“Yes, please do so, Hanson. Now that everyone has arrived.”
Inclining his head, Hanson turned on his heel, beckoned Gordon Lane, the underbutler, to come in with the largest tea trolley filled with a silver tea service, cups, saucers, and plates. Gordon was followed by two of the maids, also pushing trolleys laden with tea sandwiches, scones, strawberry jam, and Cornish cream. There was a cream cake and a variety of delectable pastries.
Cups were filled, plates of sandwiches were passed around, and once again afternoon tea was served in the same way it had been for years. It was a ritual everyone enjoyed.
* * *
Once the staff had moved the trolleys to the back of the yellow drawing room, and everyone had settled, Lady Gwendolyn spoke out. “Now come along, DeLacy, do give us the news from Hollywood, U.S.A.”
“I will indeed,” DeLacy answered, putting her cup in its saucer. “Dulcie and James are well, as are the twins, Rosalind and Juliet, and little Henry. In fact, the children are flourishing. James is halfway through his new movie and enjoying working at Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. However, Dulcie and James want to come back to England.” DeLacy paused and gave Great-Aunt Gwendolyn a pointed look. Her eyes went to her father, Charlotte, and her sister Diedre.
Lady Gwendolyn said, “I believe we know the reason. A true-blue Englishman like James must feel it’s his duty to be on these shores at this particular and dangerous moment in history. And knowing Dulcie I’m quite certain she feels exactly the same way.”
“Oh, no question about that,” Charles said, then glancing at Charlotte he asked, “Don’t you agree?”
“I do indeed. And you know that Dulcie’s an Englishwoman down to her toes.”
Miles, jumping into the conversation, exclaimed, “I suppose they’ll leave California when he finishes the picture.”
“Hopefully, yes,” DeLacy answered her brother. “However, according to Dulcie there might be a problem. James has a big contract with MGM. Apparently Louis B. Mayer, who runs the company, is a great fan of his and signing James was a coup for him. Dulcie thinks he might not want to release James from the contract.”
“Because he has other films to make, I suspect,” Diedre asserted. “A signed contract is very binding as you well know. Not only that, James is a big money earner for MGM. Of course they won’t want to let him go.”
Cecily interjected, “But everything’s negotiable. I’m sure there is a way around the problem, should one develop.” Glancing at DeLacy, she smiled at her dearest friend. “What about Felix and Constance? I thought they were in America at the moment, DeLacy.”
“Yes, in New York. They’ll be going out to Los Angeles next week. Dulcie’s praying Felix will be able to handle Mr. Louis B. Mayer.”
Staring at DeLacy curiously, Miles asked, “Why do you refer to him by his full name? It sounds so odd.”
DeLacy laughed. “It does, doesn’t it? But that’s how Dulcie refers to him in her letters, and I guess I just picked up on it, repeated her words.”
“I am perfectly certain Felix Lambert is a great agent and quite a crafty fox and Constance as well,” Diedre said. “Leave it to them. They’ll come up with something. After all, they are professionals. I’ve discovered it’s always a good idea to leave it to the pros.”
Cecily nodded. “I couldn’t agree more. And from my experience with him, Felix is bound to pull something out of the hat.”
DeLacy nodded. She then addressed her father. “You’ll be very pleased to know Dulcie is thrilled with the way I’ve been running her art gallery. Especially since we’ve been making huge profits, and especially this year. It should make you happy as well, Papa. You’ll be getting quite a large check from the gallery for the Cavendon Restoration Fund.”
“I am delighted, DeLacy. Well done, darling,” her father said.
“I say, that’s great news, old thing,” Miles exclaimed. Rising, he went over to his sister, leaned over and hugged her. “And it’s true, you have been doing a fabulous job.”
DeLacy smiled up at him. “Thanks to you. You’re the one who has trained me how to run a business. And so has Ceci.”
Miles half smiled, and went over to the children’s table. Before he could say a word, a little chant started. “Late, late, late. Late, late, late.”
