The Secrets of Winter

by Nicola Upson

  She glanced behind them at the open museum door, and Josephine felt obliged to explain. ‘We thought we’d have a look round while we were waiting,’ she said. ‘You’ve obviously got a fascinating collection.’

  ‘Oh yes, there are one or two things here that you won’t find anywhere else, but I’m very sorry – it’s closed now until after Christmas.’ She reached inside to turn the sign round and shut the door firmly behind her. ‘Family commitments. This shouldn’t have been left open today, but I’m sure there’ll be time for you to have a look round before you leave. Now – shall we go up and settle you in?’

  Trannack had returned and was by the car with the Lancasters; other than an embarrassed glance towards Marta and Josephine, they made no reference to the earlier conversation, and when Mrs Pendean began the steep climb to the castle, they followed her without another word.

  4

  The temptation to call in at his uncle’s house and introduce his travelling companion to his family was almost too much for Archie, but their progress through Devon had been hampered by icy roads and snowbound villages, and he wanted to reach Marazion before the causeway closed. In spite of sending luggage on separately as she had promised, Marlene could never be described as someone who travelled light, and the idea of transferring everything she had brought from his car to a boat was a mountain which he would prefer not to face at the end of a long journey.

  Contrary to his expectations, the hours spent together on the road had been relaxed and enjoyable, and Marlene was excellent company – gracious and undemanding, and appreciative of everything that was arranged for her. Knowing that nothing he booked could compete with the hotels she was used to, Archie had chosen simple country inns to break their journey, full of English charm but suitably anonymous, and he would never forget the look on a Wiltshire landlady’s face when the actress marched into her kitchens to demand the recipe for a venison and chestnut casserole. They talked constantly while they drove, and yet – while Marlene had quizzed him expertly on everything from his job to his favourite foods, teasing him gently at times and flirting when the mood took her – Archie would have been hard pressed to say that he knew her any better now than he did when they left Claridge’s; only once, when she had talked again about the letters that were causing her so much concern, did he glimpse someone more vulnerable beneath the natural self-assurance.

  ‘You are lucky to come from such a beautiful place,’ she said, as they drove across the wild, treeless moorland between Launceston and Bodmin. The landscape was dotted with granite boulders and thickets of rough furze, devoid of human markers except for the occasional isolated farmhouse, and it interested Archie that she should find its starkness beautiful. ‘Why did you leave it?’ she asked.

  ‘College first, and then the war.’

  ‘You must have been young to fight.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, but not really. I was twenty when I signed up, and there was nothing particularly young about that, even in those early days. I suppose you were still at school?’

  Marlene nodded. ‘They made us knit for the soldiers – mittens and scarves, sweaters if you were older. I’m sure they only did it to make us feel useful.’ She stared out of the window at a dark mass of rock on the summit of a hill, silhouetted against a pale sky like the ruins of a castle. ‘The wool was so rough, and I could never keep it from tangling. They called it field grey, which puzzled me. I’d never seen a field that was grey, but I suppose the battlefields were.’

  ‘Brown and grey, yes – like a never-ending winter. I remember coming back to England on leave, and all those summer greens seemed so artificial.’

  She lit a cigarette for each of them and looked curiously at Archie. ‘Why are you smiling? You surely don’t have fond memories of that time.’

  ‘No, not at all. I was just trying to reconcile the little girl and her tangled knitting with the woman I saw showing the Nazis out of her hotel suite.’

  ‘The little girl was defiant too.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure she was.’

  ‘I was thrown out of school for it,’ she said, a hint of pride in her voice. ‘There was a French POW camp near my home and we weren’t supposed to go anywhere near it, but I loved France, even then. On Bastille Day I took the soldiers white roses and pushed them through the barbed wire fence. Someone saw me doing it and the mothers demanded my blood.’

