by Ken Follett
‘No!’ Lloyd whispered. ‘The party made a collective decision – no demonstration. We must stick to that. We must be a disciplined movement!’ He knew the reference to party discipline would carry weight with her.
The Fascists were nearby now, raucously chanting. Lloyd guessed there must be fifty or sixty of them. He itched to go out there and face them. Two young men near the back stood up and went to the windows to look out. Ethel urged caution. ‘Don’t react to hooliganism by becoming a hooligan,’ she said. ‘That will only give the newspapers an excuse to say that one side is as bad as the other.’
There was a crash of breaking glass, and a stone came through the window. A woman screamed, and several people got to their feet. ‘Please remain seated,’ Ethel said. ‘I expect they will go away in a minute.’ She talked on in a calm and reassuring voice. Few people attended to her speech. Everyone was looking backwards, towards the church door, and listening to the hoots and jeers of the ruffians outside. Lloyd had to struggle to sit still. He looked towards his mother with a neutral expression fixed like a mask on his face. Every bone in his body wanted to rush outside and punch heads.
After a minute the audience quietened somewhat. They returned their attention to Ethel, though still fidgeting and looking back over their shoulders. Ruby muttered: ‘We’re like a pack of rabbits, shaking in our burrow while the fox barks outside.’ Her tone was contemptuous, and Lloyd felt she was right.
But his mother’s forecast proved true, and no more stones were thrown. The chanting receded.
‘Why do the Fascists want violence?’ Ethel asked rhetorically. ‘Those out there in Hills Road might be mere hooligans, but someone is directing them, and their tactics have a purpose. When there is fighting in the streets, they can claim that public order has broken down, and drastic measures are needed to restore the rule of law. Those emergency measures will include banning democratic political parties such as Labour, prohibiting trade union action, and jailing people without trial – people such as us, peaceful men and women whose only crime is to disagree with the government. Does this sound fantastic to you, unlikely, something that could never happen? Well, they used exactly those tactics in Germany – and it worked.’
She went on to talk about how Fascism should be opposed: in discussion groups, at meetings such as this one, by writing letters to the newspapers, by using every opportunity to alert others to the danger. But even Ethel had trouble making this sound courageous and decisive.
Lloyd was cut to the quick by Ruby’s talk of rabbits. He felt like a coward. He was so frustrated that he could hardly sit still.
Slowly the atmosphere in the hall returned to normal. Lloyd turned to Ruby. ‘The rabbits are safe, anyhow,’ he said.
‘For now,’ she said. ‘But the fox will be back.’
(ii)
‘If you like a boy, you can let him kiss you on the mouth,’ said Lindy Westhampton, sitting on the lawn in the sunshine.
‘And if you really like him, he can feel your breasts,’ said her twin sister, Lizzie.
‘But nothing below the waist.’
‘Not until you’re engaged.’
Daisy was intrigued. She had expected English girls to be inhibited, but she had been wrong. The Westhampton twins were sex mad.
Daisy was thrilled to be a guest at Chimbleigh, the country house of Sir Bartholomew ‘Bing’ Westhampton. It made her feel that she had been accepted into English society. But she still had not met the King.
She recalled her humiliation at the Buffalo Yacht Club with a sense of shame that was still like a burn on her skin, continuing to give her agonizing pain long after the flame had gone away. But whenever she felt that pain she thought about how she was going to dance with the King, and she imagined them all – Dot Renshaw, Nora Farquharson, Ursula Dewar – poring over her picture in the Buffalo Sentinel, reading every word of the report, envying her, and wishing that they could honestly say they had always been her friends.
Things had been difficult at first. Daisy had arrived three months ago with her mother and her friend Eva. Her father had given them a handful of introductions to people who turned out not to be the crème de la crème of London’s social scene. Daisy had begun to regret her overconfident exit from the Yacht Club Ball: what if it all came to nothing?