He ruffled the hair of Walter, who was the leader of this choir. “You’re all little rascals. Very naughty boys, don’t you know?”
“Am I a naughty girl?” Venetia asked, staring at her father, her eyes dancing.
Walking around the table, standing next to her chair, he said softly, “I suppose you are. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you, Venetia.” He smoothed his hand over her white-blond hair. “And you are definitely my favorite daughter.”
“Oh, Daddy, don’t be silly. There’s only me.”
“I sometimes feel there are quite a few of you lurking around.”
Five
The arrangement they had made was to meet in the conservatory just before dinner, but Diedre was not there when Cecily arrived. Walking across the terra-cotta floor, she went over to the French doors, stood looking out at the moors rolling toward the North Sea, admiring the view. It was familiar but never failed to please her.
Twilight had descended and the sky was already growing darker. It was a deeper blue and the far horizon was streaked with a mixture of colors … lavender and apricot, and a deep pink bleeding into red.
Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight, red sky at morning, shepherd’s warning. These words ran through her head as she remembered how often her mother had said them to her when she was a child.
Turning away from the window, Cecily strolled over to the desk, ran one hand across the mellow old wood, and lovingly so. How often she had stood here, talking to Daphne, who had made it her desk, having commandeered it when she was seventeen and facing terrible problems in her young life.
The conservatory had soon become Daphne’s private place, her haven. None of the family ever used it, and so she had taken it for herself.
From here she had planned her marriage to Hugo, a joyful event, and later it had become her command post.
This was when her mother, Felicity, had run off to join Lawrence Pierce in London, leaving the entire family shocked, her husband stunned, and her children shaken up. And she had never come back.
Daphne had had no alternative but to take over the running of Cavendon Hall for her father; she had done an excellent job until Charlotte became chatelaine once she was married to the earl.
After a moment longer, lingering near the desk, Cecily walked across to a wicker chair, part of a grouping, and sat down. Her thoughts turned to Diedre. Cecily knew that the best person to talk to about Greta’s family and their predicament was Diedre. In 1914 she had gone to work at the War Office and had remained there after the Great War had ended. Only when she became engaged to Paul Drummond did she resign.
Cecily knew how grief-stricken she was when Paul had unexpectedly, and very suddenly, died; she had helped her as best she could through that devastating first year of widowhood. One day, quite unexpectedly, Diedre had confided she was returning to her old position at the War Office. She had explained that work would ease her grief and loneliness. Also, she had explained, there was going to be a war, a very bad war, and she would be needed.
Although Diedre had never discussed her job at the War Office, Cecily was quite positive she worked in intelligence, and Miles agreed with her. Therefore, if anyone knew how to extract someone from a foreign country, she was sure it was Diedre.
Cecily’s thoughts now turned to Greta. She had grown very attached to her and cared about her, worried about her well-being. Her assistant was extremely sincere, had enormous integrity, and was a hard worker; certainly Cecily had grown to depend on her. She had great insight into people, especially those who were meaningful to her; Cecily knew how much Greta was suffering because of the situation that existed in Berlin.
Greta’s father was a well-known profe
ssor of philosophy. He had studied Greats at Oxford years ago, and become an expert on Plato. In fact, he ranked as one of the greatest professors in his field. Greta adored him. She was fond of her stepmother, Heddy. As for her two half siblings, Kurt and Elise, they were almost like her own children, and she worried about them constantly. Cecily hated to see her suffer and was mortified that she herself could do nothing to help. Leaning back in the wicker chair, Cecily closed her eyes, her mind whirling with all manner of wild ideas about rescuing them.
* * *
The sharp click of high heels on stone brought Cecily up sharply in her chair when Diedre strode into the conservatory, looking elegant in a navy-blue silk dress which Cecily had made for her.
It was cut on the bias and made Diedre look taller and even svelter than ever. But then Diedre had long been known for her chic fashion sense, spending much of her time in London.
“You always make my clothes look so much better,” Cecily exclaimed, her face filled with smiles.
