A House Divided: An Easterleigh Hall Novel

by Margaret Graham

  In the end, she said, ‘But you pretend so well, Tim. Perhaps you’re pretending now? You must see how I can’t love or trust someone like you.’

  He let go of her arms. He just nodded. ‘I have said all I can. I love you. I will never lie about that, but there is, and will be, crucial work to do to keep the country safe. All of us will be involved, and this will be my way. That is it, Bridie. That is the sum of it. Now, I have something to do. I will be back for your answer.’

  He walked past her. He’d parked his motorbike at the bottom of the drive. She said to his back, ‘I’ve given you my answer.’

  He called back, ‘I’m not accepting it.’

  She watched him roar out of the drive, wanting to run after him, but wishing she’d never met him too.

  Uncle Potty emerged from behind the marquee, making her jump almost out of her skin. ‘You really are a silly girl. He’s a good man. He helped James to return, though he knew it would put him under an obligation to that unpleasant SS officer, Heine. Great shame, really, as he’d just seen his own political leanings as a mistake and wanted to be as far from it all as anyone could. I persuaded him to return to do a double bluff, to work for his country. This he did, though he knew he could tell no-one, and would therefore jeopardise his standing in the community and his family.’

  She could still hear his motorbike, as he travelled along the road. It was growing fainter. ‘I gave him permission to tell his parents. I did not give him permission to tell you, but I knew he would, eventually. I did not give him permission to go where he’s going, but I knew he would. I just hope he manages to work a miracle. It will save much heartache, and not his so much, this time. Of course, if you ever speak of this, I will have to kill you.’

  He walked away, behind the marquee again, and Bridie thought he was teasing but she wasn’t sure. She still didn’t know what to think, what to feel, because Tim was her hero again, the person who had always protected her, waited to cross the line, all of them together, the person who made her feel that she could say and do anything, and he’d still be there for her. But she hadn’t been there for him.

  She walked out from beneath the cedar tree, listening to his fading engine, because if he had always done that, and still professed to do so, then what the hell was she waiting for? She laughed now, lifting her head and watching the clouds racing across the sky. She was waiting for him to return, that’s what. Because she knew that, quietly and in secret, she would always know the truth, and be there for him. That’s what love was all about.

  Tim roared up Searton’s drive. It was south of Washington and half an hour from Easterleigh Hall. He had telephoned Sir Anthony early this morning, checking that he was at home. He had said, ‘Come, dear Tim. I drove up last night. I have things to sort out.’ He sounded so tired.

  Tim parked his motorbike quite close to the front door because he wanted to return to Bridie the minute he had finished here. He drew off his leather gloves and placed them neatly on the saddle, with his leather helmet, not knowing quite what he was going to say, but he must try.

  He rang the bell. Mr Dorkins, the butler, let him in. He put his hand out for Tim’s goggles. He kept them. Sir Anthony came from his study, and beckoned him in.

  ‘This is a pleasant surprise, young Tim. I have no package, if that is what you need.’

  Tim entered and stood there, on the pale pink Persian rug. It was a light room, one he had never entered before. He had been here for one dinner only. He said, ‘No, I do not need any packages, and neither, I feel, should you give them to me any more, Sir Anthony.’

  The man’s shoulders seemed to fold, and he almost staggered to one of the elegant French chairs placed either side of the fireplace. He said, as he sat and sank his head in his hands, ‘It’s a relief, you know. I knew it was wrong, but I simply had no choice. But that’s what we traitors all say, isn’t it?’ His voice was muffled, and finally he raised his head, to hear Tim’s answer.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Tim said, which was the truth.

  ‘And you, Tim. Why is it that you are here? I expected Potty. I knew he was something behind the scenes, but I didn’t know what. But you? Yes, I see it now. You don’t actually drink the toasts raised by the dreadful Lady Margaret and her equally awful daughter, or indeed, the Edgers. You listen, you say little. Ah yes, I see, I think, so tell me, Tim Forbes, what of you?’

  Tim said, ‘I’m not important.’

  Sir Anthony half laughed. ‘Do you really think so?’

  Tim sat opposite him, wrapping his goggles around his hand. ‘The thing is, Sir Anthony, everyone holds you in such high esteem, but the net is going to tighten around fascists who pass information. Well, indeed, anyone who passes information, to what we consider the enemy. You have been under surveillance, and it has been noted that you have accessed files that were not in your remit. Over the last several months you have passed misinformation, placed by our intelligence service, to prove that you were indeed doing it. You are by no means alone, and we believe that you are being coerced.’

  Sir Anthony shifted in his chair, looking at Tim, startled. Tim said, ‘We suspect that you are being blackmailed.’

  Again there was that half-laugh from Sir Anthony.

  Tim didn’t understand, but continued. ‘People are going to be caught and interned, at the very least, if they can’t be turned to work for us. I’ve come to you, privately, because you are such a good man, someone who has always been a supporter of peace and the disadvantaged.’

  Sir Anthony said nothing, just stared down at his hands, which were clasped motionless in his lap. ‘You don’t understand, dear Tim Forbes,’ he said. ‘You are right, Herr Weber tried to blackmail me, but what is that, when all is said and done? So I refused.’

