Authors: David Roberts
‘I don’t believe it. He helps people. Look at what he’s doing for Maggie. She’s on her way to the Clinic now.’
‘He’s a fine surgeon and he has done some good work but, to be blunt, he makes my blood run cold. He believes in killing the disabled and what he calls the racially impure in order to foster “racial purity”. You know Simon has agreed to pay for Isolde’s wedding?’
‘Of course! He discussed it with me. I thought it was very generous. Roddy doesn’t have a sou, you know.’
‘And in exchange,’ Edward went on remorselessly, ‘Isolde has said he can have her baby when he’s six – if it’s a boy – and bring the child up in a special boarding school in Germany. It’s a new idea he has – or rather an old one. The ancient Spartans bred a special warrior class which was raised without parental contact in an all-male community.’
‘Like an English public school,’ Virginia said, brightening.
‘Much more extreme than that. Himmler has already started special “schools” like this. After the age of eight they never see their parents again. They join the SS which becomes the only family they recognize. He wants to breed supermen – Teutonic knights whose sole loyalty is to the Führer and to him as the Führer’s deputy.’
‘But they can’t expect an English boy . . .’
‘It would be a tremendous coup for Himmler to have an English Aryan among the elect.’
‘But Isolde . . . Roddy . . . they would never agree . . .’
‘They didn’t understand what was being asked of them until I explained the implications of the agreement,’ Edward said. ‘Like you, they thought their son – if they have a son – would just be going to a German military school. They were happy to agree to that.’
‘But that’s quite mad!’
‘Of course it is, Ginny,’ he said in exasperation, ‘but don’t you understand? The Nazis are mad – or Himmler certainly is.’
‘If what you say is true, you must stop Simon getting involved. He’s not bad, you know. Just . . . foolish . . . a dreamer.’
‘I understand, Ginny,’ he said more gently. ‘I’ll do what I can.’
‘What about Isolde and Roddy?’
‘They are going back to London, Ginny. It’s for the best. I am giving them a lift.’
‘We meant well,’ Ginny said pathetically, as Edward walked towards the Lagonda.
13
Harry Bragg was in a state of high excitement. ‘It’s brand new – a Lockheed Electra modified specially for the guv’nor. I’m only just getting the hang of her but she’s a real goer.’
Bragg was Lord Weaver’s personal pilot and he got sick of idle days and sometimes weeks, waiting for his employer to choose him over his chauffeur and Rolls-Royce to ferry him about the country. This trip to the South of France was more like it. The previous day he had tightened every nut and oiled every part that moved and now – as dawn broke – he greeted his passengers with a whoop of delight as they strode across the grass towards him. He shook Edward’s hand warmly and tried to shake Verity’s but she kissed him instead. He blushed happily. Since his disfigurement in the war he had been shy of girls and always expected them to avert their eyes when they saw him. He rather hoped Edward was the man to liven things up. Edward had wanted to pilot himself but Weaver had insisted that he would only lend his aeroplane if Bragg was at the controls.
‘My dear boy,’ he had said, ‘you have hardly flown since you were in Africa and these new planes – so Bragg tells me – are much more sophisticated than the kites you flew held together with glue, string and prayer.’
Edward had lost the argument and now, as he looked at the machine, he was glad he had.
‘I can’t wait to see how fast this bird’ll go,’ Bragg said. ‘The guv’nor won’t let me stretch her but you won’t mind taking a risk or two. I wanted him to buy a Focke but he wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘Because it’s German?’ Verity inquired.
‘They make the best,’ he said simply. ‘I wish it weren’t so, but it is. When the war comes, we’ll be lucky to beat the new Luftwaffe. Whatever you say about this Hitler fella – he values his flyers. Wish we had someone like that. They say Churchill makes a stink about the state of our air force in Parliament but no one seems to take any notice.’
‘Well, it doesn’t affect you,’ Edward said tactlessly.
‘What you mean, Corinth? Are you telling me my flying days are over?’
‘No, of course not,’ he corrected himself hurriedly. ‘I just meant the new generation . . .’
‘There aren’t enough of them,’ Bragg said emphatically. ‘And not enough machines for them to practise on for that matter.’
Despite the seriousness of their mission – a mission that demanded speed and justified rejecting the train for the air – there was a holiday atmosphere about their jaunt. Verity had flown very little but loved it and begged Harry to teach her to fly when she was back in England.
