The drizzle had stopped. Passengers had emerged. Tim turned a page of his book, his eyes scanning the deck. Who was that man over there, with the cap, watching the people milling? Who was that woman to their left, who seemed to be reading a book, just as he was?
‘Perhaps if you took a walk up and down, and found a seat near, but not too near?’ They did, walking arm in arm. The wind was high, and soon Tim felt too ill to care who anyone was, and seriously considered throwing himself over the side.
At last they arrived at Dover. At the bottom of the gangplank, a man in a mackintosh stood waiting. He shook hands with the Gerbers, looking at them, but saying to Tim, who was a pace behind them, ‘Fall back a pace or two, I have them now.’ He steered the Gerbers ahead. Tim followed behind.
The man had a fit of coughing, and had to stop. Tim almost knocked into him. The man gripped his arm as though in apology. He said, ‘Check your pocket.’
The man turned back to the Gerbers. ‘Come along, let’s get things sorted. You are quite safe now.’ They hurried away. Tim made a great show of checking his watch, patting his pockets and drawing out his book, nodding with relief, as though worried he had lost it. With the book he also withdrew the expected note, and placed it in the book, as though a bookmark, noting as he did so, ‘Agent lost. Need to reconsider your position. Cover possibly blown. Telephone Smythe.’
Tim went on his way to the station, thinking of the lost agent, and Herr Bauer.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Easterleigh Hall, April 1938
Annie, Evie, Bridie, Mrs Moore and Ver spent two days making plans for Sir Anthony’s surprise seventieth birthday in May. To finalise everything they called a meeting at ten thirty in the morning. They sat around the kitchen table with Maudie, Harry, Richard, James and Mr Harvey, while Kevin and Ron guarded the reception desk.
Mrs Moore muttered, ‘And what, exactly, will you be doing for my ninetieth birthday?’
Evie groaned, ‘Surely you’re not still going to be going strong by then?’
Bridie put her arm around Mrs Moore. ‘Sticks and stones may break our bones, but words they cannot hurt us, eh, Mrs Moore?’
‘Ah, rebellion in the ranks,’ Aunt Ver said, brandishing pen and paper. ‘For that you can write the invitations, and remember, we do not make comments about the guests, as this is for Sir Anthony’s sake, not ours. So write them with good grace, please, young lady.’
She tossed the list on the table, and pointed to the invitations on the dresser.
Bridie did as she was told.
On 5 May,, in the ballroom, the assembled guests consumed virtually the whole of the buffet, which had included many of Bridie’s haute cuisine classics. At the end of the meal the tables looked like a train crash, she thought, with their scrunched-up napkins, and some knocked-over glasses. She looked around for the temporary staff and gave them the nod, because all the regular staff members were guests, at the behest of Sir Anthony.
The guests assembled around Sir Anthony, and his birthday cake. Bridie had iced it. It was not as good as Mrs Moore’s would have been, but it was passable. Well, more than that, she thought to herself, trying not to look at Tim, who stood with Lady Margaret and Penny, near to Sir Anthony.
Her mam thought Lady Margaret might marry Sir Anthony. Bridie did hope not; she was such a horrid woman, and he was so nice, and the whole thing was so odd.
James stood beside her and whispered, ‘I do so hope the speeches don’t go on forever, as I really want a slice of your masterpiece.’
She folded her arms. She was cross with him, still. Tim stood across from them. ‘Look at him,’ she hissed. ‘With that stupid girl fluttering all over him. Why can’t he see them for what they are?’
‘Perhaps he can, and . . .’ He stopped.
She said, ‘I’ll finish it for you. Perhaps he can, because that’s who he is, too. We all know that, so why are you always defending him?’
James flushed. ‘You can be so – hard. I think there’s something else going on, he’s . . .’
She put up her hand. ‘Yes, let me finish it for you. He likes her, so I’ve said it for you.’
Her da was beside Sir Anthony now, tapping his wine glass for silence. ‘I hope you’ve all topped up your glasses for the toast, to Easterleigh Hall hotel, and the Neave Wing’s generous benefactor. It’s been our great pleasure, Sir Anthony, to know you for many years, and to celebrate such an important birthday. We admire your goodness and kindness more than you can ever know. We admire your drive for peace, we applaud you for all your good works, and toast the honourable example you have set us all. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, Sir Anthony Travers.’