Diedre laughed. “Thank you for the lovely compliment, but it is the dress, you know that. And it’s become my favorite.” Diedre sat down in a chair, and said, “You sounded anxious earlier. So let’s talk. What’s wrong?” Like Great-Aunt Gwendolyn, Diedre got straight to the point.
“Greta’s family is Jewish. They need to get out of Germany. I would like to help her if I can. But I need advice. Your advice, actually.”
When she heard these words Diedre stiffened in the chair. She shook her head vehemently. “That’s a tough one. Hard. And there’s no advice I can give you, Ceci.”
“Her father, stepmother, and their two children don’t have the proper travel documents apparently. They’re at their wit’s end,” Cecily said, and fell silent when she became aware of the look of dismay on Diedre’s face, the fear in her eyes.
Diedre, who was acutely observant, understood people, knew what made them tick, was aware Cecily was being genuine and sincere about wanting to help Greta. Yet Cecily was unaware how hard a task that would be. Not wishing to be too quickly dismissive, Diedre now said, “You told me a bit about Greta, when she first came to work for you. Please fill me in again. I’ve forgotten most of what you told me.”
“Greta is German by birth, like her father. But her mother, who died when she was a child, was English. Her name was Antonia Nolan. After her mother’s untimely death, her father sent her to live with her grandmother, Catherine Nolan, who’s still alive, by the way, and lives in Hampstead. It was she who brought Greta up.”
“Now it’s all coming back to me,” Diedre murmured. “She went to Oxford, didn’t she?”
“Yes, following in her father’s footsteps. Eventually, her father remarried, but Greta stayed on in London, preferring her life here.”
Diedre nodded. “And I remember something else. Greta married an Englishman, an architect.”
“That’s right, Roy Chalmers. Sadly he died of leukemia about six years ago now.”
“Just out of curiosity, is Greta a British citizen? It occurs to me that with an English mother and an English husband, she must have become one. Didn’t she?”
“Yes, and she has a British passport.”
“I’m glad to hear it, and that passport is important here, a necessity in wartime. It won’t help her family in any way, but I’m relieved to know she can’t be interned, anything like that.”
“She could be if she were a German? Is that what you’re saying, Diedre?”
“I am.”
“Well, she’s all right, protected by her English nationality. Still, she has been talking about going to Berlin to check up on her father, assess the situation,” Cecily murmured.
“She mustn’t go! No, no, that’s dangerous.”
“Perhaps I could go instead. What do you think?”
“Absolutely not. I won’t let you. There’s something else … her father might well be under scrutiny. He’s a famous man, could easily be on a list of troublemakers, so-called. Being watched and not knowing it.”
“She’ll be very upset if that’s true,” Cecily exclaimed.
“Don’t tell her what I said. She must not know. And she certainly cannot go to Berlin.” Diedre sounded stern as she continued. “Look, I’m sorry to be negative, but the situation in Berlin is worse than you can possibly know, or even imagine. It’s dangerous, full of thugs, foreigners, and Nazis, a sinister city. No one is safe.”
Cecily nodded. “I understand. And I do make a point of listening to you. You’re the one who knows what’s going on there better than anyone else I know.”
“A few months ago a new rule was made. Jews were forced to go and have their passports stamped with the letter J for Jew.” Diedre said this quietly.
Cecily gaped at her, aghast. “What a hideous rule!”
“Yes, it is. Everything they do is hideous. No, horrific.” Diedre leaned forward, coming closer to her sister-in-law, went on in a lower voice, “Hitler was made chancellor of Germany in January of 1933, and only months later he built the first concentration camp. It was opened in March of 1933. It’s called Dachau.”
“Jews are interned in the camp. Is that its purpose?”
“That’s right, it is. And so are others … Catholics, and dissident politicians, and anyone who doesn’t agree with the Nazi credo. Anti-Semitism is rife. Hatreds fester. Violence is paramount. And people are arrested for no reason at all.” Diedre gave Cecily a long hard stare. “Hitler became a virtual dictator in January of 1933 and he means to swallow up as much of Central Europe as he can.”
