Henry looks at her. There is anger in her face that he has never seen before.
‘I told you I have.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘I’m not lying.’
Henry is about to say that he’d rather not go to lunch if Mary’s going to be like this, when Mary drops her bombshell.
‘She knows you’re having an affair.’
‘She doesn’t,’ says Henry. ‘She has absolutely no idea.’
‘Yes, she does,’ says Mary, and she smiles in a distinctly unpleasant kind of way.
“Look, why don’t we leave lunch,’ says Henry. ‘You’re obviously not in a mood for it today—’
‘She knows because I told her,’ says Mary.
Henry stops. She is still wearing a smile that could only be described as malevolent.
‘You met her? You don’t even know what she looks like.’
‘I wrote her a letter, you stupid fool.’
‘A letter?’ blusters Henry. ‘Saying what?’
‘Telling her that you were having an affair.’
Henry feels like everything is starting to collapse around him. Just yesterday he was thinking how fine his life was and how right the world was. Now, with this one appalling action, Mary has gone and destroyed everything.
‘Get away from me, you vindictive bitch,’ says Henry, and with that, he storms off, going he doesn’t know where.
After he leaves Mary, Henry finds himself walking down to the Thames. There, he leans on the stone quay wall and looks into the dirty depths of the river. With the summer heat, a strong malodorous scent rises off the green water. For a moment he contemplates suicide. He cannot swim so he could jump in and end it all. That would take all these complications out of his life. It would serve them right, all these women who are hanging off him. But that thought quickly passes. ‘Think,’ he says to himself, ‘think.’ And so he does. And by the time he is on his way home, he has the answer.
He catches the omnibus home, sitting upstairs. It is an evening of beautiful summer colours – the azure and gold of the sky, the green of suburban leafiness and the grey and red brick of the buildings.
Clara knows – that much is clear. Yet she hasn’t said anything. What game is she playing? After much turmoil as he stood gazing into the Thames earlier on, the answer, when it came to Henry, was simplicity itself. Clara knows but she’s not going to say anything. Why then, neither will he. And he will carry on as though nothing has changed. Over the weekend, because he hasn’t had time to think about her yet, he will sort out what he wants to do about Mary. But if Clara hasn’t said anything, then the chances are she won’t. Clara may think she has power over him but, in fact, she has none. Henry is the one with all the power. Over her. And over Mary. Life can go on just as it was – either with Mary, if she wants that, or with someone new. If Mary thought she was playing a trump card, all she’s actually done is give away whatever power she had.
The bus stops and Henry dismounts. He begins the short walk in the direction of home. Things couldn’t have turned out any better if he had planned them.
Chapter 37
Saturday 25 July 1914
In St Petersburg, the Russians are only too aware that the Austrian ultimatum to Serbia means that they – the Russians – might end up in the Group of Death. They aren’t keen.
There has been a lot of unrest in Russia recently – workers striking and rioting, mounted Cossacks being sent in to quell disturbances, crowds on the streets. The country is very volatile. The Russians fear that if they end up having to field a team to play the Austrians, there is no telling where this could lead. It might all end in revolution. However, if they do nothing and just let the match between giant Austria and tiny Serbia take place, maybe the Russian people will revolt out of disgust at their weak leaders.
The Russians do what all sensible people do when stuck between a rock and a hard place. They stall. As well as that, while stalling, they try to find a way to wriggle out of the mess they suddenly find themselves in. They ask the Austrians to extend the deadline and ask the British to put in a similar request. They tell the Serbs to give in and just accept all the terms of the ultimatum. They suggest that any outstanding issues can be handled at a peace conference. The Russians ask the Germans to mediate, unaware that the Germans are egging the Austrians on. The Germans say that they knew nothing about all of this and that the Russians should talk directly to the Austrians. The Austrians turn down all the Russian requests.