‘Glad to but the guv’nor said you were going to Austria.’
Edward scowled and Verity felt her stomach knot. It was true. There would be no time for flying lessons – not this year at any rate. She immediately thought of Adam and wondered where he was and what he was doing. He had sent her a note to say that he had been called away on urgent business but that he would be back in time to accompany her to her new billet. She could only guess at what the business was which had taken him away from her but she trusted him absolutely.
She glanced at Edward and saw the expression on his face. ‘Cheer up!’ she said, taking him by the arm and shaking him. ‘Don’t look like a dying cow. The world’s not going to end quite yet. I’ll be all right, though why you should care . . . It’s kismet, or whatever you call it. If you’re going to sulk every time I go away on an assignment, it’s going to be impossible.’
She seemed to have conveniently forgotten that, on this occasion, she was going with her lover and it was not unreasonable of Edward to be jealous. He had convinced himself that, if he was to have a chance of winning her back, he must not ‘make scenes’ and become – dreaded word – a ‘bore’, but it was not easy. He wondered if, after all, he ought to put up more of a fight – tell her he loved her and that she was not to take lovers – other than himself. He grinned to himself. Who was he trying to fool?
They reached Cannes at five that evening with only one stop on the way to refuel and eat a hot meal. Bragg was cock-a-hoop that the flight had gone so smoothly and professed himself delighted at the way the Electra had behaved. He had achieved a top speed of 300 mph, and a tail wind during the first part of their journey across France had got him talking about ‘breaking records’. Edward and Verity said their goodbyes to Harry as he was returning to England but would come back to collect them if required.
A car was waiting for them – a black
Traction Avant
Citroën, which amused Edward as he associated it with the French police – and they drove into Cannes where they had reserved a suite at the Carlton. Edward felt comforted to see the great hotel with its twin cupolas, supposedly modelled on the breasts of La Belle Otéro, one of Edward VII’s mistresses. However, once again the luxury put Verity in a bad temper and she inquired why they could not have stayed at some modest hotel instead of ‘this plutocratic monstrosity’. If Edward had any idea that Verity might sleep with him – for old times’ sake – he was unceremoniously disabused of it. He had a fleeting glimpse of a huge double bed in a room large enough to house a family of six, before he was directed to a second smaller bedroom next to the sitting-room.
The suite overlooked La Croisette – Cannes’ palm tree-lined promenade jutting out into the sea – along which holiday-makers and locals strolled, determined to forget international tensions and the posturing of politicians. Beyond, Edward could see the Iles de Lérins. In the evening light, the sea was blue velvet, studded with the lights of the yachts which bobbed lazily on the water. Verity joined him at the window and he suggested a stroll among the crowd of pleasure seekers ambling up and down below them.
‘
Quel paradis
! Isn’t this what heaven should be?’
‘I don’t believe in heaven, remember?’ she retorted, and then felt she had been boorish. ‘But you’re right, it is beautiful.’
They abandoned any idea of unpacking and were soon on La Croisette breathing in the scent of oranges and unidentifiable herbs wafted to them on the breeze. Edward, daringly, took Verity’s arm and she did not shrug him off. By mutual consent, they put off any discussion of strategy and returned refreshed, half an hour later, to bath and dress for dinner.
The Carlton’s dining-room was elegant and redolent of a more gracious age. Verity suddenly found she was hungry and studied the menu with interest. Edward ordered Veuve Clicquot rosé to drink as they mulled over the bill of fare.
‘Let’s make this special, shall we, V?’ he pleaded. ‘Put aside your principles for a few hours for my sake and enjoy this place. You can’t know how long it will be before it’s blown to smithereens. We may not have many more nights like this – just you and me at peace in such a beautiful place.’
His appeal did not go unanswered and her face softened. ‘Sorry for being a prig. You know me – I love luxury and hate myself for it. Very painful but I won’t take it out on you, I promise.’
Her smile had its usual effect of making him go weak at the knees. It seemed criminal to him that they couldn’t end the evening in bed together but he knew he risked ruining everything if he tried to persuade her. With suitable gravity, they gave themselves up to the pursuit of culinary delight. They finally agreed on
fonds d’artichaut
with
sauce hollandaise
,
filets de sole Véronique
and, to end,
pêches pochées au Muscat de Frantignan avec crème anglaise
. Edward went into a huddle with the sommelier and chose a white burgundy – the Corton Charlemagne 1928 from Louis Latour. It was everything he had expected – true nectar, cold and delectable after the dusty, uncomfortable flight. At last, over brandy and cigars – Verity insisting on a Havana all to herself – they could no longer delay planning a strategy.