  Archie smiled again, picturing the scene. ‘How did your family fare during the war?’ he asked, realising how little he knew of Marlene’s life outside her films. ‘Did your father fight?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. My father was a lieutenant in the Royal Prussian police, but he died when I was six and I never really got to know my stepfather. He was killed in the middle of the war. Most of my cousins, too. By the time it was over, we were a family of women, all in black.’ She had spoken vehemently against the Nazis throughout the journey, expressing opinions very similar to his own, and it was easy to forget that he and her family had fought on opposite sides. ‘It seemed to go on for so long,’ she said. ‘My cousin Hans said that your men pitied ours towards the end. They threw cans of food over whenever the gunfire stopped. He loved your corned beef.’ There was a weariness in her voice, which spoke for both sides. ‘It’s good to know that people can think for themselves when it really matters, isn’t it? It gives me hope.’

  Large, uneven flakes of snow began to fall onto the car and Archie looked anxiously at the sky, hoping that the weather wasn’t about to take a turn for the worse, but the flurry was nothing more than that and the last few miles passed quickly. Marlene’s delight on seeing the castle for the first time was a distraction from his own more complex feelings; with his parents and many of his friends now dead, coming home for Christmas was invariably a tangle of comfort and loss, much harder than staying away. He had seen St Michael’s Mount at midnight under a harvest moon and shimmering in the midday sun, ghostly through a sea mist or defiant against a raging storm, but it always transported him back to his childhood. ‘We’re here in time,’ he said, before his emotions could get the better of him. ‘The tide looks like it’s only just turned, so we can cross by car.’

  ‘That’s probably just as well. I have never been a very good swimmer.’

  Archie announced their arrival at the estate office on the mainland, and by the time he had driven across the causeway, Hilaria was waiting on the quayside, flanked by two footmen and a man with a camera. ‘I feel as if I’m about to be presented at court,’ Marlene said.

  ‘I suppose you are, in a manner of speaking. They’re used to royalty here.’

  He drew up by the museum and opened the door for Marlene, noticing how many of the islanders had suddenly found a reason to be out and about or sitting at their windows. ‘Miss Dietrich, how lovely to meet you,’ Hilaria said. ‘Thank you for coming. Your support is so valuable to us.’

  ‘I’m glad to help with such a good cause. It’s very good of you to open your home for Christmas – and what a magnificent home it is.’

  Archie waited while Hilaria talked briefly about the island and its history. She seemed completely at ease, and – not for the first time – he envied the English aristocracy their self-confidence, then reminded himself that in this particular case it stemmed from more than generations of entitlement. Hilaria was a remarkable woman in her own right, an adventurous, inquisitive traveller who had flown across the equator and sailed around the world, showing as little regard for safety in later life as she had when they played together as children. She and Marlene were bound to hit it off, he thought; they had so much in common.

  The photographer hovered awkwardly on the sidelines, a guest whose presence was tolerated rather than welcomed, and Archie felt sorry for him. He had expected someone older, a version of the pushy, world-weary journalists he had often had to deal with in his work, but Alex Fielding was around thirty, dressed impeccably in a dark blue suit which was new enough to have been bought especially for the weekend; he look
ed incapable of intruding on anyone’s privacy, let alone a Hollywood star’s. ‘You must be from The Times,’ Archie said, holding out his hand. ‘I’m—’

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Penrose – yes, I recognised you. From the newspaper,’ he added, seeing the look of surprise on Archie’s face. ‘You’ve been splashed across our pages several times in the last few months.’

  Hilaria waved them over before Archie had a chance to respond. ‘Miss Dietrich, allow me to introduce Alex Fielding from The Times. Mr Fielding was just telling me how often he’s photographed you in the past, so he’ll probably be familiar to you.’

  Marlene looked at him and Archie could see that she had no recollection of him at all from the sea of photographers who must greet her at every turn, but her graciousness was impressive. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘How nice to see you again, Mr Fielding.’

  ‘And you.’ He took her hand, then seemed to remember why he was there. ‘Perhaps I might get some shots of your arrival at the Mount? Now, while we’ve still got the light?’

