The Quality of Mercy (30 page)

‘Sadie?’ Edward shuddered. ‘I agree. Don’t harangue me. I’m on Frank’s side. I have no regrets about bringing them together.’

‘Another of those “unintended consequences” we were talking about. If you hadn’t met Sunny on the road like that . . . If his Rolls had been more reliable . . .’

‘She’s beautiful, sensible and just the sort of girl he needs. She’ll make him an excellent wife. Does that satisfy you?’

‘And, one day, a good duchess – if there still are duchesses,’ Verity added. ‘I’ll tell you what, Edward,’ she said, turning to look him in the face, ‘you’ve probably forgotten but, before we were interrupted, you asked me to marry you.’

‘I hadn’t forgotten,’ he said gravely.

‘I
will
marry you but only when Frank marries Sunita. I couldn’t marry into a family whose head objects to his son marrying a rich, beautiful girl – the daughter of a maharaja no less – just because she’s got brown skin.’

‘V!’ Edward protested weakly. ‘No one’s objecting to anything.’

Verity took no notice. She was on her hobby horse and she refused to get off. ‘I’m sorry, Edward, but I mean it. Look on this as a sort of test. You fancy yourself as a negotiator, so negotiate this. Then I’ll marry you – but not in a church, of course.’

Edward closed his eyes for a moment. Weren’t proposals of marriage supposed to be met with timorous cries of pleasure and gratitude on the girl’s part? Why did Verity have to be the one who saw it as a challenge to her sense of self?

‘Do you love me?’ he asked at last.

‘That’s got nothing to do with it. I
do
love you,’ she said, relenting a little. ‘You know I love you but marriage is a different kettle of fish. You know how suspicious I am of it. If you can prove to me that it works, then I’ll marry you. Otherwise I will be your concubine. That’s such a lovely word, isn’t it?’ She smiled the smile he so loved. ‘And you haven’t got too much time. I’m off to Prague in a few days and goodness only knows who I might meet there.’

‘V!’

‘Just joking, silly!’ she said, putting her arm around him. ‘I love you and I’ll be proud to be your wife. It’s not something I ever thought I’d say but . . .’

Edward pressed his lips to hers, stifling any further protestations or qualifications.

‘I’m going up to London to see a man about a dog,’ Edward said facetiously at breakfast the next morning.

Verity lifted her head from her cornflakes. ‘Will you give me a lift? My father’s in town and wants to see me. I don’t know how he knew I was here but I’ve just had a telegram from him.’

Verity very rarely saw her father who was a busy lawyer but when he summoned her, she always came running. Edward wondered if she would tell him about his proposal – even ask his permission to marry. He knew better than to voice his thoughts.

‘And Joe wants me to come in to the paper to discuss my new posting,’ Verity added.

‘Two excuses to leave us?’ the Duke said with ponderous good humour. ‘You want to escape the children? You know the spotty one – I think he’s called Emil – has broken the Ming vase in the hall? Mind you, I never liked it.’

‘Not escape the children exactly. I hope you don’t think I’m running away from my responsibilities but . . . Well, I can’t do much here.’ Verity managed a smile. ‘Connie, you’ve got a good team to look after them until they can be placed. You don’t need me, do you?’

‘No, dear. You go and do the job you are meant to be doing. It’s much more important than being a nursemaid.’

‘Now you are making me feel guilty. You know they’ve got another train planned – did I tell you, Connie? Don’t worry!’ she laughed, seeing her face. ‘They’re not coming here. The
New Gazette
has really got behind the
Kindertransport
as it’s being called. You remember when Joe organized that ship to bring refugees from Spain? He sees this as a natural follow-up. His readers love it – feeling generous – and the circulation has shot up.’

‘Don’t be cynical, V,’ Edward put in.

‘I’m not. I’m a realist. Joe can get the
New Gazette
to do good deeds but there has to be some sort of reward.’

‘So, you’re coming with me to London?’

‘Yes please.’ Verity knew she must not outstay her welcome and, without Edward to protect her, Gerald might give her one of his fierce stares which she found so disconcerting. Connie, she noticed, kept on looking at her oddly, as though suspecting she had something to announce and not understanding why nothing was said. ‘Joe telephoned yesterday to say everything is almost ready for me to go to Prague. Apparently, things are really beginning to hot up there.’

