In the Mouth of the Tiger (50 page)

‘I would know what you're talking about if you explained to me what Roedean is. Or was,' I said.

Violet continued to stare at me. ‘Roedean School is the best girl's school in the country,' she said. ‘Every properly brought up lady in England knows
that.' She suddenly sat up straighter in her chair, still staring at me. ‘I don't think you're English at all. I think you're a foreigner. A Kraut. Or even worse, a Russian. Probably a Bolshevik.'

I was so shocked that for a moment I couldn't move. I just sat there with a vague, silly smile on my face. Then I sat up hurriedly. ‘I beg your pardon. I don't think I heard what you said.' I simply couldn't believe someone could be so rude.

‘I said I don't think you belong here,' Violet went on. ‘You're not English, and you're probably not a lady. This is a very select group and I don't know why on earth they let you join us.'

I looked around for help but Mary was still playing with the children on the croquet lawn and the two or three women who had heard the exchange were looking away, not wanting to be involved. Only Pamela was looking at me sympathetically. But she was clearly stricken and obviously couldn't help.

‘I don't think you are being very ladylike,' I said. It was the best I could manage, but it felt inadequate and a little childish.

‘Sitting there in your fancy new jodhpurs as if you know how to ride!' Violet went on relentlessly. ‘They've still got the Bond Street label on them, for heaven's sake! I bet you don't know one end of a horse from another. All of us here have ridden horses since Pony Club days. Why do you bother to pretend?'

I remembered Denis once saying that if you have nothing to say, say nothing. So I just sat there, my heart beating so fast I could see the front of my blouse shaking.

‘You're either a spy or a social climber. I don't know what's worse.' Suddenly I couldn't stand it any longer. I got up, trying to think of something cool and appropriate to throw over my shoulder but nothing came. So I walked away. I even forgot Tony in my confusion, and staggered when he cannoned into me. ‘Can I play some more?' he pleaded grabbing my hand. ‘I'm learning cricket! Please can I play some more?'

‘Are you going for a rest?' Mary asked. ‘I'll bring him up to you later if you like.'

‘That would be awfully kind,' I mumbled. I heard Violet titter behind me and hurried off towards the sanctuary of the house, the only thought in my mind the need to escape. As I hurried, stiff and self-conscious, I heard the sound of a horn from one of the marshals at the point-to-point, made indescribably sweet by distance. I could hardly believe that just seconds
before I had been part of it all, part the casual bustle of an English country weekend.

And now I was an outcast.

Chapter Nineteen

I
retreated to our room and stood at the window looking out at the sunlit garden below that had been the scene of my humiliation. I felt thoroughly ashamed of myself and my cheeks still flamed with mortification. I'd cut and run, leaving the field to Violet, and leaving uncontested the accusations that she had made. That I was not English but a foreigner, probably a Russian. That I was no lady. And that I was probably a spy. These were terrible accusations to make, particularly given that the purpose of the weekend at Millward Hall was to foster links within the Intelligence community.

Surely nobody could afford to allow a stranger – and a
Russian
stranger at that – to wander around on the loose under those circumstances.

I could imagine the women below me discussing the situation in shocked whispers, and deciding that those in charge simply had to be told. Not even Mary would dare to defend me. After all, the truth was that I
was
Russian, and that I did have an assumed name. It would be more than her husband's career was worth to stand up for me.

Denis and I would be chucked out of Millward Hall. That seemed inevitable. I could picture the course of events in all its dreadful detail. Denis arriving back from his ride, happy and relaxed, to find his colleagues edging away from him, talking amongst themselves, pointing towards me. The inevitable ‘quiet word' in the library. Then the two of us packing our things, loading up the Morris and driving away, our tails between our legs. And all my fault, because I had failed to stand up for myself.

I simply could not let it happen. I would have to go back down and face Violet, even though my knees were shaking and I felt physically sick at the thought.

As soon as I had made the decision a strange calmness came over me.
I descended the stairs as if in a dream, smiled courteously to one of the servants as he passed me with a tray, and then strolled out into the garden with my hands linked nonchalantly behind my back. It all seemed to be happening to someone else and I was just a spectator.