  ‘By all means.’ She put a hand on Archie’s arm and said under her breath: ‘You see? Why do they always think they know me?’

  He smiled and watched her walk a few yards round the harbour, admiring her instinct for the best vantage point. Fielding turned to him. ‘You too, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘You want me in the photograph?’

  ‘Why not? Our readers will want to know that Miss Dietrich is in safe hands.’

  It seemed an odd thing to say, and Archie noticed Hilaria glance sharply at Fielding. He stood by Marlene, waiting while the photographer fumbled nervously with the camera, then moved to one side to allow him to take some pictures of the film star on her own.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ Hilaria said, giving him a hug while the others were preoccupied. ‘I was beginning to wish I’d never started this.’

  He laughed. ‘You’ve really got nothing to worry about. She’s nowhere near as difficult as you might expect.’

  ‘That’s not quite what I meant, but I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘There’s an awful lot of luggage in the car, though,’ he added quietly, ‘and very little of it is mine.’

  He had meant it as a joke, but Hilaria didn’t smile as she beckoned the footman over. ‘Take Mr Penrose’s car round to the tram, will you, Mason?’

  Archie thanked him and handed over his keys. ‘Have Josephine and Marta arrived?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, about half an hour ago. I haven’t had a chance to call in on them yet, but we’re gathering for drinks at six.’

  ‘I’ll go and say hello when we’ve finished here.’

  ‘Do, but can I speak to you first? In private?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  She looked concerned, but before Archie could ask her what was wrong, they were distracted by another car driving quickly across the causeway, a large Mercedes-Benz with whitewall tyres. ‘Ah, good – that’s the colonel and his daughter,’ Hilaria said, as the chauffeur pulled up outside the Change House. ‘Excellent timing. We can all go up to the castle together.’

  But the man who got out of the back seat was certainly nothing to do with the British army, retired or otherwise. Barbara Penhaligon’s chaperone was a handsome young blond man in a dark uniform, and Hilaria stared in horror at the swastika on his arm. ‘I don’t understand,’ she faltered. ‘Where is Arthur? What is that man doing here?’

  ‘I was about to ask the very same thing,’ Marlene said, and her voice was suddenly like cut glass.

  Barbara Penhaligon waved and made her way over, and it seemed to Archie that she was perfectly aware of her host’s discomfort; not only that, but she appeared to be enjoying it. ‘My father isn’t well,’ she announced, kissing Hilaria on both cheeks. ‘He’s so disappointed not to be here, but he’s gone down with a terrible cold and he wasn’t fit to travel.’ She looked round at everyone, waiting for the introduction that was hardly necessary. ‘He sends his apologies, but you really wouldn’t thank him for passing it on, I’m sure.’

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear that,’ Hilaria said, just as her lack of response was verging on rudeness. ‘We were looking forward to seeing you both, but you shouldn’t feel obliged to stay if you’d rather be at home with him. Christmas isn’t a time to be on your own.’

  The attempt to avert a social disaster was both clumsy and transparent. Barbara smiled to show that she’d seen through it, but played along with the game. ‘That’s thoughtful of you, but he really was most insistent that we don’t both let you down, and Max was kind enough to bring me across. You remember him from last summer, when he was here with the British Ambassador? It would have been at the Godolphin garden party.’

  ‘I was away in Egypt last summer, so I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure until now.’ She shook hands with the German, and out of solidarity Archie did the same, resisting the urge to wipe his palm on his trousers afterwards.

  ‘Delighted to meet you all,’ Max said in flawless English, ‘and particularly you, Miss Dietrich. We are great admirers of your work back in Germany, as I’m sure you know.’

  He held out his hand to Marlene, and Archie glanced at Fielding and the ever-present camera, but the actress was one step ahead of him: under no circumstances was she willing to be photographed shaking hands with a Nazi, and she simply nodded, her face expressionless.

  ‘Aren’t you going to invite Max to stay?’ Barbara asked, looking provocatively at her host, as if daring her to choose which guest to offend.