But Daisy was determined and resourceful, and she needed no more than a foot in the door. Even at entertainments that were more or less public, such as horse races and operas, she met high-ranking people. She flirted with the men, and she piqued the curiosity of the matrons by letting them know she was rich and single. Many aristocratic English families had been ruined by the Depression, and an American heiress would have been welcome even if she were not pretty and charming. They liked her accent, they tolerated her holding her fork in her right hand, and they were amused that she could drive a car – in England men did the driving. Many English girls could ride a horse as well as Daisy, but few looked so pertly assured in the saddle. Some older women still viewed Daisy with suspicion, but she would win them around eventually, she felt sure.
Bing Westhampton had been easy to flirt with. An elfin man with a winning smile, he had an eye for a pretty girl; and Daisy knew instinctively that more than his eye would be involved if he got the chance of a twilight fumble in the garden. Clearly his daughters took after him.
The Westhamptons’ house party was one of several in Cambridgeshire held to coincide with May Week. The guests included Earl Fitzherbert, known as Fitz, and his wife, Bea. She was Countess Fitzherbert, of course, but she preferred her Russian title of Princess. Their elder son, Boy, was at Trinity College.
Princess Bea was one of the social matriarchs who were doubtful about Daisy. Without actually telling a lie, Daisy had let people assume that her father was a Russian nobleman who had lost everything in the revolution, rather than a factory worker who had fled to America one step ahead of the police. But Bea was not taken in. ‘I can’t recall a family called Peshkov in St Petersburg or Moscow,’ she had said, hardly pretending to be puzzled; and Daisy had forced herself to smile as if it was of no consequence what the princess could remember.
There were three girls the same age as Daisy and Eva: the Westhampton twins plus May Murray, the daughter of a general. The balls went on all night, so everyone slept until midday, but the afternoons were dull. The five girls lazed in the garden or strolled in the woods. Now, sitting up in her hammock, Daisy said: ‘What can you do after you’re engaged?’
Lindy said: ‘You can rub his thing.’
‘Until it squirts,’ said her sister.
May Murray, who was not as daring as the twins, said: ‘Oh, disgusting!’
That only encouraged the twins. ‘Or you can suck it,’ said Lindy. ‘They like that best of all.’
‘Stop it!’ May protested. ‘You’re just making this up.’
They stopped, having teased May enough. ‘I’m bored,’ said Lindy. ‘What shall we do?’
An imp of mischief seized Daisy, and she said: ‘Let’s come down to dinner in men’s clothes.’
She regretted it immediately. A stunt like that could ruin her social career when it had only just got started.
Eva’s German sense of propriety was upset. ‘Daisy, you don’t mean it!’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Silly notion.’
The twins had their mother’s fine blonde hair, not their father’s dark curls, but they had inherited his streak of naughtiness, and they both loved the idea. ‘They’ll all be in tailcoats tonight, so we can steal their dinner jackets,’ said Lindy.
‘Yes!’ said her twin. ‘We’ll do it while they’re having tea.’
Daisy saw that it was too late to back out.
May Murray said: ‘We couldn’t go to the ball like that!’ The whole party was to attend the Trinity Ball after dinner.
‘We’ll change again before leaving,’ said Lizzie.
May was a timid creature, probably cowed by her military father, and she always went along with
whatever the other girls decided. Eva as the only dissident was overruled, and the plan went ahead.
When the time came to dress for dinner, a maid brought two evening suits into the bedroom Daisy was sharing with Eva. The maid’s name was Ruby. Yesterday she had been miserable with toothache, so Daisy had given her the money for a dentist, and she had had the tooth pulled out. Now Ruby was bright-eyed with excitement, toothache forgotten. ‘Here you are, ladies!’ she said. ‘Sir Bartholomew’s should be small enough for you, Miss Peshkov, and Mr Andrew Fitzherbert’s for Miss Rothmann.’
Daisy took off her dress and put on the shirt. Ruby helped her with the unfamiliar studs and cufflinks. Then she climbed into Bing Westhampton’s trousers, black with a satin stripe. She tucked her slip in and pulled the suspenders over her shoulders. She felt a bit daring as she buttoned the fly.
None of the girls knew how to knot a tie, so the results were distinctly limp. But Daisy came up with the winning touch. Using an eyebrow pencil, she gave herself a moustache. ‘It’s marvellous!’ said Eva. ‘You look even prettier!’ Daisy drew side-whiskers on Eva’s cheeks.
