A Season of Secrets

by Margaret Pemberton

  Olivia helped herself to a petit four. ‘I wish my mother was alive to be haggling on my behalf. All I have is the former Lady Pyke.’

  Elizabeth settled herself even more comfortably on the sofa they were sharing in front of a cosy coal fire. ‘Ah,’ she said in deep satisfaction. ‘I so want to hear all about your new stepmother. I’ve asked around, of course – just as everyone else has been asking around – but no one seems to know much about her, except that her previous married life was spent almost entirely in Argentina. Is she scrumptiously lovely?’

  Olivia grimaced. ‘My father obviously thinks so – and for his sake we are all doing our very best to get on with her, but she’s such an unlikely sort of person for him to have married that it isn’t easy. She’s hardly spent any time at all at Gorton, and yet she’s ordered such sweeping changes there that it no longer feels like home. The housekeeper we’ve had for years and years has gone, and housemaids with a broad Yorkshire accent – which is just about all of them – have been replaced by maids recruited from a London staffing agency. It caused the most terrible row between Thea and Papa, but Papa said he most certainly was not going to overrule any decisions Zephiniah had made, and that Thea had to realize that although there had been no weekend house-parties at Gorton since before Mama died, all that was now going to change – and that changes in staffing had to be made accordingly.’

  ‘Goodness. I’m riveted! Are changes taking place in Mount Street as well?’

  ‘Mount Street is apparently far too informally furnished. Out are going all the comfy chintz-covered sofas and in – when a team of decorators has finished preparing the way for them – are coming French Empire antiques, and you know how uncomfortable French Empire sofas are to sit on.’

  Next morning, trudging with Thea in a light fall of snow around the southern edge of the Round Pond in Kensington Gardens, Olivia said, ‘Elizabeth was just as easy to chat to as always. I really do think she’s one of the nicest people in the world.’

  ‘She is. Everyone adores her. According to David, even his father can find no fault with her.’

  Olivia’s friendship with the Duke and Duchess of York hadn’t yet led to friendship with Prince Edward, though she was hoping for Dieter’s sake that it would soon do so and that it wouldn’t be long before they, too, would be able to refer to the Prince as David. For a young German diplomat to become part of the Prince of Wales’s circle would be viewed by his superiors in Berlin as a great coup and would be a huge step up the promotional ladder towards his goal of one day becoming an ambassador.

  Thea was saying that the Prince of Wales’s long affair with his mistress, Freda Dudley Ward, had become ‘relatively detached’, but Olivia was too busy wondering where Dieter would be posted when ambassador to pay much attention.

  London was always Dieter’s first choice whenever they spoke of the golden future lying in wait for them. It was never her first choice. London was home ground and therefore not glamorous enough. ‘Paris,’ she would say dreamily, ‘or Washington.’

  ‘This is too cold to be fun.’ Thea’s voice brought Olivia sharply back into the present. ‘I know I said I’d act as chaperone for you while you had lunch with Dieter, but Zephiniah demanding that I do so is ridiculous. It’s not as if I’m married, and I’m only a year older than you. Why she thinks my being with you will make your lunch respectable, I don’t know.’

  ‘It’s because she’s hostessing a luncheon of her own today and because we haven’t – thank God – an army of aunts and married cousins living near at hand that she can call on. Nor has she women friends in London who can chaperone for her.’

  Of all the aggravations that had come with Gilbert’s marriage, the chaperone issue had been the one they had found most tedious.

  ‘We haven’t been chaperoned since Aunt Hilda was in London for my coming-out ball,’ Thea had said to Gilbert in a voice of sweet reason when the subject had first arisen. ‘It’s nonsensical that we should start being chaperoned now. How ridiculous would it look, my attending Labour Party meetings with a chaperone in tow? Please thank Zephiniah for her concern, but the only person needing a chaperone in this family is Violet.’

  She’d hoped that would be the end of the matter, but it hadn’t been. Her father had said how guilty he felt about his previous neglectful attitude where chaperoning was concerned, and how grateful they should all be that Zephiniah was being so caring and diligent in her duties as a stepmother.