Mary was still playing with the children on the croquet lawn and the women in the circle of cane chairs were still gossiping. Violet's attack, which seemed in my mind to have happened a lifetime ago, must have occurred only minutes before. The only thing that had changed was that tea was being served, and my chair had been pushed out of the circle so that it leaned drunkenly over a garden bed. Conversation ceased as I walked up to Violet and stood looking down at her. She ignored me and just sat there nibbling on a slice of cake.

‘Would you care to ride with me?' I asked. ‘I think we could catch up with the point-to-point crowd if you're half the rider you say you are.'

At first I thought Violet was going to continue to ignore me, but then she put her plate down on the grass and stood up.

‘You think I haven't got my riding kit with me, don't you?' she said. ‘Well, it so happens that I do. Harry and I are going to ride home together later. I'll see you at the stables in ten minutes.'

The stablehand was reluctant to saddle up for us, but he finally produced two horses. One was a decent enough animal, a brown mare, quite well proportioned and with a placid nature. The other was a big, black, raw-boned stallion, a spirited beast with rolling eyes and froth already foaming around his bit.

‘I'll take the stallion, if Mrs Drax-Darnley doesn't mind,' I said. ‘But I want the tack changed. I prefer to ride without a martingale.' The stablehand stared at me. But Denis thought a martingale was unnecessarily restrictive and never rode with one, and if I was going to die that afternoon, I wanted to die on my own terms, doing things the way Denis and I did them.

And I really did think that I might die before the ride was over.

I'd never been good at mounting, and this occasion was no exception. As I gripped the pommel and slipped my left foot into the stirrup my horse moved sideways so that I had to hop awkwardly to keep up. Violet tittered and I felt my cheeks burning with shame, or rage at my own ineptitude, I don't know which.

And then it happened. The gods leant down and touched me.

That is the only way that I can describe a feeling I sometimes get. It
happens very rarely, and only when I'm facing a challenge that scares me witless. It happened once when I thought I was drowning off a Penang beach as a child, and it happened again when Robbie died and I had to walk alone through the jungle to the kampong at Kuala Rau. It's as if my heart gives a sudden triple beat that suffuses first my chest then the whole of my being with warmth and a heady feeling of invincibility. It happened there in the stable courtyard, and I knew on the instant that everything was going to be all right. I swung up effortlessly into the saddle and the stallion settled immediately, as if knowing his rider had been touched by the gods.

‘I've seen more mettle in a cockroach,' I said coldly. ‘But he'll do.'

I cantered out of yard without looking back, and swung my horse towards the distant sounds of the point-to-point. It was open parkland, with scattered oaks and elms and the occasional clump of elder. I wasn't quite sure where I was going so after a while I eased up, allowing Violet to draw up beside me.

‘You've got him well in hand,' she called breathlessly.

‘You lead the way,' I shouted back. ‘Take us to the starting point and we'll follow the field.'

I don't think I've ever been so much in control of my mount, and when Violet kicked her horse into a gallop I immediately did the same and felt a surge of power beneath me as we caught up in a couple of strides.

‘Beat you there!' Violet shouted and began riding hard with hands and heels. But it was never a match. Within a stride or two I had again drawn abreast, and it was clear that I could draw ahead whenever I wished.

We were crossing a broad open field when Violet began veering to her right and across my path, gesturing to me with her right arm to change direction. A hedgerow ran across our new path and I realised that she intended us to jump it. I didn't particularly enjoy jumping and in normal circumstances would never have taken on an unknown obstacle. But these were not normal circumstances and I set my horse for the jump without hesitation. Thirty yards from the hedgerow I felt the stallion change gait and then lengthen his stride: clearly he knew precisely what was ahead of us. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Violet hauling on the reins, trying desperately to turn her mare to the left and out of the jump. It was far too late for me to abort and the thought of trying didn't even enter my head. Instead I concentrated on helping my own mount and we worked together beautifully, taking off to clear – not a single hedge, but double hedgerows with a narrow road between. It was a mighty jump, quite beyond most horses, but we cleared it with room
to spare. I looked back but there was no trace of Violet or her horse. Clearly they had fallen, and I turned and immediately lined up for a return jump. This time we just cleared the double hedge and I pulled up beside the fallen horse and rider.

