The Granville Affaire

by Una-Mary Parker

  ‘Suppose she goes to the police?’ Cameron was in a panic now. ‘Skelly is only nineteen. We could both be sent to prison. This could ruin me.’

  ‘I know,’ Iona said grimly. ‘That’s why you must come back and talk to her before it’s too late. She’s a sophisticated girl, Cameron, and very ambitious. Offer her money to keep her quiet. Anything, Cameron. At all costs. Juliet must be silenced.’

  There was a pause. Then Cameron spoke in a flat voice, laden with doom. ‘All right. I’ll come back.’

  * * *

  Spring had arrived suddenly in London, taking everyone by surprise after a hard winter. By April, the pink and white blossom was out in the park, and the daffodils were nodding merrily in the breeze.

  The Season had started again, albeit in a very low-key way compared to previous years. But after all the warnings about the city being bombed and razed to the ground within days of war being declared, nothing had happened since the false alarm on the morning of September the third, and everyone was carrying on, more or less, as usual.

  The press were calling it the Phoney War. There might be rationing, but theatres, cinemas and restaurants were open as usual, and hundreds of children, who had been evacuated to the country the previous August, were returning in droves to the city and their welcoming families.

  ‘Why don’t we open up the house again, darling? Everyone’s returning to London.’ Liza coaxed, bored out of her mind by living at Hartley.

  ‘What’s that, dear?’ Henry asked absently, picking up the evening newspaper he’d brought down from London with him.

  ‘I think we should return to Green Street,’ she said brightly, ignoring his exhausted manner. ‘I had an invitation from “Chips” today. He’s asked us to a dinner party he’s giving for the Duke and Duchess of Kent. We’re missing out on so much, Henry. Soon we’ll lose all our friends.’

  ‘You know we can’t return to Green Street,’ he replied dismissively. There were dark shadows under his eyes and his cheeks were hollow. As Chairman of Hammertons, he was now doing the work of three people. Long hours, worrying conditions and the war crisis all added to the burden he carried. Thoughts of socializing were the last thing on his mind.

  He continued firmly, ‘All the good furniture and paintings are in storage. Anyway, we have no staff now.’

  ‘Then let’s get a nicer flat than the tiny one you’ve got, which is so dark and dismal,’ she wheedled longingly. ‘I miss being with you, Henry. And I miss London and all our friends. The children can remain down here with your mother and Nanny, but there’s no reason why both of us shouldn’t stay in town during the week.’

  ‘It’s not a good idea.’

  Liza looked mutinous. ‘But nothing’s happening! There are no bombs, no air raids and no sign of an invasion. Even the King and Queen have remained at Buckingham Palace.’ Henry sighed deeply. It was true. Against all prophecy, there’d been no direct strike from Germany, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to happen.

  ‘Let me think about it,’ he said to mollify her. ‘Where’s Mother? And the girls? Are they all OK?’

  ‘Everyone’s fine,’ she snapped, and everyone was, except for her. She was bored. And she wanted something really exciting to do. Her friend, Lady Sarah Spencer-Churchill, was actually working in a munitions factory. Lady Courtney was at a Knightsbridge Fire Station, (answering the phone, Liza imagined, not putting out fires). And the famous beauty, Mrs Charles Sweeney, was reported to be ‘rolling bandages’. Others were giving cocktail parties to ‘raise money’; though the gossip columns didn’t specify what for.

  As she climbed the stairs to say goodnight to Amanda and Charlotte, who, unlike Louise, were too young to stay up for dinner, she heard Nanny singing at the top of her voice.

  ‘Who do you think you are kidding, Mr Hitler?’ she warbled lustily, as she folded the bath towels and hung them over a mahogany rail.

  Liza stopped and listen, smiling to herself. Thank God for Nanny, who was over sixty, and would remain with them for ever as a retainer. Not for Liza the supreme sacrifice made by the Marchioness of Tavistock, whose war effort was to ‘manage without a nanny’ for the duration.

  Henry, alone in the study, going through the stack of post on his desk, was ruminating about Liza’s desire to go to London to see her friends.