  ‘I’m not at all convinced about the caring bit,’ Thea had said to Olivia. ‘It’s her own reputation she’s concerned about, not ours. She doesn’t want any gossip about the new Viscountess Fenton not being quite up to snuff.’

  Remembering Thea’s comment, Olivia said now, ‘I suppose we shouldn’t give the gossips any ammunition, Thea.’ As they left the park she dug her gloved hands deep into a beaver muff that matched her hat. ‘It will only cause a row – and I hate rows. They make Papa so unhappy.’

  ‘Then he shouldn’t have married the Pyke. If there’s one thing I’ve realized these last few months, it’s that although Papa is very much a man of the world where politics are concerned, he’s pathetically unworldly about women. It comes of him having fallen in love with Mama when he was so young, and of his being faithful to her memory for so long. Where is it we are meeting Dieter for lunch? The Savoy?’

  ‘Claridge’s. Dieter likes it there.’

  ‘Then I’m going to flag down a cab – which is something else that will give Zephiniah the vapours if she gets to hear of it.’

  On the cab ride from Kensington to Mayfair, she asked, curious, ‘What does Dieter think of Zephiniah?’

  ‘He thinks she’s jaw-droppingly beautiful and extremely exotic. So exotic he finds it hard to believe she has no Latin blood in her veins.’

  ‘She does look very Latin, but according to Burke’s Peerage she’s English all the way through – and Dieter is probably using “Latin” as a euphemism for “Jewish”.’

  ‘Why on earth should he?’ Olivia stared at her, mystified. ‘Sometimes, Thea, you do talk the most awful rot. If Dieter thought Zephiniah had Jewish blood in her veins, he would say so. Why would you think he wouldn’t?’

  ‘Because Roz told me that when she visited you in Berlin last year she heard the word “Jew” used quite often on the streets and in cafes – and not always about people who were obviously Jewish. She said it seemed to be a catchall phrase used disparagingly for anyone not obviously fitting in – people such as Eastern Europeans and gypsies. So Dieter would be careful, don’t you think, about using that word in connection with Zephiniah?’

  ‘I think you’re cracked and you go to too many socialist meetings and that, when she’s with you, Roz falls too quickly and easily into your cracked way of thinking. That’s what I think. Now are you coming with me into Claridge’s, or aren’t you?’

  Just as had happened so often when they were children, they were on the verge of falling out with each other for no real reason. Aware of it – and aware that their falling out was senseless when in order to cope with Zephiniah they needed to maintain a united front – Thea said, ‘I’m coming in. And just remember that I’m here as a chaperone, so no holding hands.’

  As the head waiter led them across the dining room to Dieter’s table, Thea appreciated for the first time just how distinctive-looking her future brother-in-law was. Until now she had only seen Dieter at Mount Street and – once – at a German Embassy function she had attended with Olivia and their father, at her father’s request. Her attitude then had been churlish. True, the war had long been over, but she’d still found Olivia’s choice of a German for a fiancé – and the ready way she had adapted to life in Berlin – crass.

  Now, as he rose from the table to greet them, she suddenly saw why Olivia was so smitten. Tall and athletic, with a lean face and high cheekbones, piercing blue eyes and straight blond hair swept away from his forehead, he had the look of a Viking god. It wasn’t a look that did anything for h
er, but combined with his aristocratic lineage and what her father predicted was going to be a dizzyingly successful diplomatic career, she could quite see that it was a package few women would be able to resist.

  He clicked his heels, kissed the back of her hand and said how pleased he was that she was joining them for lunch.

  Over glasses of Pol Roger champagne and sautéed scallops he told her why Claridge’s was his favourite place for lunch.

  ‘The Prince of Wales and his brother, Prince George, dine here together. It is a good recommendation, I think.’

  ‘If you start patronizing everywhere the Prince of Wales patronizes, you’re going to be kept very busy,’ she said drily. ‘He can fit in more social engagements in a day than most people manage in a year. As for Prince George . . .’

  It occurred to her that Dieter probably didn’t yet know about Prince George’s bisexuality and, as the kind of clubs Prince George favoured were not the kind that would enhance Dieter’s reputation if he were to be seen in them, she decided not to get involved in talking about him.