The Tsar doesn’t want to see the match between Austria and Serbia played and assumes Der Kaiser doesn’t want it either. The Tsar tries to carry on his normal routine: playing tennis, canoeing with his daughters, having tea with his relatives, meeting various dignitaries. But he is sick with worry and struggles to remain cheerful. He doesn’t want a Group of Death. And he doesn’t at all like the idea of being a manager if there is a Group of Death.
There is another meeting of the Council of Ministers presided over by the Tsar. At this they make a momentous decision. The Council decides to activate something known as ‘Regulation on the Period Preparatory to War of 2 March 1913.’ This law governs what should happen in the period prior to mobilisation. It provides for heightened security and readiness at magazines and supply depots. It accelerates the completion of railway repairs and states what readiness checks need to be carried out in all departments. It ensures that covering troops are deployed to positions on threatened fronts. Reservists are recalled to training camps. Troops training at locations remote from their bases are recalled immediately. Three thousand or so officer cadets are promoted to officer rank to bring the officer corps up to wartime strength. Harbours are mined while horses and wagons are assembled.
But this takes place across the whole of European Russia.
How will the Germans be able to tell the difference between this and mobilisation proper? Now the Russians have upped the stakes. Now they really are playing with fire.
July 25th is a Saturday and clearly it would be too much to expect Sir Edward Grey not to go fishing. Looking out through his windows at the trees, the lawns and the lake of St James’s Park, he is reminded of his cottage, the River Itchen and the many different species of birds that make their nests there. How wonderful it is for little creatures to feel so safe there. The weather is dull, but as Grey has written, ‘no day in midsummer can be unrelievedly heavy if there are goldfinches in the garden and ash trees in the field beyond.’
Later he sets off for the country. But before he goes, he formally approves the suggestion that Britain would host a peace conference. This is passed on to all of the interested parties as Grey’s car makes its way out through the hot London suburbs that smell of tar.
He is weary after the week. He frets again about his failing eyesight. These days he can barely see after half an hour’s reading. Two months ago, his ophthalmologist advised six months’ rest without offering any hope of a cure. Six months’ rest – how likely is that in Grey’s position? The best he can hope for right now is these restorative weekends – the roses, the river and the trout, now at their fattest and most glittering. And of course, he will be in touch all the time with the Office. Even into the cottage, that refuge of peace and sanity, the snarls and menaces of Europe can penetrate, even there the ambitions and resentments of the dangerous continent can echo.
He arrives there and walks down to Grey’s Bridge. He sees a kingfisher on a branch and then, in an instant, it is gone, seeming to leave a blue streak in the air as though it had been painted there. Leaning on the wooden rail, he watches the water flow beneath his feet. It has done so for thousands of years and will continue to do so after they are all gone. How uncomplicated it would be if they all fished – the managers of the five teams. They could sit on the river bank, talk out the problems and bring the solution back with them in time for tea. That would have been the way to sort it out, he thinks, with a tiny smile.
In France, leave is cancelled for all French troops beginn
ing the following day. The majority of French troops in Morocco are ordered to return to France.
The battleship France has arrived in Stockholm on the next leg of Poincaré’s trip. Despite probable attempts by the Germans to jam communications to the ship, the President has a fair sense of what has been unfolding in the rest of Europe. His approach is unambiguous – firmness is the only way to deal with the Germans. ‘Weakness,’ he says, ‘is always the mother of complications.’ His analysis goes like this: The Austrian demands on Serbia are clearly outrageous and unacceptable. So now the decision as to whether there will be peace or war now lies completely outside of his control. It lies with the Germans. If the Germans restrain Austria there will be peace. Otherwise – and Poincaré is quite ready for this eventuality too – it will mean war.
In London, the German Ambassador tells his people in Berlin that they are crazy to try to provoke a war between Austria and Serbia. He tells them that, despite what they might think, Britain would intervene in a continental war. He pleads with the German government to accept Grey’s offer of mediation and the peace conference to resolve the Austro-Serbian dispute.