  Ian Cavendish had taken a large basement flat in a block in Campden Hill. Helen, his wife, had gone down to Dorset, to look after her elderly parents, so he was mostly there on his own. It struck Henry he might try to do a deal with Ian; offer to pay half the costs of the flat, if he could share it with him, and have Liza stay for the occasional night.

  * * *

  ‘This is getting like a home for geriatrics,’ Rosie giggled, bumping into Henry as she came out of the kitchen with Jonathan tucked under one arm, and Sophia hanging on to her skirt.

  ‘Does that include me, darling?’ he laughed. He loved having her at Hartley again, and the babies were an endless source of amusement.

  ‘Oh, Dads, don’t be silly!’ she retorted, hitching Jonathan higher. She dropped her voice. It bubbled with suppressed laughter. ‘Warwick has just asked me to lay the table for dinner because his bunions are killing him, and Mrs Dobbs… did you know he calls her Betty?… said could I pick up a sack of potatoes from the larder floor, because her back’s bad. Then this morning Nanny was complaining about the rheumatism in her hands; said it’s come on since Ruby left because she used to do all the children’s washing! And just now Spence grumbled that he’s too old and his chest is too bad to do the heavy digging.’

  Her short blonde curls quivered as she shook her head. ‘It’s hysterical, Dads,’ she laughed, ‘I’m the only young adult in the place!’

  Henry raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Are you calling your grandmother geriatric? If so, for God’s sake don’t let her hear you.’ He laughed again. ‘What a decrepit collection of humanity we are. We should all be put out to grass!’

  ‘Oh, Dads!’ Rosie gave him a hurried kiss on the cheek and then dashed off to change Jonathan’s nappy.

  Henry smiled to himself, realizing how she’d changed since Charles had joined up. She positively glowed these days, radiating cheerfulness and high spirits as she bustled around the house, looking after the children, making the beds, and giving a hand with the cooking.

  He dreaded to think what was going to happen when the war ended, and Charles came home again. Henry didn’t approve of divorce. He was a strong believer that vows made before God should not be broken, and that having made one’s bed, one should lie in it. But surely, he reasoned, there were extreme circumstances that at least permitted a couple to separate, legally if need be, because it was impossible to carry on?

  * * *

  Ian Cavendish instantly agreed to have Henry share the flat with him.

  ‘I’ll be glad of the company, old boy,’ he said warmly, as they conversed on the phone. ‘Why don’t you move in right away? I’ll leave a set of spare keys with the caretaker. I’m not sure it’s up to Liza’s standard of glamourous perfection, but it’s warm and jolly comfortable. Being in the basement of the block, it’s as safe as an air raid shelter.’

  ‘That’s useful. Isn’t it odd that everything’s so quiet at the moment?’ Henry commented.

  ‘It is very quiet,’ Ian agreed, ‘but don’t let that fool you. Sorry I can’t say more, but we’ll talk when you move it.’

  ‘Great, old chap. Thanks awfully.’

  Liza received the news with delight. ‘That’s wonderful, Henry. Clever old you, thinking of Ian’s place.’

  ‘Cheaper than the Dorchester when you come to town, too.’

  ‘Do let’s have drinks there, though,’ she suggested. ‘Everyone who lives in London has gone to live in hotels, rather than be bombed in their own homes. The Dorchester, the Savoy, the Ritz are full – I’m told it’s like a continuous cocktail party.’

  Henry rolled his eyes, ‘Everyone?’ he repeated with a touch of sarcasm.


  ‘You know what I mean,’ Liza retorted crossly. ‘All the people we know are in hotels.’

  Henry leaned over and kissed her. ‘Never mind, we’ll see this through together, won’t we, darling?’

  ‘Of course, as long as I can be with you, Henry,’ she replied, grateful to him for indulging her so generously.

  ‘I’m going to be spending a couple of nights in town, with Daddy,’ she excitedly informed Louise, Amanda and Charlotte, as she did her own packing. Oh, how she missed Miss Ashley to do this sort of thing for her!

  ‘Mummy, you don’t need all those clothes if you’re only going to be away for two nights,’ Amanda pointed out, critically. ‘And how ever many pairs of shoes are you taking?’

