The Granville Affair
Cover
Title Page
Part One Shadows of Destiny 1939–1940
One
Two
Part Two Aspects of Austerity 1940–1942
Three
Four
Five
Part Three Into the Light 1943–1945
Six
Seven
The Granville Sisters Trilogy
Copyright
Cover
Table of Contents
Start of Content
Part One
Shadows of Destiny
1939–1940
One
Henry Granville sat at his desk, his eyes unseeing as he stared blankly at the beautiful gardens of Hartley Hall on this mild September day. The blow had fallen two hours ago, predicted for years but nevertheless shattering in its intensity now that the official announcement had been made by the Prime Minister that Britain was at war with Germany.
Henry’s best and oldest friend, Ian Cavendish, who worked in the Foreign Office, had been telling him since 1935 that war was inevitable.
‘If Hitler goes ahead with his plans to invade Poland, that’s when we’ll be forced to declare war on Germany,’ Ian had said. ‘And France will back us, mark my words. If they don’t there’s no hope for any of us.’
Henry sighed deeply as he continued to gaze at the gold-tipped trees of an early autumn. Ian had been proved right. In spite of two warnings from Britain, the Wehrmacht had stormed into Poland two days ago. The Third Reich was now prepared to take on the rest of Europe.
‘Dear God,’ Henry murmured to himself. ‘We’ve barely recovered from the Great War. How many young men are going to be killed this time?’
Henry had brought Liza and their daughters down to Hartley several weeks ago, because Ian had predicted that London would be razed to the ground within the first twenty-four hours. With them had come Parsons, the butler, and all the other servants, who, with extreme diplomacy on all sides, were managing to work and live alongside his mother’s staff albeit it in cramped conditions. Not that they’d have to for much longer. With the exception of Mrs Fowler, the elderly cook, they’d all be called up and he and Liza were going to gave to ‘do’ for themselves in future.
Parsons entered the library at that moment. ‘A telegram has arrived for you, sir.’
Henry snatched the brown envelope off the silver salver, fearing the worst. His third daughter, Louise, who was only fourteen, was on holiday in Brittany with his sister and her daughter. They should never have gone. He’d said so at the time, but Candida had assured him they’d be fine. ‘We can catch the ferry home if there’s any trouble,’ she’d said airily.
Now he couldn’t bear to even contemplate what would become of Louise if she was stranded on the continent. Visions of prisoner-of-war camps filled his fevered mind.
Scanning the message, his hands shaking, Henry suddenly sank back into his chair with a cry that sounded like a sob.
‘Oh, thank God! They’ve landed at Southampton. Louise is safe.’
‘Yes, sir. Cutting it fine, sir,’ Parsons ventured, drily.
Henry jumped up and charged into the hall. ‘Louise is safe. Liza!’ he shouted up the stairs. ‘Mother! They’re all safely back!’
Doors flew open all over the house. His mother, Lady Anne, came out of her private sitting room, her face pale. His youngest daughters, Amanda and Charlotte, came running in from the garden, shrieking with delight.
‘Thank God,’ cried Liza, hurrying down the stairs from her bedroom, tears of relief stinging her eyes. She flung her arms around Henry’s neck, while Lady Anne looked on quietly, murmuring, ‘Our prayers have been answered.’
Then the servants burst into the hall through the green baize door, breathless with excitement, followed by Nanny and the nursery maid, Ruby.
‘What a tale she’ll have to tell,’ Ruby exclaimed. ‘I wonder if she saw any German soldiers?’
‘When will they be here?’ Lady Anne enquired.
Henry read the telegram more carefully this time. ‘Candida says: LANDED SAFELY AT SOUTHAMPTON. ALL WELL. GOING STRAIGHT HOME. WILL BRING LOUISE TO YOU TOMORROW. CANDIDA.’
‘Why aren’t they coming straight here?’ Liza asked fretfully. She’d had sleepless nights worrying about Louise, combined with pangs of guilt for ever allowing her to go.