All assembled raised their glasses and repeated, ‘Sir Anthony Travers.’
Bridie brought the glass to her lips. Across from her, Tim looked so sad, and his shoulders were slumped. The glass was in his hand, at his lips. He didn’t drink, but brought the glass down and just held it. What was the matter with him?
Now Sir Anthony spoke, ‘I thank you all, and you, Auberon. I feel I am not an example.’ He stopped. Tim was looking at him, his shoulders rigid now. Behind him she could see Potty. Did he touch Tim’s shoulder? No, there was no hand there now. Sir Anthony continued, ‘I feel that I have been remiss. I have been busy supporting this, that and the other, and somehow I have found little time for my family.’ He held out his hand now. ‘Annie, would you come and help me cut the cake?’
Bridie looked for her mother, and they lifted their eyebrows at one another. Annie? At last. ‘You see,’ Sir Anthony admitted, ‘I have been blind to many things, so focused have I become on my need to change the world.’ He laughed, and so did others, who knew of his urge for peace. Did they also know how many of the Club were fascists? Probably not, because today they weren’t wearing their badges.
Sir Anthony said, ‘I asked Annie and Harry to bring the boys this evening, though I fear they have been bored beyond tears.’ He raised his glass to the boys, who shook their heads, like the little gentlemen they were. ‘I want to say, though I have said it before, that they are the most wonderful family. I am proud of Harry and the way he has created a valuable role for himself; I am proud of Annie, for running the Neave Wing as she does, and my wonderful grandsons.’
Harry was standing next to Annie now. They both looked pleased but confused. Well, Bridie thought, they’re not alone. James whispered, ‘I do wish they’d cut the ruddy cake.’
She grinned suddenly. Trust James to break the moment. He had changed since his return, but not that much. He was just more grown up. Sir Anthony said, ‘Now to cut this magnificent cake, made and iced by the clever Bridie Brampton.’
He cut the cake now, with Annie’s hand on his. The temporary staff moved in, to cut the rest, and circulate to the tables, as people headed back to their chairs. Harry set the band playing, and suddenly, as Bridie moved across and tried some crumbs, everything was wonderful, because the cake tasted just as it should. As good as any her mother had made, and Sir Anthony had called it a magnificent cake, and what’s more, he had praised Annie.
As the coffee arrived dancers took to the floor, including Tim, who led out Penny. They danced and Penny floated as though on gossamer wings. Bridie wanted to kick her feet from under her. She hadn’t realised Tim was a good dancer, but why would she? He usually said he couldn’t. He had yet another new skill, then.
She turned on her heel, fury and jealousy raging. She bumped into James. ‘Shall we?’ he grinned, bowing.
‘No, we shall not.’ She swept through the glass doors which opened to the terrace. Two couples were dancing out here. She stormed past, and out onto the lawn, breaking into a run and only stopping beneath the branches of the cedar tree. She heard James panting behind her. ‘Crikey, we used to slow down so we could reach the beck together, but you’d outrun us both now.’
She stared back at the Hall, loving it, waiting for it to work its magic and soothe her. She said, ‘We’re not those children any more.
That won’t ever happen again.’
‘No, Bridie, you’re wrong, it did. Tim waited for me, that day when you shouted for the dogs. He waited and we reached it together. Bridie, you have to let it go. We’re not a police state yet, people have a right to be what they want to be.’
‘I can’t. I won’t, and how can you say that?’
‘Because I love you. Because you’re just so stubborn. Because you prattle about democracy but you won’t live it.’
She shook her head. ‘I won’t live it, not for this. He goes to Berlin. He supports cruelty and evil. He pitches up at that damned meeting house where they spout their prejudice, their hate. He has dinner with that horse-faced woman. He dances with her daughter.’
James waved his finger at her. ‘That’s it, though. He dances with her daughter. Have a good look at yourself, Bridie. Perhaps he’s made his choice and it’s not you. But I’m here.’