In Belgrade, the Serbs have gotten wind of Sazonov’s partial mobilisation idea. For them, this is good news. It looks as though, if push comes to shove, Serbia will not be left alone by its big friend, Russia. The prospect stiffens the Serbian resolve. Through Saturday, they work on their answer to the Austrian ultimatum. Their changes are sometimes conciliatory, sometimes insolent but, essentially, they have accepted all of the Austrian conditions. The only one they have baulked at is that of admitting Austrian officials to the Serb inquiry.
The Serbs also decide to mobilise the army and to move the government to Nis, a couple of hundred kilometres further from the Austrian border. Pasitch himself delivers the answer to the Austrian legation with five minutes to spare at 5:55 p.m. He then catches the official train to Nis. It is game on – the return leg of Austria versus Serbia.
In the Austrian legation in Belgrade, Baron Giesl von Gieslingen is also anxious to catch a train. He takes a quick look at the Serbian reply and is appalled by what he sees. Essentially, Serbia has accepted all of the Austrian demands. It agrees to suppress all anti-Austrian movements on Serbian soil. It will bring to justice anyone concerned with the murder of the Archduke. Although it cannot agree – what country could? – to Austrians participating in the judicial process, Serbia is willing to submit the whole issue either to the International Tribunal at the Hague, or to the Big Five for adjudication. It is the last thing that the Austrians expected and a huge victory for the underdog Serbs.
But Baron Giesl von Gieslingen has his orders. After reading the document he sees that it is not a complete and utter acceptance of the Austrian terms. He sends back a note – which he had already prepared – announcing that he is leaving Belgrade and that diplomatic relations between Austria and Serbia are now broken off. The code books are already burnt, the luggage packed, the cars are waiting. Baron Giesl von Gieslingen, his wife and staff arrive at Belgrade station in time to catch the 6:30 evening train to Vienna.
Ten minutes later, at the first station beyond the Austrian frontier posts, he telephones the Prime Minister with the news. The Prime Minister in turn passes it on to the Emperor Franz Joseph who is on holiday at Ischl. ‘Breaking off diplomatic relations does not necessarily mean war,’ Franz Joseph remarks.
Berchtold is also at Ischl but is out for a walk when the news comes. Later that evening he persuades Franz Joseph to sign the order for mobilisation of eight army corps to begin operations against Serbia on the 28th. ‘Mobilisation does not mean war,’ Berchtold says.
But Berchtold is not a happy dweller in canvas accommodation. His bluff – for bluff it was – supported by, amongst others, Der Kaiser – is starting to go badly wrong. He was told that if Austria showed itself resolute, Serbia would give way.
But it hasn’t.
In Acton, Henry and Clara are living what is starting to become a strange life. Clara has adopted the tactic of alternately behaving just as she used to – facilitating Henry’s every wish and need – and then not doing that at all. Today, for example, she made sure that he had no clean shirt available, so that he had to re-use yesterday’s. When he arrived home there was a faint whiff of stale sweat and cigarette smoke off him. He was clearly very annoyed and had great difficulty keeping it in, but keep it in he managed to do.
Then she asked if they were going out to dinner, it being Saturday night. She actually would have enjoyed it and had planned to order expensive food and wine, where normally she would have been conscious of the prices on the menu and of not upsetting Henry by ordering something too lavish. But Henry claimed to have a headache and so she agreed to leave it until next week, but not before adding, ‘It’s a pity. I was really looking forward to a night out.’
Tomorrow, Clara has decided she will once again play the part of the old Clara. She will cater to Henry’s every whim and anticipate his needs. She will be that pitiable creature that she was only a few days ago. Can it really only be such a short space of time in which such a monumental change has occurred?
For she sees now how lost she had become in the role of Henry’s wife. That mousy, subservient creature was never who she really was. And now she has found herself again – the woman who managed her father’s stationary business, the mother who bore two beautiful girls, the capable housekeeper who makes the house run like clockwork. Henry has done her such a favour by engaging in his sordid little affair. But this doesn’t mean that she isn’t going to make sure he regrets it. Oh, how he’s going to regret it.