The five girls met up in the twins’ bedroom. Daisy walked in with a mannish swagger that made the others giggle hysterically.
May voiced the concern that remained in the back of Daisy’s mind. ‘I hope we’re not going to get into trouble over this.’
Lindy said: ‘Oh, who cares if we do?’
Daisy decided to forget her misgivings and enjoy herself, and she led the way down to the drawing room.
They were the first to arrive, and the room was empty. Repeating something she had heard Boy Fitzherbert say to the butler, Daisy put on a man’s voice and drawled: ‘Pour me a whisky, Grimshaw, there’s a good chap – this champagne tastes like piss.’ The others squealed with shocked laughter.
Bing and Fitz came in together. Bing in his white waistcoat made Daisy think of a pied wagtail, a cheeky black-and-white bird. Fitz was a good-looking middle-aged man, his dark hair touched with grey. As a result of war wounds he walked with a slight limp, and one eyelid drooped; but this evidence of his courage in battle only made him more dashing.
Fitz saw the girls, looked twice, and said: ‘Good God!’ His tone was sternly disapproving.
Daisy suffered a moment of sheer panic. Had she spoiled everything? The English could be frightfully straight-laced, everyone knew that. Would she be asked to leave the house? How terrible that would be. Dot Renshaw and Nora Farquharson would crow if she went home in disgrace. She would rather die.
But Bing burst out laughing. ‘I say, that’s terribly good,’ he said. ‘Look at this, Grimshaw.’
The elderly butler, coming in with a bottle of champagne in a silver ice bucket, observed them bleakly. In a tone of withering insincerity he said: ‘Most amusing, Sir Bartholomew.’
Bing continued to regard them all with a delight mingled with lasciviousness, and Daisy realized – too late – that dressing like the opposite sex might misleadingly suggest, to some men, a degree of sexual freedom and a willingness to experiment – a suggestion that could obviously lead to trouble.
As the party assembled for dinner, most of the other guests followed the lead of their host in treating the girls’ prank as an amusing piece of tomfoolery, though Daisy could tell that they were not all equally charmed. Daisy’s mother went pale with fright when she saw them, and sat down quickly as if she felt shaky. Princess Bea, a heavily corseted woman in her forties who might once have been pretty, wrinkled her powdered brow in a censorious frown. But Lady Westhampton was a jolly woman who reacted to life, as to her wayward husband, with a tolerant smile: she laughed heartily and congratulated Daisy on her moustache.
The boys, coming last, were also delighted. General Murray’s son, Lieutenant Jimmy Murray, not as straight-laced as his father, roared with pleased laughter. The Fitzherbert sons, Boy and Andy, came in together, and it was Boy’s reaction that was the most interesting of all. He stared at the girls with mesmeric fascination. He tried to cover up with jollity, haw-hawing like the other men, but it was clear he was weirdly captivated.
At dinner the twins picked up Daisy’s joke and talked like men, in deep voices and hearty tones, making the others laugh. Lindy held up her wine glass and said: ‘How do you like this claret, Liz?’
Lizzie replied: ‘I think it’s a bit thin, old boy. I’ve a notion Bing’s been watering it, don’t you know.’
All through dinner Daisy kept catching Boy staring at her. He did not resemble his handsome father, but, all the same, he was good-looking, with his mother’s blue eyes. She began to feel embarrassed, as if he were ogling her breasts. To break the spell she said: ‘And have you been taking exams, Boy?’
‘Good Lord, no,’ he said.
His father said: ‘Too busy flying his plane to study much.’ This was phrased as a criticism, but it sounded as if Fitz was actually proud of his elder son.
Boy pretended to be outraged. ‘A slander!’ he said.
Eva was mystified. ‘Why are you at the university if you don’t wish to study?’
Lindy explained: ‘Some of the boys don’t bother to graduate, especially if they’re not academic types.’
Lizzie added: ‘Especially if they’re rich and lazy.’
‘I do study!’ Boy protested. ‘But I don’t intend actually to sit the exams. It’s not as if I’m hoping to make a living as a doctor, or something.’ Boy would inherit one of the largest fortunes in England when Fitz died.
And his lucky wife would be Countess Fitzherbert.