‘Candida only lives ten miles from Southampton. It’s obvious they’d go to her house first,’ Henry pointed out.
‘We can phone her this evening and find out how they all are, can’t we?’ Lady Anne suggested.
‘Of course, Mother.’ He felt light-headed for a moment with sheer relief. War or no war, at least Louise was safe. ‘I’ll postpone returning to London until Monday morning. I want to find out why on earth they didn’t come home before. I could murder Candida for putting us all through the agony of the last few days.’ Suddenly he felt angry. He’d told Candida not to go abroad at this time. It was madness and he blamed himself for letting Louise go, even if St Malo was only just across the Channel and could be reached by the ferry in a few short hours.
‘Bloody selfish of her, that’s what I call it,’ he added, stomping back into the library.
There was an awkard silence in the hall and a feeling of anti-climax. No one knew quite what to do next.
‘Shall I proceed with the tea, M’Lady, Madame?’ Parsons asked Lady Anne and Liza, in his usual formal manner.
‘Proceed away, Parsons,’ Lady Anne replied, laughing gaily. ‘It’s too cold for the conservatory, don’t you think, my dear?’ She turned to Liza, who nodded automatically, used to her mother-in-law running Hartley Hall.
‘Yes,’ Liza agreed, politely. ‘I think we might have it in the drawing room, Parsons.’
There were times when Parsons found it quite tricky to keep two mistresses happy. It required a certain je ne sais quoi, he reflected, as he fastidiously set out the Minton cups and saucers and put them on the silver tray, with the Georgian silver teapot.
Hartley Hall really belonged to Henry and Liza, but as Lady Anne had come here as a bride, and it had always been her home, Henry insisted she remain, running the estate for them, as they lived in London during the week. Liza hated the country anyway so this had been the perfect solution since Henry’s father had died.
But now, Parsons reflected darkly, they were stuck here for the duration of the war. Mother-in-law and daughter-in-law, cooped up together with the three youngest of the five sisters, while the master of the house was away in London from Monday to Friday, as Chairman of Hammerton’s Bank.
Parsons sniffed delicately as he took some silver teaspoons out of their velvet lined case. How long was it going to be before they were all at each other’s throats?
* * *
In London, Juliet stretched luxuriously, her pale limbs gleaming as she lay on the bed, while daylight filtered through the curtains of Daniel Lawrence’s little house in Chelsea.
The night had been hot and humid, and she and Daniel had thrown the bedclothes onto the floor as they’d made love as if they could never have enough of each other.
Daniel lay beside her now, dozing. His skin much darker than hers, his head indenting the pillow. Juliet had never realized before just how much she loved him.
She’d intended to return to her husband in Scotland the day before, but she couldn’t resist Daniel when he persuaded her to stay until Sunday evening.
‘What shall we do if I stay on?’ she’d asked, teasingly.
His hungry eyes had devoured every inch of her exquisite face. ‘Do I have to spell it out?’ he’d whispered. ‘D’you know something? You grow more beautiful every day.’
‘That�
��s because you make me happy.’
She’d recently had her hair cut and it hung to her shoulders in blonde waves, falling seductively over one side of her face when she leaned forward. Every day she looked more and more like a Hollywood film star, and less and less like Juliet Granville, the second daughter of Henry Granville, an ex-débutante with a shady reputation and now the wife of a Scottish duke.
Cocooned with her lover in the bedroom of his little house, they made love again as soon as Daniel awoke. He was filled with fresh desire and so was she, wanting each other so much there were moments when Juliet thought her heart would stop beating and she’d die with ecstasy as she lay in his arms and felt him thrusting inside her.
Suddenly a piercing wailing sound, rising to a high-pitched screaming note, shattered the peaceful Sunday morning.
Daniel was out of the bed in a flash. ‘Quick!’
He grabbed Juliet’s wrist.
‘What’s happening?’ Naked, except for a soft blue satin eiderdown which she wrapped around herself, she followed him down the stairs to the ground floor. The penetrating unearthly wailing continued to whoop up and down, with ear-splitting intensity.
