to remain in hiding.”
“Certainly not, Alec. He is merely awaiting the right moment to make a public appearance,” said Fiona, unable to hide a smile.
“And where is Amanda now?” asked Alexander, obviously wanting to change the subject.
“In Switzerland producing a baby, which we can but hope will bear sufficient resemblance to a white Caucasian to convince one of Charles’s limited imagination that he is the father.”
“Where do you get all your information from?” asked Alexander.
Pimkin sighed dramatically. “Women have a habit of pouring their hearts out to me, Amanda included.”
“Why should she do that?” asked Alexander.
“She lives safe in the knowledge that I am the one man she knows who has no interest in her body.” Pimkin drew breath, but only to devour another smoked salmon sandwich.