Daisy said: ‘Wait a minute. Do you really have your own airplane?’
‘Yes, I do. A Hornet Moth. I belong to the University Aero Club. We use a little airfield outside the town.’
‘But that’s wonderful! You must take me up!’
Daisy’s mother said: ‘Oh, dear, no!’
Boy said to Daisy: ‘Wouldn’t you be nervous?’
‘Not a bit!’
‘Then I will take you.’ He turned to Olga. ‘It’s perfectly safe, Mrs Peshkov. I promise I’ll bring her back in one piece.’
Daisy was thrilled.
The conversation moved on to this summer’s favourite topic: England’s stylish new King, Edward VIII, and his romance with Wallis Simpson, an American woman separated from her second husband. The London newspapers said nothing about it, except to include Mrs Simpson on lists of guests at royal events; but Daisy’s mother got the American papers sent over, and they were full of speculation that Wallis would divorce Mr Simpson and marry the King.
‘Completely out of the question,’ said Fitz severely. ‘The King is the head of the Church of England. He cannot possibly marry a divorcée.’
When the ladies retired, leaving the men to port and cigars, the girls hurried to change. Daisy decided to emphasize how very feminine she really was, and chose a ball dress of pink silk patterned with tiny flowers that had a matching jacket with puffed short sleeves.
Eva wore a dramatically simple black silk gown with no sleeves. In the past year she had lost weight, changed her hair, and learned – under Daisy’s tuition – to dress in an unfussy tailored style that flattered her. Eva had become like one of the family, and Olga delighted in buying clothes for her. Daisy regarded her as the sister she had never had.
It was still light when they all climbed into cars and carriages and drove the five miles into the town centre.
Daisy thought Cambridge was the quaintest place she had ever seen, with its winding little streets and elegant college buildings. They got out at Trinity and Daisy gazed up at the statue of its founder, King Henry VIII. When they passed through the sixteenth-century brick gatehouse, Daisy gasped with pleasure at the sight that met her eyes: a large quadrangle, its trimmed green lawn crossed by cobbled paths, with an elaborate architectural fountain in the middle. On all four sides, timeworn buildings of golden stone formed the backdrop against which young men in tailcoats danced with gorgeously dressed girls, and dozens of waiters in evening d
ress offered trays crowded with glasses of champagne. Daisy clapped her hands with joy: this was just the kind of thing she loved.
She danced with Boy, then Jimmy Murray, then Bing, who held her close and let his right hand drift from the small of her back down to the swell of her hips. She decided not to protest. The English band played a watery imitation of American jazz, but they were loud and fast, and they knew all the latest hits.
Night fell, and the quadrangle was illuminated with blazing torches. Daisy took a break to check on Eva, who was not so self-confident and sometimes needed to be introduced around. However, she need not have worried: she found Eva talking to a strikingly handsome student in a suit too big for him. Eva introduced him as Lloyd Williams. ‘We’ve been talking about Fascism in Germany,’ Lloyd said, as if Daisy might want to join in the discussion.
‘How extraordinarily dull of you,’ Daisy said.
Lloyd seemed not to hear that. ‘I was in Berlin three years ago, when Hitler came to power. I didn’t meet Eva then, but it turns out we have some acquaintances in common.’
Jimmy Murray appeared and asked Eva to dance. Lloyd was visibly disappointed to see her go, but summoned his manners and graciously asked Daisy, and they moved closer to the band. ‘What an interesting person your friend Eva is,’ he said.
‘Why, Mr Williams, that’s what every girl longs to hear from her dancing partner,’ Daisy replied. As soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted sounding shrewish.
But he was amused. He grinned and said: ‘Dear me, you’re so right. I am justly reproved. I must try to be more gallant.’
She immediately liked him better for being able to laugh at himself. It showed confidence.
He said: ‘Are you staying at Chimbleigh, like Eva?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you must be the American who gave Ruby Carter the money for the dentist.’
‘How on earth do you know about that?’
‘She’s a friend of mine.’
Daisy was surprised. ‘Do many undergraduates befriend housemaids?’
‘My goodness, what a snobbish thing to say! My mother was a housemaid, before she became a Member of Parliament.’