‘Air raid siren,’ Daniel shouted abruptly, above the din, as he lead her down another flight, to the cellar.
Fear impaled her heart. ‘Are we going to be bombed?’
Without answering, Daniel pushed her into a windowless room, and, switching on a central light, followed her, closing the reinforced door behind him. The low-ceilinged old wine cellar had whitewashed brick walls, and was furnished with a bed, a stack of blankets and, on a card table, a hurricane lamp, candles, matches, some brandy and a wireless.
‘When did you do all this?’ Juliet asked, looking around as she sank on to the bed.
‘As soon as I bought the house.’ Daniel looked at his wrist watch. ‘Let’s find out what’s happening.’ He turned on the wireless.
‘… I regret to announce we are now at war with Germany,’ intoned the quavery voice of the Prime Minister.
‘Oh, my God!’ Juliet sat up, her eyes round with shock. ‘When did this happen?’
‘I was expecting it.’
‘I knew there was going to be a war, but not so soon.’
Daniel, deep in thought, didn’t reply. Handing her one of his sweaters, he said, ‘Darling, put this on, or you’ll catch your death.’
It nearly reached her knees. She curled up on the bed like a child and looked up at the arched ceiling, almost as if she expected it to fall in on them.
‘So this is it, then,’ she said, appalled. ‘Are we being invaded? What’s it going to be like, Daniel?’
‘Bloody awful. It’s going to involve women and children, as much as the armed forces. When the bombing really starts…’ He reached for the brandy, and poured the amber liquid into two tots.
They drank in silence. Juliet turned to him, looking deeply into his eyes. ‘If I’m going to be killed I want to die with you. I couldn’t bear it if you were to…’ she broke off, unable to continue.
Startled, as if from a deep reverie, Daniel looked back at her. ‘Oh, my darling, my darling.’ He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him, climbing onto the bed and covering her with his body. ‘I love you, Juliet… Never forget that.’
She looked back at him unwaveringly. ‘I want you… I want you, so much… I want you now…’
The fear of dying suddenly made her feel rapacious, desperate to be close to him, wanting to be impregnated by him, locked in passion as if they only had minutes to live.
He entered her swiftly, pumping his life and his love into her, as if he would never be able to assuage his desire.
At that moment the All Clear sounded.
Afterwards Juliet couldn’t stop laughing. ‘Talk of a climax and an anti-climax happening at the same moment,’ she giggled.
‘That may have been a false alarm, but you ought to go back to Scotland right away,’ Daniel told her.
‘Oh, no! I can’t bear the thought. Especially now. I want to stay near you, Daniel.’
‘But God knows where I’ll be?’ he replied worriedly. ‘I want to know you’re out of harm’s way. In that fortified castle of yours in the Highlands, you’ll be safe from the bombs, and an invasion, too.’
Juliet frowned, knowing what he said made sense, but not wanting to have to spend maybe months away from him. Especially not stuck in Glenmally Castle with Cameron and his old witch of a mother.
‘Daniel, what are you going to do?’ They never talked about his family or his home on the South Coast, or even what he did for a living, so wrapped up were they in each other during the brief hours when they were together.
‘I must go home to Kent,’ he said, stiffly. ‘That’s where the Germans will land; I must get my family away.’
His wife. And his three children. Juliet looked away, trying to hide her anguish.
‘Of course,’ she murmured automatically. Most of the time she managed to put the existence of his wife and children to the back of her mind. Now it seemed they were foremost in his thoughts; that was why he wanted her to return to Scotland.
* * *
‘Shall I come with you?’ Gaston asked, loading Louise’s suitcase into the boot of Candida’s car.
‘Absolutely not,’ she replied, appalled. ‘My family know nothing about you, and the shock might kill my elderly mother. When I return, Gaston, we will have to sit down and have a talk. I’m sure you appreciate this is a difficult situation?’
Gaston nodded sullenly, and shrugged. ‘If you say so.’