Violet was obviously unhurt, sitting upright and wiping the mud off her face. But her horse had fallen awkwardly, half in and half out of the first hedge, and her near foreleg was clearly broken. I dismounted and crouched by the poor beast's head, trying to calm her as she tried to rise. ‘What on earth were you trying to do?' I shouted at Violet. ‘She's broken a leg. They'll have to put her down.' I was so angry at Violet's stupidity, and so shocked by the senseless harm it had caused an innocent animal, that my fear of her vicious tongue had completely disappeared – replaced by wonder that I could ever have taken her so seriously.

Violet sat there, staring at the horse and then at me. I think she might have been a little stunned, probably more by her stupidity than by the fall. Because we both knew precisely what she had tried to do. She had set me a jump she thought beyond me, planning all the time to pull out before her horse was committed. I think what went wrong was that her horse was an instinctive follower. It had sensed mine gathering himself to jump and had followed suit. I had seen that happen before in KL: strong horses setting the agenda for their followers, and woe betide the puny human rider who sought to intervene.

Within minutes there were riders all round us, and Harry Drax-Darnley had leapt down to take his wife in his arms. ‘What on earth were you trying to do?' he asked. ‘Surely you weren't trying to jump Halfpenny Lane?'

For a second, Violet's eyes met mine. She must have seen implacable anger in them because she hung her head. ‘I was showing off, I'm afraid, Harry. And then my nerve broke.' It must have cost her a lot to say that, but she knew it was the only way out that I would allow her.

The brown mare was called Chuckles, and she had been a sentimental favourite at the Millward Hall stables. She was put down where she fell, and though her carcass had been taken away it was there that Denis and I scattered fresh oak leaves in her memory. Oak leaves for bravery, because Chuckles had died trying to do her duty. She had simply not understood Violet's sudden, irrational attempt to stop her jumping Halfpenny Lane. Nobody could, and I think Violet least of all.

Violet and I ran into each other going into dinner that night. I stood
there, feeling gracious in my dark blue silk evening gown and with my sapphire gleaming at my throat, and she smiled at me almost shyly.

‘Am I forgiven?' she had asked, her blue eyes anxious. ‘I suppose I thought it was just a game. I really am sorry.'

I had paused, hating her for killing Chuckles, hating her for trying to kill me and my unborn baby. I didn't speak but I gave a gracious smile and inclined my head. One or two of the others were watching. Stewart Menzies, Admiral Godfrey, young Fleming. They knew perfectly well what had happened and they nodded to each other approvingly at my display of grace.

Of course it was a game.

Dinner was not held in the gallery where we had taken lunch, but in a much grander room, a formal banquet room panelled in white enamelled timber and warmed by a crackling fire. Initially, the conversation had been all about the afternoon's riding, with stories of derring-do and of catastrophes just avoided. At one point Admiral Godfrey beamed down the table towards me: ‘Not content to jump Halfpenny Lane once, were you, my dear? Had to do it twice.'

I smiled self-deprecatingly. ‘The first time was an accident, Admiral. The second time was sheer carelessness.' By tacit consent, the death of poor Chuckles was tactfully ignored.

Later on in the meal, Stewart Menzies began to talk about the plans he had for the Far East when he became ‘C'. ‘Intelligence work has changed, or at least it's going to change if I have any say about it,' he said, glancing around to make sure he had an audience.

‘In what way, Stewart?' Alan asked.

Stewart dusted his mouth carefully with his napkin. ‘Radio. And public relations,' he said cryptically. He waited a moment, allowing curiosity to grow before proceeding. ‘First of all, radio. Since the last war radio has become the primary means of communication. Governments talk to governments by radio, and commanders talk to their subordinates in the field by radio. If we can read this traffic, and more importantly, if we can understand it because it will be in code, we are halfway to winning any war we get involved in.' He turned to Lieutenant Draper. ‘That's why Robert's job in Singapore is going to be so important if the Japanese attack. He'll be the Empire's ears in that part of the world.'