She stalked off, calling back, ‘Oh James, don’t be daft. You’re my friend, my cousin, and so is he. We all belong together, which is why he should be here too.’
Tim led Penny back to her mother, and obeyed Potty’s minute gesture. They had not been in contact for a while, as Tim had been instructed to lie low after helping the Gerbers to escape, and he was curious to know what Potty had to say now. He followed him out onto the terrace, but it was too crowded. Potty strolled out towards the cedar tree, passing Bridie on the way. ‘Evening, Bridie,’ Potty called.
‘Oh shut up,’ she shouted at Potty, stalking past him and Tim.
Potty stopped, and stared after her. ‘Goodness,’ he said to Tim. ‘Lovers’ tiff – look at young James, striding towards the ha-ha at a rate of knots.’
Tim looked from James to Bridie’s retreating figure. Oh God, he hoped not, because he wanted to be the man she chose to love. Potty called him, ‘Come along. We have things to talk about. And isn’t she rather young for you?’
Tim shook his head. ‘There’s something about Bridie that was born strong, bold and old. She might say a lot, but it usually needs saying, and it’s always the truth, unlike us, Potty, and I’d die for her. Now, what did you want to say?’
Potty blew on the ash of his cigar. ‘Walk with me to the tree. It seems to have the wisdom of years, which it has inherited from the one before, I suspect.’
He waited until they were there, safe beneath its branches, looking at the soft light streaming from the windows of the Hall, and listening to the music. Potty said, ‘Please God the lights do not again have to go out over Europe. I did think, for one moment, that Sir Anthony was going to confess all to the assembled company, and I’m pleased he didn’t. There would then be no way back, and he’s a good old cove. I am working to find a way that he can honourably face what is left of his life.’
‘Does he know he’s blown?’
‘Not yet. We are using him to our advantage and I hope that in due course, when it is time to haul him in, that will serve to expiate him in his own eyes. He is clearly aware of the murky waters in which he’s paddling, but we can’t throw him a lifebelt yet, or we will be unable to save his name. We have to work carefully and patiently and hope to God he doesn’t blow the gaff before we are ready.’
‘Using him to our advantage, you say?’
Potty laughed slightly. ‘Yes, but, dear heart, the world is short of good men.’
It was a relief to be able to talk freely with Potty. Besides, he liked the man. ‘What about me? Am I blown?’ He wanted Potty to say, Yes, never go again, it’s too dangerous, because he’d received a letter from his mother, wanting the original of the letter or Heine would be forced to take steps. What those were, he had no wish to know.
Potty said, ‘We’re fairly sure you are safe. We did lose our man on the ground in Berlin, but no-one seems to have made a connection with you, or registered that Dieter and Bernat were the Gerbers. We feel that it is thought they are roaming free, somewhere on the continent.’
‘So, at some stage you will be sending me to Germany again?’ He barely breathed, waiting for the answer.
‘Possibly, old tosh, though I feel that the time will come when you are of more use working within Britain. There will be agents here to be turned, or exposed, such as the Lady Margarets of this world, who could take their infatuation with the master race into the realms of treason, if she has not done so already. Penny has potential also, one feels. An asset, though not in the way she would wish.’
‘She is just a young woman,’ Tim protested.
‘One who is a rabid anti-Semite, who, in her own words, insists that Germany is not a dictatorship but a system that is merely simplifying democracy, to enable them to march into the East, the West and wipe the place clean of sub-humans. I quote verbatim.’
Tim objected, ‘She’s a stupid young woman who hasn’t seen all that we have, and is parroting her mother. You can’t manipulate her in that way, it’s too damned cynical.’
‘Bless you, dear boy. She has been to Berlin several times with her mother, and rather enjoys the incidents of persecution. Oh, did you not know? I have several rather interesting photographs of her, one of which portrays her clapping when an elderly Jew is made to sweep the pavement with his hands after his shop window was heaved in by a few of Hitler’s finest. I gather the cuts were rather severe. That photographic evidence is by no means the worst. What say you to that?’