  He didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘It is good you and Olivia are such friends of Prince Albert and Princess Elizabeth. Albert is much different from his brothers, yes? More . . . what is the word in English? More the introvert?’

  ‘He’s certainly quieter,’ Thea said, ‘but so would we all be, if we had his stammer. And a word of advice, Dieter. In society Albert and Elizabeth are almost always referred to simply as the Duke and Duchess of York – and Bertie is never referred to as Albert. Speak of Prince Albert and people will think you are referring to the Prince Albert who married Queen Victoria.’

  He shot her a smile so charming she found herself definitely warming towards him. ‘Thank you for that tip. We Germans always err on an excess of formality, and it is good to be checked when we do so inappropriately.’

  The sommelier hovered at his elbow.

  Dieter looked from her to Olivia and said, ‘Would you like a different wine order now, or would you rather stay with champagne?’

  ‘Champagne,’ Olivia said instantly.

  Thea, now enjoying herself, nodded agreement.

  Their conversation returned to the Yorks, with Dieter saying that Bertie and Elizabeth’s home life sounded very gemütlicht.

  ‘Which means cosy and unpretentious,’ Olivia said for Thea’s benefit. ‘And the word Hausfrau is used for Elizabeth’s way of dressing – but that is because to be fashionable in Berlin means being a flapper and sporting short, cropped hair and mannish clothes.’

  ‘A look that Elizabeth is wise not even to flirt with.’ There was thick amusement in Thea’s voice. ‘Good Lord, can you imagine Elizabeth as a flapper? She’s far too softly rounded and pudgy and, between ourselves, I like her floaty pastel dresses and the three-string pearl necklace she wears with nearly everything . . .’

  ‘. . . and her shoulder-hugging fur collars and long skirts,’ Olivia finished for her. ‘It may be a style unique to her, but it is instantly recognizable, and men do seem to like it. Perhaps we should all be dressing in pink and cornflower-blue and dove-grey and wearing our hair parted in the middle and prettily curled.’

  There was no malice in her voice, only deep affection.

  Dieter covered her hand with his. ‘I think, Liebchen, that I prefer you just as you are.’

  Olivia flushed with happiness and, as they looked deep into each other’s eyes, it was so obvious that he loved her just as much as she loved him that Thea was overwhelmed with heartache. Why couldn’t Hal love her as Dieter loved Olivia? Why couldn’t he love her so much that he wanted to marry her, have children with her and grow old with her?

  It was a question she had no answer to and it was still gnawing at her heart when, an hour later, they went their separate ways – Dieter by cab to the German Embassy, Olivia by cab to a hairdressing appointment in Bond Street, and Thea on foot to nearby Mount Street.

  The light fall of snow had long since stopped and only the merest dusting still lay on the ground. As she approached the house, wondering how, when she entered it, she could best avoid Zephiniah, the front door opened and a man she had never seen before stepped out. As the door closed behind him he paused on the top of the shallow flight of wide stone steps, as if wondering where he should go next.

  She quickened her footsteps, intrigued. Just as her eyes were on him, so his eyes were now on her.

  She came to a halt at the foot of the steps and he began walking slowly down them. She judged him to be in his mid-twenties. He was wearing a black double-breasted overcoat and a grey fedora. Though his clothes shouldn’t have given his nationality away, he couldn’t have been mistaken for anything other than an American – and an American who was a New Yorker.

  He had a very neat, very dark, very attractive moustache above a well-shaped mouth, a pleasingly straight nose, satanically winged eyebrows – and beneath them eyes as distinctively slate-blue as Rozalind’s.

  ‘Hello, Kyle,’ she said as he came to a halt in front of her. ‘Roz forewarned us you’d soon be turning up here.’

  ‘I don’t think she forewarned Lady Fenton,’ he said in dry amusement. ‘I seemed to have taken her completely by surprise and I’m still not sure she understands my connection to the family.’

  ‘Don’t worry. She will. But as she wouldn’t give us any privacy in which to chat and get to know each other, I’d prefer not to make things clear to her right now. Shall we pick up a cab and go to the National Gallery? We can stroll there in the warm to our heart’s content and when we’re tired of looking at great art and deciding if we have mutual tastes in it, we can have tea and cakes in the cafe.’