  ‘I thought I might leave a few things at the flat,’ Liza replied, looking hurt. Really, Amanda never said anything to make her feel better. ‘I don’t want us to be invited somewhere terribly smart and then find I have nothing to wear.’

  ‘Why?’ Amanda sat on the edge of her mother’s bed. ‘People are being killed all the time. Why do you want to go to parties?’

  ‘Really, Amanda, don’t be so churlish. There’s nothing wrong with meeting one’s friends and…’

  ‘It’s a waste of time. If you and your friends put as much effort into war work as you do in to going to parties, the war might end sooner.’

  Liza looked at her child as if she was a stranger. So alien, that she might have been a changeling. Why was Amanda so different from her? Different even from her sisters?

  ‘It’s not a waste of time,’ she said defensively. ‘Meeting people keeps up one’s morale. There no point going around in sackcloth and ashes and looking on the gloomy side of life.’

  ‘I didn’t say that, Mummy.’ Her tone was argumentative. ‘But instead of spending money having a good time, you should be helping other people. What about all the refugees that have landed from Gibraltar? They’ve got nothing.’

  * * *

  The train drew into Euston in the early morning, and the car Juliet had ordered was there to meet her, but it was one of the loneliest moments of her life. She hadn’t told her parents what had happened; they didn’t even know she was returning to London.

  Leaning back against the soft cream leather seat, she closed her eyes, exhausted by the experience of the past two weeks. At least the pretending was over. The marriage had ended. In return for her silence, and the promise she would not go to the police, the London house and all its wonderful Art Deco furnishings she’d chosen so lovingly were hers. She’d also been able to keep all the jewellery, except the Kincardine family heirlooms, and her valuable collection of furs, plus the wedding presents from her side of the family.

  Within a few days her clothes and personal possessions would be packed and brought down from Scotland by Carter Patterson.

  Provision was to be made for the baby when it was born.

  Finally, she’d received a settlement of a fortune larger than she could ever have expected, providing the grounds for divorce were ‘desertion’; hers, not his, on the grounds of ‘incompatibility’.

  Juliet had been amused by this last diktat. The fact that, in spite of his personal activities, Cameron didn’t want to besmirch his good reputation by looking like the one who had done the deserting struck her as really bizarre. However, it suited her. She had no wish to appear as a woman anyone would want to desert; that had, and always would be, her privilege.

  And now here she was in London, with the whole hideous episode behind her, and she still hadn’t told Cameron the baby wasn’t even his. He’d talked nervously about shared custody, but she’d parried his remark by suggesting the matter could easily be discussed when the child was born. In truth, she wanted to get away from Glenmally before he found out. If that was cruel, she reasoned, his tricking her into what she presumed would be a normal marriage was even more cruel.

  In fact, Juliet relished the thought of bringing up the baby on her own. Daniel’s child, whom she would love with all her heart, no matter whether it was a boy or a girl. If only Daniel was around, life would have been perfect.

  Since her last trip to London Juliet had taken on an ex-batman, called Tom Dudley, who was too old to go back into the army. She’d engaged him to look after her and the house, between his shifts as a Fire Watcher.

  Dudley was on the front doorstep, standing to attention and practically saluting, when Juliet’s car drew up outside the house. The agency had told her he was immaculate and that was certainly true. In dark striped trousers and a black coat, his white collar gleamed and his black lace-up shoes shone with polish.

  ‘Good morning, Dudley.’

  He stepped forward to open the door, bowing his head as he did so. ‘Good morning, Your Grace.’ His face was small, round, and reminded her of a garden gnome, with twinkling eyes and small mouth.

  Juliet loved all that bowing and scraping and she took to him at once.

  ‘It’s so nice to be back in London.’ She glanced around her sparkling black, white and silver hall. Dudley had obviously used a lot of spit-and-polish around the place and she nodded approvingly. There was even an arrangement of white lilies on the centre table.

  ‘I’d like some tea, please. In my bedroom. I have a lot of calls to make and I’ll answer any in-coming calls myself.’

  ‘Yes, Your Grace. Will His Grace be joining you?’