Tim leaned back against the tree, his hands in his pockets. He fingered the mezuzah case. ‘Bridie would rather clean the pavements like that herself, than allow it to happen to anyone else. What’s more, she’d tell them all the time what bastards they are, and get herself killed.’
Potty laughed, loud and long. ‘Oh yes, I do believe you are right. She’d be a fat lot of good in our game.’ He looked up through the branches. ‘She loves you.’
Tim jerked upright. ‘What on earth makes you say that? She hates me.’
‘Of course she does. She wants you as you were, because your supposed politics make her love impossible. You are right, she’s a stubborn little baggage, too honest for her own good, too strong, and in too much pain to ever be nice to you as things are. I’ve always had a soft spot for our Bridie, and for the whole family, come to that.’ He looked at the Hall. ‘It’s a special place, with special people. I hope against hope that it doesn’t end up being a hospital again. Though if it does, they’ll be lucky buggers, the ones that make it this far. So, for the moment, life is back to normal for you, young man.’
Tim said, ‘Almost. I have the long weekend training session north of London soon, in spycraft, or somesuch.’
‘Indeed, dear heart, but that is your normal, from now on. Be aware, it could save your life.’
‘Now, that’s a thought to conjure with,’ Tim murmured. They both laughed.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Easterleigh Hall, August 1938
Life had proceeded with great calm at Easterleigh Hall over the summer, with David Weare taking much more of a role with the riding therapy and Estrella drawing closer to him. As June had turned to July, Matron and Sister Newsome seemed to finally understand that the young man was not about to have his heart broken by this young woman, who was not the flighty Jezebel they first surmised.
Bridie liked to think that it was because of her own heavy comments dropped kerplunk when the occasion allowed, but Matron had flapped her hands and told her it was because they had eyes in their heads, and had assessed the situation for themselves. It was no surprise to any of them when David Weare and Estrella Aiza announced their engagement as the sun beat down on the wheat, and the Stunted Tree shimmered in the heat.
Evie and Ver insisted that Easterleigh Hall would host the wedding reception as their gift. Aub, Richard and Harry put their heads together and offered David the position of second in command to Bridie at the riding end of the Neave Wing. It was Bridie’s suggestion, as she was finding it increasingly difficult to share both her cooking and riding duties.
‘Accommodation for the pair
of them?’ Bridie queried, as she walked with her parents towards Easterleigh Hall early one morning after the engagement announcement.
Her father raised his eyebrows, and sighed. ‘And you have decided – what?’
‘I’ve decided nothing, Da,’ she laughed. ‘I just asked Matron and Sister Newsome to put their heads together to work out where the two of them can live. It’s alright for our couples who come for a holiday to share a hotel room, but David and Estrella can’t squash into one permanently, can they?’
‘Perhaps they’re perfectly happy to squash,’ her da objected.
‘Oh Da,’ she sighed. ‘That’s not nice.’
Her mam started to say, ‘I think it probably is n—’
Bridie held up her hand. ‘Please, don’t say another word, either of you, and actually, I asked a friend of Harry’s to draw up some plans to convert the far end of the third block into an apartment. That gives them some privacy but still easy access for David, as it has all the ramps and walkways. If that’s alright with you, of course?’
She saw her da and mam exchange a look. Her mam said, ‘That wasn’t a question, was it?’
Her da laughed. ‘Oh lordy, where have I heard all this before?’ He stroked his wife’s hair, as they came to the end of the track demarcating the end of Home Farm land. Bridie looked away. He was going to kiss her mam, his love shining out like a beacon, and she felt inexplicably sad, because she was almost eighteen and most girls of her age had a beau. But the man she loved had put himself somewhere she wouldn’t go.
She reached down and swept her hand through the long, dry, yellowing grass of the verge, hearing the quiet conversation her parents were having, envying the deep waters of their lives. They left behind the wheat fields, and now sheep grazed on one side, and cows on the other. Easterleigh Hall had its own pasture, its own wheat, a legacy from Uncle Richard’s management of the land during the Great War. He and Harry still managed it. Overhead larks sang. She felt momentarily peaceful, as the pain of love settled, as it sometimes did.
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