“Why? Power? Does he want to rule the world?”
“Yes. But he also wants land, the blessed space, to breed his perfect race of Aryans. Lebensraum … that’s what he calls it … this dream of land, on which to create a master race.”
Cecily was pale, and her eyes were fastened on Diedre. “I don’t frighten easily but what you’re telling me does make me worried,” Cecily confided softly.
“Worry if you want, Cecily, but don’t be afraid. We must all be brave and strong. And we must make sure not to have our necks under the German jackboot. That would be disastrous.”
Diedre paused. “Look, Ceci, please don’t repeat any of this to the family. I shouldn’t really have told you. I trust in your confidentiality and your loyalty to me.”
“You know you can trust me. But could I tell Miles?”
“Yes, you can. However, he must be discreet as well. No chitchatting with Charlotte and Papa. You must insist on that.”
“I will.” There was a slight hesitation before Cecily went on, “Yours is an office job, isn’t it? I mean, you’re not out there, are you? Out there doing … things?”
“No, I’m not. I’m … well, let’s say I’m in management. Nevertheless, I have my own rules and I do not forget them.”
“What are they? Can you tell me, Diedre?”
“Believe no one. Tell no one. Remember everything. Walk alone.”
Six
Instinctively Harry Swann knew that something was wrong. Pauline had not been herself since his arrival at four o’clock, ostensibly for tea. They actually did have tea in her elegant drawing room. But it was swift. She was anxious always to retreat to her bedroom for several hours of intimacy and extraordinary passion.
Now as he lay next to her in bed, their sexual appetite for each other sated, he endeavored to figure out why she had been so strange. Not remote, not distant, as she often was, rather she had been distracted. Or perhaps preoccupied was a better word. Certainly he had picked up on it the moment he had entered her house and when she had greeted him coolly in the entrance foyer.
Even when they first began to make love she had been less fervent than usual; but once he had begun to arouse her in the way she liked she had become more focused. She was a voluptuous woman, extremely erotic and sensuous, eager for sex, hungry for it, and she oozed feminine lust. Her craving for him was enormous and endless; she gave herself willingly to him, did anything he wanted. It had been this way
since the beginning of their affair and they never failed to give each other enormous sexual pleasure.
They had done that this afternoon, but instead of lingering in his arms, touching him, stroking him, murmuring loving words, she had moved onto her side at once, her back to him.
Puzzled and slightly hurt, he finally spoke. “What’s wrong, darling? You’ve turned away from me, and you’re very silent. Usually you’re full of love for me … after we’ve devoured each other. And we certainly did that a short while ago.”
There was a moment of silence before she said, “I’ve misled you … and I’m feeling guilty.”
Pushing himself up on one elbow, Harry brought her face around and looked down at her. “Guilty in what way?”
“I let you think Sheldon was coming home tomorrow. He phoned at lunchtime today. He said he’d be here for dinner tonight. You’ve got to leave, you can’t linger as you generally do.”
Genuinely taken aback, Harry gaped at her for a split second, then got up and hurried across the room, making for the chair where his clothes were laid.
Pauline leaped off the bed and rushed after him, put her arms around him and pressed herself close to his body. “I can’t bear for you to leave like this. We always make love again before you leave. Always. Let’s do it now, here, standing up. Come on, I’ll lean against the door.” She reached up, pulled his face down to hers and kissed him passionately. He responded; he never failed to do so with her. He felt himself growing hard, and just as he was about to succumb to her red-hot desire for him, his common sense kicked in.
“No, no, we can’t. It’s too risky,” he said firmly, glancing at his watch. “It’s almost six-fifteen. Sheldon could be here any moment and we’d be caught red-handed.”
Pauline shook her head. “No, he won’t make it before seven, I’m certain of that.” She leaned against the door, staring at him, her desire running high. She was hot with longing for him, had never wanted anyone like this, never loved any other man before him. And she knew she could not have him. Unexpected tears welled and she moved back and into his arms so he would not see them.
The Cavendon Luck Page 3