‘You’ll be quite safe in Prague, my dear,’ the Duke said comfortably. ‘Hitler will not invade – take my word for it. He’s got enough on his plate absorbing Austria into his
Grossreich
or whatever he calls it.’

Edward saw Verity wrestle with her need to correct him and was glad to see that she was able to restrain herself.

The Duke’s complacency and the fact that he had made what passed for a joke suggested to Edward that his brother was reconciled to Frank’s marriage. Sunita had accepted with good grace the Duke’s request that she and Frank had a secret six-month engagement before anything was announced publicly and they had gone off happily to tell Sunny and Ayesha.

In the Lagonda, on their way to London, Verity leant over and put her hand on Edward’s knee. He jerked the steering wheel and almost hit the kerb.

‘I’m such a cow, aren’t I, Edward? Any decent girl would be tickled pink to be asked to be your wife. I just use it as a weapon to beat you about the head. I want you to know that it means a great deal to me . . . it means
everything
to have you beside me. No, don’t interrupt! I want to say this while I can. I love you and the proof is that I will marry you – since it means so much to you – even though I always swore I wouldn’t marry. You are the only man I trust and that’s important because, as I have found out, love without trust means nothing. I’ll do my best to make you happy but, if I fail, you must never think it was because I didn’t love you. Don’t say anything!’

Edward was silent but he was deeply moved. This bellicose, awkward, courageous girl had decided to marry him against all her principles. It was enough. He had won through.

Guy Liddell looked at Edward over the top of his spectacles and then looked back at the papers on his desk. Edward was reminded, as Verity had been reminded in Mountbatten’s drawing-room, of uneasy interviews with school authorities. It was in just such a way his housemaster – m’tutor, as he was known to the boys in his care – had studied his report before sealing it for despatch to his father. Since the old Duke never referred to them in his presence and, Edward was inclined to think, never even read them, he was able to approach these inquisitions without due concern. This was different. If Liddell approved of what he had done he might be offered a permanent berth in the department. If he was judged to have failed, he would have to look elsewhere for war work when the time came.

Liddell took off his spectacles and stared at Edward. The little moustache on his upper lip quivered and his eyes were icy. It was hard, Edward thought, to imagine him dancing or playing the cello yet he had been told on the best authority the man in front of him was more than proficient in both activities. No, he looked like a thousand other ex-officers, which only went to prove the old axiom that one could not judge a book by its cover.

‘In America!’ Liddell jabbed at the paper on his desk. ‘Braken has thrown in his lot with our cousins across the water. How do you account for your failure, Corinth?’

‘I did what I could. I did not like the man but we got on well enough.’

‘You didn’t like the man? What has that got to do with anything?’ Liddell asked angrily. ‘Your job was to get him into our fold and you failed.’

‘You told me not to suck up to him too obviously. You said I ought to make him want to join us but not bribe him.’

‘You think he was bribed?’

‘You told me Braken was a snob. He may be a snob but what he wants more than invitations to grand country houses is money. The Americans have more of it than we have. It’s as simple as that.’

‘Who offered him money? Who handled him?’

‘It is in my report, sir. Stuart Rose who, I was informed, was of no account – because he was a Communist and a homosexual – turned out to be an agent of the American intelligence service. Braken found Rose and what he had to offer more attractive than anything we could offer him.’

‘You seem very cool about your failure.’

‘I am a realist. I can only do what I can do. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn’t.’

‘Is that the way you judge your unfortunate interference in the marital affairs of that arms-dealer fellow?’

‘I very much regret what happened. Mandl is an out-and-out Nazi. He had a better gun to sell than we have – Mountbatten says so and I believe him – but there was no possibility of the British Government doing business with him. What happened to Joan Miller was a tragedy but it had no effect on what I was doing for you.’

Liddell grunted but said nothing for a minute. He turned over several pages of the document on the desk in front of him.

‘This is better. You found a way of spiriting the nuclear scientist – Fritz Lange – out of the country before anyone in Vienna noticed.’

‘Ruthven-Stuart’s a good man, sir.’

‘But it was you who set it up.’

‘I had help from an Austrian patriot.’