  ‘Done deal, Thea.’ He flashed her a broad smile and crooked his arm.

  She slid her gloved hand through it. ‘How do you know I’m not Olivia?’

  ‘Because Roz described you as being bossy and decisive.’

  Companionably, as if they had known each other forever, they began walking in the direction of Park Lane, keeping an eye out for an empty taxicab as they did so.

  By the time one stopped for them, Thea was giving him an update on Olivia’s recent engagement to Dieter. By the time they reached Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery she was telling him about Violet’s obsession with becoming an actress.

  ‘Does she get any encouragement?’ he asked with interest after he’d paid off the cab.

  ‘Not one iota. My father has said he’s happy to send her to finishing school now she’s sixteen, but all she says is that she doesn’t want to go to a finishing school; that she wants to go to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art.’

  As they strolled through the galleries devoted to paintings dating from 1200 to 1500, which Thea said was her favourite period and Kyle said left him totally cold, he gave her an update on Rozalind’s affair with Max. ‘She’d thought she would have been sporting an engagement ring by now,’ he said as they stood in front of Giorgione’s The Adoration of the Kings, ‘but Max seems content to let things stay as they are.’

  Thea wondered if Kyle knew exactly what letting things ‘stay as they are’ meant. Would Roz have told her stepbrother that she and Max had been lovers within days of meeting – and of the lie she had told to ensure that they were? She doubted it – and if he didn’t know, then it wasn’t for her to tell him.

  As they moved from the Florentine art of the fifteenth century to the Venetian art of the sixteenth century, Kyle said, ‘Roz tells me you’re finding it difficult adjusting to having a stepmother.’

  ‘I would probably have adjusted to someone else quite well. It’s Zephiniah I’m finding it difficult to adjust to. She’s such a snob – and I find that so odd, when my father has always been so egalitarian.’

  There was a padded leather seat in the centre of the room and they sat down on it, facing the blazing reds and blues of Titian’s Bacchus and Ariadne.

  ‘At our family home in Yorkshire we never stood on ceremony – Mama would simply never have allowed it.�
��

  At the thought of her mother, and of how perfect life had been when Blanche was alive, tears stung her eyes.

  She blinked hard, focusing fiercely on the band of revellers following Bacchus’s cheetah-drawn chariot. ‘Some of our closest friends when we were children were people who worked for us; people like Charlie Hardwick – and I know Roz will have told you all about Charlie. We’ve also been best friends with Gorton’s odd-job man, Jim Crosby, since the time we were able to walk – and we still are best friends with him. In a time of trouble both Charlie and Jim are the first people Olivia and I – and Violet – would turn to.’

  ‘If Zephiniah is the snob you say she is,’ Kyle said sagely, ‘she’s not going to like that.’

  ‘No, she isn’t. But she’s jolly well going to have to put up with it.’

  Kyle frowned. From the little he’d seen of Zephiniah he didn’t think she was the kind of woman who would put up with anything she didn’t want to put up with. Rather than endure the embarrassment of having stepdaughters who fraternized with the estate staff, she would ensure that the staff in question were no longer at Gorton to be fraternized with.

  He looked at Thea’s profile as she stared straight ahead at the painting in front of them. Her jawline was strong and determined, and though her mouth was full and generous, it was also the mouth of someone who could be as obstinate as a mule if she chose to be. When it came to laying down the law as to who Thea could, and could not, be friends with, Zephiniah was going to have a battle royal on her hands – and the main issue wouldn’t be about Charlie and Jim. It would be about Hal Crosby and Carrie Thornton.

  ‘Though far more Carrie than Hal,’ Roz had said to Kyle, when they had dined together in New York the evening before he had sailed. ‘Things are a little sticky between Thea and Hal at the moment. They had a falling-out a year ago and it still hasn’t been resolved. Carrie is a different matter. Both Thea and Olivia think of Carrie as family. They are as close to her as they are to me, and Carrie has been in and out of Gorton just as if she was their sister, or a cousin, ever since she was eight years old. From what Thea and Olivia have written to me about the former Lady Pyke, it isn’t an arrangement she is going to find acceptable.’