  Archie felt sorry for Hilaria, put so publicly on the spot, but ironically it was the German who saved her. ‘Thank you, that is very kind, but I have business to attend to over Christmas. The compliments of the season to you all.’ He gave a curt nod and spoke quickly in German to Barbara, then strode round the harbour to the waiting car. Hilaria sent the second footman after him to collect the luggage.

  ‘What did he say to her?’ Archie asked Marlene under his breath.

  ‘He told her to telephone at once if she needs anything. He said he will be waiting just across the water.’ They watched as the Mercedes turned and drove back along the causeway, which was now partially covered by the incoming tide. The actress turned to Hilaria. ‘Perhaps you would be kind enough to show me to my room.’

  It wasn’t a request, even if her hostess had been inclined to suggest an alternative. Fielding stayed behind in the village to take more photographs, and Hilaria set off up the steep path to the east door. In the entrance hall – with a certain amount of relief, Archie thought – she handed Marlene and Barbara over to the care of two waiting housemaids. ‘Could that have been more awkward?’ she asked, when she and Archie were finally on their own.

  ‘Not really. I hope you haven’t put them in adjacent rooms.’

  ‘Mercifully no, but there are still plenty of opportunities for them to clash at meal times. Poor Arthur. As if that girl hasn’t caused him enough worry already. Thank God her mother’s not alive to see it.’

  ‘At least her friend didn’t stay, and any animosity between Barbara and Marlene will be diluted in a larger group. We’ll do our best to keep them apart, and if all else fails, just think of the money you’re raising.’

  She sighed. ‘Even that isn’t turning out quite as I expected. The Lancasters’ cheque was returned to me in the post this morning, so what do I do about that? I can hardly throw them off the island now they’re here.’

  ‘Have you said anything to them?’

  ‘No. They were on the same train as your friends, so I haven’t even met them. I’ve been hoping for the right moment, but, as you can imagine, it hasn’t arisen yet. And now we’ve the German question. Thank God for Richard and Angela, although she’s hardly herself, poor woman. And you, of course. Thank you for coming, Archie. More than ever now.’

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’ he asked, concerned to see her so anxious. ‘What did you want to talk to me about?’

  ‘It’s best if I show you.
Come with me.’

  Intrigued, he followed her up a spiral granite staircase and along a series of passages which led away from the east wing and into the main body of the house. The castle’s geography was confusing, built as it was on different levels and linked by numerous corridors that twisted this way and that, doubling back on themselves until he lost all sense of direction. There were steps up and down where they were least expected, and he stumbled a couple of times in the fading light as he tried to keep up with his guide. Eventually, they reached the Long Passage that ran parallel with the church, its walls lined with portraits of the St Aubyn family. He was struck by a magnificent oil painting of Hilaria’s stepmother, who had died earlier that year. ‘How is Lord St Levan?’ he asked. ‘I’m sorry he won’t be with us for Christmas.’

  ‘Yes, so am I, but it’s much more sensible for him to spend winters on the mainland now. It can be bitterly cold here, as you know, and he’s very frail. Julia’s death hit him so hard. He’s been blessed with two happy marriages, but to lose them both – well, it takes its toll. That, and the state of the world. It’s a terrible thing to say, but I half wish he could be spared what we’re heading for.’

  ‘Yes, I can understand that. It will mean big changes for you, though.’

  Hilaria stopped to straighten one of the pictures, conveniently not meeting his eye. ‘You’re right, it will. I’m trying not to think about that, though. Not until I have to.’

  They were in the Victorian part of the house now, and Archie followed her down the kitchen stairs to the staff quarters. The door swung heavily shut behind them, marking the point where the tapestries and richly coloured rugs gave way to bare stone floors and walls painted an anaemic shade of green. It was draughty in the bowels of the house, and the passage – which was actually more like a tunnel – echoed with the footsteps of staff going purposefully about their work. Archie wondered why they were there.