‘Don’t be so infernally modest, man,’ Liddell said with the hint of a smile. ‘You won’t get much praise from me so you might as well enjoy whatever comes your way.’ Edward held his peace. ‘Rutherford says he’s been an eye-opener. He had no idea the Germans were so advanced. Well done – good work! We’re pleased with you.’

Liddell really did smile now and Edward allowed himself a slight nod of acceptance.

‘What do you make of Unity Mitford, by the way? You saw she was arrested in Hyde Park the other day for causing a disturbance at a Socialist rally? She was wearing a swastika and shouting Fascist slogans.’

‘Mad and bad but no real danger, I would say. Miss Browne says she fancies she’s in love with Hitler. She’s just a silly girl – nothing worse.’

Liddell went back to grunting. Then he said, ‘Anything else to report? What about the death of that Jew your young lady brought over? Was that just an accident, as the police decided?’

‘At first, I thought it might have been murder but, in the end, I came to the conclusion that it
was
an accident. I did not like the way the police came to that decision without a proper investigation – just because he was a Jew and so as not to annoy Mountbatten and bring him unwelcome publicity.’

Liddell grunted. ‘I don’t think you are being quite fair. Beeston’s an oaf, I grant you, but he wouldn’t say something was an accident if he knew it wasn’t.’

‘I beg to differ, sir.’

‘And Mountbatten? What’s your assessment of him? Is the man a charlatan?’

‘Not at all. He may be a little vain but he’s no fool and as a result of his efforts, some important modifications have been carried out to naval gunnery. He may not have much imagination but he’s very thorough. I give him full marks for determination. He could have wasted his life away as a playboy but he’s set on making it to the top of his profession. Mr Churchill thinks he has it in him to do it on his own abilities.’

Liddell grunted again but this time his grunt sounded surprised. ‘You’re very sure of yourself, Corinth.’

‘You asked for my assessment, sir,’ Edward said, feeling rather hard done by.

‘Yes, yes,’ Liddell agreed impatiently. ‘Well, that’s all then, Corinth. Good work – keep it up.’

‘Does that mean you will give me other assignments?’

Liddell looked at him and Edward thought there was a suspicion of a twinkle in his cold grey eyes. ‘Would you like that?’

‘I would, sir. In the event of war, I shall be too old to join the army without making an ass of myself. I would like to be of use to my country some other way, if that’s possible.’

‘It’s possible,’ Liddell said with a brusque nod. ‘You’ll just have to wait and see.’

‘But there’s not much time. War may be declared sooner . . .’

‘There’ll be no war for another year at least,’ Liddell said decisively. ‘Take my word for it.’

Verity was made to wait. Lord Weaver’s secretary explained that the great man was discussing with the editor the government’s surprise decision to spend eleven million pounds on new aerodromes but Verity was sure that it was his way of putting her in her place. She might be one of Fleet Street’s star foreign correspondents and his particular protégée but that did not mean she was indispensable.

She was in a fever because she was dining that evening with her father at the Ritz. It was such a rare treat – he was always so busy and, of course, Verity was now so often abroad – that she wanted to look her best. She had to have her hair done. She had managed to get an appointment with Ray at four and she knew he hated clients being late. He would take his revenge with painful tugs and twists but he was still the best hairdresser in London.

It was ten past three before the editor came out of Weaver’s office, throwing her a glance of undisguised dislike. She had never got on with his predecessor and had been full of hope when Michael Henderson was appointed. She had heard good things of him and, under different circumstances, they would probably have got on well. The problem was that Henderson thought he could rewrite her reports. She was adamant that he could not do this and had appealed to Weaver who came down in her favour. As a result, Henderson refused to have anything more to do with her and tried whenever possible to spike her stories.

‘Verity! My dear – I hope you haven’t been waiting long,’ Weaver greeted her disingenuously. ‘You know what a gasbag that man is. By the way, he doesn’t seem to like you much. Recommended you be fired. No need to look like that. I wouldn’t fire you. Annoying my editor gives me too much pleasure – it reminds him who’s the boss around here.’ He smirked and Verity tried to smile. ‘Now, I haven’t a lot of time, I’m dining with the Prime Minister tonight.’ He could never resist bragging to his staff of the circles in which he moved.