The King put his
head in his hands. “Dear David. What has our b-brother done now? We thought he
was safe on the other side of the Atlantic.” Churchill shook
his head. “No Sire, not the Duke of Windsor. His Royal Highness, the
Duke of Kent.” He opened a
buff folder containing two photographs. Eyes widening in amazement, the King got to his feet. As if in a trance,
he gulped his brandy and refilled his
glass. “What in God’s name does George think he is doing with this
American woman? Always these bloody Americans. What’s her damn name, Preston,
Kiki Preston, isn’t it. Who is this other naked chap? Some Jerry spy, we
should n’t wonder.”
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