Read Online B00C4I7LJE EBOK by Robin Skone-Palmer - Free Book Online

to London!” I yelled.
    My dad jumped up from the piano, and Mother came in from the kitchen. We hugged and laughed together.
    “Do you want me to take anything to the cleaners?” Mother asked.
    “Anything you need to have before you leave?” Dad asked.
    “Not a thing. I have to pack.” I’ll be in London this weekend!
     

12
     
    W e left L.A. for London on Friday afternoon at 4:30. The nonstop flight got us there just before noon on Saturday. Colin, the agent from the William Morris Agency, met us, waiting while we went through customs and passport control.
    It amused me that even though Phyllis and Warde had gone through customs first (being VIPs, of course), they still had to hang around for me at the back of the pack. At last I emerged from the customs hall and we climbed into the large Rolls Royce the studio had provided. I settled into the front seat next to the chauffeur and ignored the conversation between Phyllis and Colin while we drove into town.
    As we neared the city, I began to see familiar landmarks. In no time at all we were through Hammersmith, then Earl’s Court and coming to Ashburn Gardens. I strained to catch a glimpse of my old flat, which should have been just visible down the side street from Cromwell Road, but a bus blocked my view as we drove past.
    When we reached the Connaught Hotel, I told the limo driver, “Those two bags over there are mine. The rest go upstairs with Phyllis.” By the time I got to the suite, Phyllis was going over her schedule with Colin while Warde busied himself with the red leather “booze bag” he always carried.
    “Let’s take these bags into the bedroom,” I told the porter. It was a large, elegant suite, and we passed through the living room as unobtrusively as possible and into the huge bedroom, which had several wardrobes.
    “Those two wig boxes and those two large bags go in this closet here,” I told him, pointing to the one by the door. Those were the costumes we’d be taking with us to the studio. “You can set the rest right here.”
    Thank heaven Phyllis did her own unpacking. I was suddenly tired and anxious to get on to my own hotel. The Tom Jones show only paid for Phyllis’s hotel. My room came out of her pocket, so I wouldn’t be staying at an expensive hotel like the Connaught. Her attorney/business manager was very careful about how Phyllis spent her money.
    “Give me a call when you get up in the morning. Or afternoon,” Phyllis said.
    With the time change and the long flight, who knew how well any of us would sleep. Phyllis had insisted on arriving a day early so we could get used to the time change.
    The Rolls left me and my two suitcases at the Cumberland—a moderately priced Americanized hotel. I unpacked and started calling friends. I desperately wanted to take a nap but knew that if I did, I’d wake up at midnight and would feel even worse the next day. Instead, I called Richard, an old flame, and made a date for dinner. Since there were still a couple of hours until dark, I went outside. I bundled up in my warm Spanish cape and pushed through the massive revolving door. The cold, sharp air took my breath away. Just what I needed.
    “Evening, miss,” the doorman said. “Can I get you a taxi?”
    “No, thanks, I want to walk.”
    The shops all closed at noon on Saturday, but that was okay. Instead I strolled through Hyde Park and thought about the two years I’d spent working at the Embassy. I’d loved my years as a secretary in the Administrative Section. The fact that my boss had the final okay on the guest list for a host of Embassy-related parties worked out well. My name had mysteriously made its way onto the invitation list for the Diplomatic Tea at Buckingham Palace, so I’d taken tea with Her Majesty. I and 999 other people. I’d also been invited to the opening day of the races at Royal Ascot in the Queen’s Pavilion. It was a private, invitation-only area for 3,000 of Her Majesty’s closest friends.
    My