Twelve Red Herrings

“Perhaps you’d care to join Hazel and me for tea in the drawing room when you’re ready, sir,” suggested Ted.

“How thoughtful of you,” said the admiral. “I’ll be down in about thirty minutes, if I may.”

The governor and his wife left the room, closing the door quietly behind them.

“I think he suspects something,” whispered Hazel as they tiptoed down the staircase.

“You may be right,” said Ted, placing his plumed hat on the stand in the hall, “but that’s all the more reason to check we haven’t forgotten anything. I’ll start with the dining room. You ought to go and see how Mrs. Travis is getting on in the kitchen.”

When Hazel entered the kitchen she found Mrs. Travis preparing the vegetables and one of the maids peeling a mound of potatoes. She thanked Mrs. Travis for taking over at such short notice and admitted she had never seen the kitchen so full of exotic foods, or the surfaces so immaculately clean. Even the floor was spotless. Realizing that her presence was superfluous, Hazel joined her husband in the dining room, where she found him admiring the expertise of the second under-butler, who was laying out the place settings for that evening, as a maid folded napkins to look like swans.

“So far, so good,” said Hazel. They left the dining room and entered the drawing room, where Ted paced up and down, trying to think if there was anything he had forgotten while they waited for the great man to join them for tea.

A few minutes later, Mountbatten walked in. He was no longer dressed in his admiral’s uniform, but had changed into a dark gray double-breasted suit.

“Damn it,” thought Ted, immediately aware of what he’d forgotten to do.

Hazel rose to greet her guest and guided him to a large, comfortable chair.

“I must say, Lady Barker, your butler is a splendid chap,” said Mountbatten. “He even knew the brand of whiskey I prefer. How long have you had him?”

“Not very long,” admitted Hazel.

“Well, if he ever wants a job in England, don’t hesitate to let me know—though I’m bound to say, you’d be a fool to part with him,” he added, as a maid came in carrying a beautiful Wedgwood tea service that Hazel had never set eyes on before.

“Earl Grey, if I remember correctly,” said Hazel.

“What a memory you have, Lady Barker,” said the admiral as the maid began to pour.

Thank God for the Foreign Office briefing, Hazel thought as she accepted the compliment with a smile.

“And how did the conference go, sir?” asked Ted, as he dropped a lump of sugar—the one thing he felt might be their own—into his cup of tea.

“For the British, quite well,” said Mountbatten. “But it would have gone better if the French hadn’t been up to their usual tricks. Giscard seems to regard himself as a cross between Charlemagne and Joan of Arc.” His hosts laughed politely. “No, the real problem we’re facing at the moment, Ted, is quite simply …”

By the time Mountbatten had dealt with the outcome of the summit, given his undiluted views of James Callaghan and Ted Heath, covered the problem of finding a wife for Prince Charles and mulled over the long-term repercussions of Watergate, it was almost time for him to change.

“Are we dressing for dinner?”

“Yes, sir—if that meets with your approval.”

“Full decorations?” Mountbatten asked, sounding hopeful.

“I thought that would be appropriate, sir,” replied Ted, remembering the Foreign Office’s advice about the admiral’s liking for dressing up at the slightest opportunity.

Mountbatten smiled as Carruthers appeared silently at the door. Ted raised an eyebrow.

“I have laid out the full dress uniform, m’lord. I took the liberty of pressing the trousers. The bedroom maid is drawing a bath for you.”

Mountbatten smiled. “Thank you,” he said as he rose from his chair. “Such a splendid tea,” he added, turning to face his hostess. “And such wonderful staff. Hazel, I don’t know how you do it.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Hazel, trying not to blush.

“What time would you like me to come down for dinner, Ted?” Mountbatten asked.

“The first guests should be arriving for drinks at about 7:30, sir. We were hoping to serve dinner at eight, if that’s convenient for you.”

“Couldn’t be better,” declared Mountbatten. “How many are you expecting?”