‘I’ll be back this evening,’ Candida continued. ‘Cook will give you luncheon and anything else you want. You must be tired, especially as you cycled all the way from Amiens before we even left St Malo.’
‘I wish I had my bicycle now.’
‘Perhaps we can find you another one. We’ll look in the garage tomorrow.’
Gaston looked at her sulkily and without another word, turned and went back into the house.
‘Louise,’ Candida called to her niece. ‘Come along. It’s time we left.’
A moment later Louise appeared and got into the car, pretending she hadn’t overheard the conversation between Aunt Candida and this sullen Frenchman they’d been forced to bring with them as they struggled onto the last passenger ferry back to England.
‘Are you all right?’ Candida asked, as she pulled out of the drive of her Georgian house, in her old Bentley. ‘Had a good sleep last night? I bet you jolly well needed it.’
‘I’m fine,’ Louise replied, longing to get back to Hartley now. ‘Is Gaston going to stay with you?’ she asked carefully, keeping her tone neutral.
‘I hope not but I could hardly leave him at Southampton. I suppose now the war’s started, there’ll be plenty of work about, though not necessarily for a writer,’ she added with a trace of sarcasm.
‘Is that what he is?’ Louise asked, trying to sound innocent. ‘Has he only got his mother? Is his father dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘No other family? No brothers or sisters?’ she pressed on, wishing her aunt would tell her the truth about Gaston, because she was finding it a great burden to keep this terrible secret to herself.
‘No.’ Candida kept her eyes firmly on the road ahead.
‘Poor thing,’ Louise said sadly. ‘He must be very lonely.’
Candida didn’t reply. Instead she said, ‘You’ll definitely be staying down at Hartley, now, won’t you? I suppose your Papa will have to go up to town to the bank every day, or perhaps he’ll stay at his club, during the week?’
Louise sounded anxious. ‘I heard there was an air raid in London, yesterday.’
Candida grinned at her, as if relieved the conversation had taken a different turn. ‘False alarm, apparently,’ she said briskly. ‘The All Clear sounded fifteen minutes later.’
* * *
Rosie, returning from shopping in the village, with both Sophia and Jonathan in the big pram, found Char
les standing in the hall, staring at the letter in his hands.
His face was drained of colour and he looked sick.
‘What’s the matter? Another bill?’ Rosie asked, wearily, hauling her shopping bags into the kitchen. The cottage was too small. There was nowhere to put the pram. There was nowhere for the children to play. Disgruntled, she dumped bags of potatoes, runner beans, tomatoes, and a pound of sausages wrapped in white butcher’s paper, beside the earthenware sink.
This wasn’t the life she’d planned, she reflected angrily. As the eldest of the Granville girls, and Mummy’s pet, she’d taken it for granted she’d marry a rich man with a title, who lived in a big mansion, and had pots of money. But thanks to Juliet, who should not have been allowed to Come Out the same year, all she’d been left with was Charles Padmore, a drunken gambler, who might be a lord, but who couldn’t even hold down a simple job.
They’d had to leave London because she couldn’t afford to keep up with her friends; she couldn’t even afford to keep up with her mother, because Liza would have been horrified and upset if she knew Rosie’s dress allowance went to pay all the bills.
And now here she was, stuck with two children in a tiny cottage in the village, a quarter of a mile away from Hartley Hall, too proud to admit failure, pretending instead to want ‘the simple country life that is so good for the children’.
Charles had followed her into the kitchen. His voice was hollow.
‘I’ve had a letter from my mother,’ he said, aghast. ‘She says I must join my father’s regiment immediately and not wait to be conscripted.’
‘She’s right, isn’t she? After all, you’re only twenty-six, and able-bodied; which was your father’s regiment?’
‘The Guards.’ Charles chewed his lower lip and looked miserable. ‘But I’m not cut out for the Army,’ he said petulantly.
‘No, I realize that.’ Her tone was acid.
He threw his mother’s letter down on the table. ‘Oh, this bloody bloody war…!’
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