‘The trouble is, I don’t seem to be able to think straight. Was that second bottle of burgundy a mistake?’ Verity asked him dreamily. She wondered if, after all, she would allow him to take her to bed. She so longed to be taken care of and to lie in the arms of this man she loved and trusted. Chastened by a realization of her own lack of moral fibre, she reminded herself that she was in love with Adam. How was he managing, she wondered? She hoped he wasn’t involving himself in some rash opposition to those who would be Austria’s new rulers. But of course he would.
She
would be, if she were with him. Personal safety had to take second place when set against the creeping evil of Fascism. Adam was convinced that Hitler was about to order his tanks into Vienna and he had told her he wanted to put some steel into the spines of those who would oppose the takeover of their country. She shivered.
‘What are you thinking about, V?’ Edward inquired gently.
‘Oh, nothing.’
‘Was it Adam? I expect you wish he were here.’
‘No, I am happy here with you . . .’ She put a hand out to touch his. ‘On a job, so to speak. I’ll say it again, if you like. I do love you. But . . .’
‘You love him more?’‘
‘Differently. I’m faithful to you in my fashion, as the song has it. I’m sorry if it’s not enough. Please don’t look like that. I was just hoping he was not in danger.’
‘Why should he be?’
‘He couldn’t say much in his note but I think he may have had to go to Vienna. Things seem to be coming to a head there and I know he was involved in setting up some sort of opposition network.’
‘That will be dangerous and almost certainly futile.’
‘Yes, he knows that but he doesn’t want history to say that there were no Germans who stood up to Hitler. Anyway, he seems to think that, because of his family, they wouldn’t dare touch him but I’m sure he’s wrong. They don’t care who they have to kill to get what they want. I can’t bear the idea of him being sent to some awful camp and . . .’
‘He can look after himself,’ Edward said comfortably, irritated that Adam should spoil this perfect moment.
Verity made a little moue. ‘Oh well, let’s get down to business. I favour the direct approach. We simply drive up to the Clinic, ask to see Maggie and find out how she’s faring. She should have had her operation by now and be recuperating. I wonder if Edmund is with her?’
‘I think our first task ought to be to locate Graham Harvey – if indeed he’s here. I have a horrid feeling he may be up to something,’ Edward countered.
‘You’re sure you’re not just making it up – that he’s got it in for Simon – because he’s a Communist and doesn’t care to be patronized?’
‘It’s more than that. There’s a definite grudge there but I’m still not sure what it is – but I mean to ask him,’ he said grimly. ‘In a strange way, I have come rather to like him, or, at least, admire him. He’s got some sort of integrity. His principles aren’t quite mine but I respect them.’
Verity was surprised and rather pleased. It was what made Edward so interesting – she could never quite forecast his views on anything or anyone. ‘If he’s holed up in Cannes, he won’t be at a smart hotel like this. He hasn’t a penny to his name.’
‘I know and he won’t be able to afford to stay here long wherever he is. This isn’t a cheap town. I’ve no idea how to track him down but I have a feeling he will make his presence known somehow.’
‘He’s not a killer, you know,’ she said defiantly.
‘I don’t say he is but he may be provoked into doing something stupid.’
‘Why don’t I go and see Natalie and find out what she knows? If Graham is after Simon, she may have seen him hanging about.’
‘It’s a long shot,’ Edward said gloomily. ‘Does Harvey know about Natalie?’
‘I think he does,’ Verity said, laying down her cigar which was now beginning to make her feel sick. ‘He said something to me about Simon’s mistresses although he didn’t mention Natalie by name. Damn it – now we are here, I’m beginning to think it’s all a wild goose chase. We can’t even be sure he’s in Cannes. He might be in London. He might be anywhere.’
The next morning, over strong black coffee, orange juice and croissants that melted in the mouth, they decided to separate – Verity to take a taxi along the coast to Nice to find Natalie Sarrault, Edward to visit Maggie Cardew in the Clinic. They agreed to meet back at the hotel for a late lunch and reconsider their plan of action in the light of what they had discovered.