Because if tomorrow she will be the old Clara, on Monday she will be the new, mischievous one. She will find some other thing to do (or not do) that will irritate him. And already her mind is racing with possibilities. They range from the mildly irritating things she has done so far to going into Henry’s office and publicly accusing him of infidelity and making a huge scene. She’s not sure she would actually do this but she enjoys imagining it and similar scenes as she happily gets through the tasks of the day.
Of all our characters, both in England and abroad, Henry is by far the last to fall asleep on this Saturday night. It is actually dawn on Sunday before he finally slips away, because Henry is seething with anger and resentment. This is not at all the way it was meant to turn out. Clara is deliberately trying to goad him into … into what? Anger? So that she too can become angry and accuse him? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what game she’s damn well playing. But he can see she’s enjoying herself. God damn it, she’s happier than he’s seen her in a long time.
And he doesn’t even have the consolation of Mary. Nor does he know if he wants such a consolation any longer – at least not with that scheming bitch. They are both scheming bitches. What has he done to deserve this, he asks himself, having these two cunts in his life.
Chapter 38
Sunday 26 July 1914
Off Balholm in Norway, Der Kaiser’s yacht Hohenzollern raises anchor and sets course for home. He is still unaware of what the Serbian reply to Austria has been.
At half past nine that morning, Der Kaiser’s younger brother Henry, who has been yachting at Cowes, calls in – as one would – to see his cousin King George at Buckingham Palace. (Yes, this is something that we haven’t mentioned up until now – but only to avoid any confusion. Not only are Der Kaiser and the Tsar cousins, but both men are also cousins of King George V. If we think of all of this as a family squabble, it should have been possible to sort it all out. But we choose our friends, we don’t choose our families – and sometimes family squabbles are notoriously difficult to sort out.)
Anyway, the two royal gentlemen tut tut over the international situation.
‘The news is very bad,’ says the King. ‘It looks like war in Europe. You’d better go back home straight away.’
Henry says he’d like to go down to Eastbourne to see his sister, the Queen of Greece. Then, in the evening, he’l
l return to Germany. He then asks George bluntly, ‘What will England do?’
‘We shall try all we can to keep out of this,’ says George.
At least that is what Henry recalls George saying. And it is this version of events that he will pass on to his brother, Der Kaiser, when he returns to Germany.
George has a slightly different recollection.
‘I don’t know what we shall do,’ he records in his own notes of the conversation. ‘We have no quarrel with anyone and I hope we shall remain neutral. But if Germany declares war on Russia and France joins Russia, then I am afraid we shall be dragged into it. But you can be sure that I and my government will do all we can to prevent a European war.’
At the end of the conversation, Henry says, ‘Well, if our two countries shall be fighting on opposite sides I trust it will not affect our own personal friendship.’
Henry is then driven to Eastbourne under a cloudy summer sky.
In London, James Walters is at work even though it is Sunday. He too is in ignorance of the Serbian reply and has come in to find out what it is. During the afternoon the news comes in.
Also that afternoon, the German Ambassador strolls over to the Foreign Office. He has a message from the German government, from the Chancellor. The Germans, edgy about what might be happening in the mysterious wastes of Russia, want Grey to use his influence with the Russians to stop them from engaging in any form of mobilisation. The Ambassador finds nobody to talk to at the Foreign Office. Grey is down at his cottage. He is expected to return that evening but nobody knows exactly when. The German Ambassador decides that it can wait until the morning.
Brooding on the problem in Hampshire, Grey has little confidence that his proposal for mediation will be accepted. How he would have liked that Britain, the most powerful nation on the planet, could have acted as a disinterested and sensible arbiter – stepping in to sort out these squabbling European powers. But whether he likes it or not, Britain is now involved. And not just because of the current crisis. There is another reason.
Moonlight Page 18