  Much too soon to say anything, Juliet thought. ‘I’m afraid my husband can’t get away, Dudley, so it’s just me. I’ll be going down to Surrey tomorrow, for a few days. Then I’ll be back and, if food rationing allows it, I want to give a few dinner parties in the coming weeks. Maybe a cocktail party, too.’ Dudley was mesmerized by this dazzling, glamorous young Duchess, with her crimson nails and lips, and her chic sky-blue coat with its blue fox collar and cuffs. She was like a Hollywood film star, and there were not many Duchesses in Britain you could say that about.

  Life in Park Lane was obviously going to be tickety-boo, and he’d secured himself a wonderful billet, he thought happily, as he went to put on the kettle and lay a tea-tray with the best china.

  * * *

  Juliet drove herself to Hartley the next day; keeping the Rolls coupé Cameron had given her had been part of the deal.

  Liza, whom she’d phoned earlier to say she was coming to stay, rushed into the drive to meet her, drawing her to one side, whispering, ‘Why are you down here again, on your own? Where’s Cameron? Is anything the matter?’

  ‘Can I just get my coat off and sit down for a moment?’ Juliet remonstrated in exasperation. ‘My back is killing me.’ She headed for the drawing room, where Henry was reading The Times.

  ‘Hello, Dads.’ She went to kiss him.

  ‘How are you? Are you all right? Have you come down to see the doctor?’ Liza fussed. ‘There’s nothing wrong, is there?’

  ‘I’ve left Cameron,’ Juliet said simply.

  Liza and Henry had been reluctantly getting used to the idea that Rosie might get a separation from Charles one day, but it had never crossed their minds that Juliet would leave the charming, eligible Cameron.

  ‘What?’ Liza jumped as if she’d had an electric shock. ‘Left him? Oh, my God, Juliet, you can’t do that! What on earth are you thinking of? And you’re having a baby. For God’s sake…! You must get on to him, right away, to…’

  ‘There has to be a reason,’ Henry butted in, looking penetratingly at Juliet, ‘and I hope it’s a good one, darling.’

  Juliet opened her mouth to explain, but Liza was off again, criticizing her daughter for her flighty ways, her previous scandals involving men, Alastair Slaidburn’s suicide because she rejected him, – ‘I thought that would be brought up, sooner or later,’ Juliet remarked.

  ‘Why are you so self-destructive?’ Liza wailed, wringing her hands. ‘You had everything! A title, a castle, land, money…’

  Henry looked at his wife, coolly. ‘I do think Juliet should be allowed to explain what’s going on,’ he said grimly.


  ‘I will. If you give me a chance,’ Juliet said, her voice small and tight. ‘I now know the marriage could never have worked, no matter what I did. Cameron is a homosexual.’

  ‘Homo—?’ Liza’s voice rose into a screech.

  ‘Mother, please keep your voice down,’ Juliet said sharply. ‘Cameron and I have parted as amicably as it’s possible under these circumstances, and I’ve promised to keep it quiet. He could go to prison if this gets out.’ No need to tell them that he’d broken down and sobbed his heart out, saying he wished things were different, apologizing for misleading her into thinking she was marrying a normal man, begging her to stay, and when she said she couldn’t, begging her not to tell anyone the reason for their break-up.

  ‘Oh, Juliet.’ Liza spoke sharply as if it was all Juliet’s fault. ‘What are you going to do now? What about the baby, for God’s sake?’

  Henry spoke. ‘Calm down, Liza. If Cameron is a queer, there’s no way Juliet could have stayed with him.’ He turned and looked sadly at his daughter. ‘How did you find out, darling?’

  Juliet told them, in blunt terms.

  Henry blanched, and reached for her hand. ‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart. It must have been a terrible shock for you. Is there anything I can do?’

  She shook her head. ‘I was never really in love with him, so it’s not as if I’m heart-broken.’ Not the searing, aching longing for Daniel, that filled her days and nights, she reflected.

  ‘We certainly mustn’t tell anyone,’ Liza affirmed. ‘It would not be very nice for people to know you were married to a man like that. And he seemed so charming!’ she added in bewilderment.

  Juliet and her father exchanged looks.

  ‘He is charming, and he didn’t choose to be like that,’ Juliet pointed out, suddenly feeling sorry for Cameron. ‘In fact he’s devastated about it. I think he really hoped he could make a go of marriage.’