  Tim shifted in his seat, staring at his goggles. Surely this man was not acting out of conviction?

  Sir Anthony opened his hands helplessly. He looked up at Tim. ‘You see, my dear Tim, you travel to see your mother, of course you do. You will continue for as long as the world situation allows it. It was made clear to me that if I faltered, he’d have you arrested when you visited next, and you would be “disappeared”. If I told you and you ceased to visit, he would have agents who could find you. What could I do? What can you do, now? How can we keep you safe?’

  Tim felt the shock rock right through him. He felt cold, his mouth dry. He couldn’t speak. All this time it was – what? – a double bluff by Heine, when he and Potty had thought they were so clever.

  ‘So, my dear Tim, through no fault of your own, you are indeed important in this matter.’

  The door opened, and Mr Dorkins announced, ‘Colonel Potter for you, Sir Anthony.’

  Tim spun round, because he, Tim Forbes, agent of the SIS, should not be here, but Sir Anthony rose and waited for Potty, who had stepped into the room with utter aplomb. He advanced across the carpet as though it were a cocktail party, his hand outstretched, his smile broad. Sir Anthony said, ‘Dear Potty. I fear I have been a menace.’ They shook hands.

  ‘I think not. I did hear most of it, Ant, old lad. Mr Dorkins wasn’t at all happy with me putting my lugs to the door, but needs must, as I said to him. Awfully naughty of me, and I do apologise, but I know you too well, Ant, old boy, to believe that you’d be stupid enough to pass important information lightly. There had to be a reason other than a bit of how’s-your-father blackmail, and we just needed to confirm our German agent’s findings, which you have just done. Of course, I could just have asked you, but perhaps you would not have told me?’ He looked at Tim. ‘Upsy daisy, young man. Time for the old ones to take a seat.’

  Tim sprang to his feet and moved to one side. The chair looked too fragile to take Potty’s weight, but it did, though it creaked.

  ‘Now, let’s think of a plan, dear hearts. Perhaps one does feel that an illness is imminent, Ant. So, let’s pop you into a nice little nursing home with a heart attack, and then a gentle cruise in warm climes. However, sadly, you will be left wit
h fragile health, and not up to belting across the continent to Germany, or working in the Foreign Office. What d’you think, old fella my lad?’

  Tim knew his mouth hung open. Potty turned to him. ‘As for you, old laddie, I do feel that a little billet-doux to the old folk in Berlin is necessary, explaining that work in the office is pressing, and you now have a lady love, so you will be seeing your ghastly mother at some stage, but you know not when. Off you go then, Tim, for dear Ant and I have many ends to tie. Incidentally, Tim, we have traced that little matter that concerns Marburg. So, we can now stick our great size nines in the door belonging to an important booted person, can we not, whenever we choose.’ It wasn’t a question. He was waving Tim away. ‘Put the plug in the hole on your way out, dear heart.’

  Tim turned to go, but Potty called him back. ‘You might notice a baker’s van outside, Tim, dear heart. Stop, tap on the rear doors – not for a doughnut, you understand, just to let them be on their way. I won’t be needing a lift. I’m sure Ant will sort me out.’ He put up his hand. ‘No, no, on second thoughts, I’ll see you out.’

  Potty heaved his great girth from the chair, which sighed, probably with relief. Tim was hustled out of the door and Potty clapped him on the shoulder, whispering, ‘We, or rather Bauer, suspected Heine’s nasty little game, but we needed confirmation. One would like to imagine your mother knew nothing of it.’

  He continued, ‘We’ll keep you in dear old Blighty, for now, at least. I doubt Herr Heine Weber would have “disappeared” you while you had the original of the letter, and certainly he won’t now that we have his parental details. You are safe, Tim. Let’s not, however, share that with Sir Anthony. Best all round if he thinks he was saving your life. Off on your trusty steed with you.’ He shut the door firmly in Tim’s face.

  Tim rode back, but stopped first and tapped at the rear doors of the van plastered with the legend: ‘Bread from Fred’s finest flour’. A startled face appeared in the window. The man grinned when he saw Tim, and opened the door. ‘We’re to go, I imagine. Thanks, Tim. Interesting, I bet? Dare say he’ll fill us in.’

  Tim rode on, thinking how bloody much he still had to learn, just when he was thinking he was a professional and had got it all sorted. Throughout the ride to Easterleigh Hall, he tried, but failed, to rid himself of Heine’s face, his voice, his devious, cold mind, and he knew Potty was wrong. Heine would have ‘disappeared’ him with the greatest of pleasure, but perhaps he would have waited until he had finally located the original of the letter.

  He refused to even think of his mother; it was pointless. Instead he thought of poor, generous, noble Sir Anthony, who had suffered soundlessly because of him.

  He didn’t even bother to look for Bridie, knowing he’d have to go and knock on the kitchen door again, and haul her out and make her see that they were made for one another. What’s more, he was starving, and could eat one of her lunches. His thoughts were dwelling on inanities because he could not bear to remind himself of the people his mother and her husband were, and neither could he bear to hear Bridie say, ‘I hate you,’ even one more time. Perhaps he would go straight to Newcastle after all.

  Bridie watched from the tree as he drew up near the steps of the hotel, dismounted, and ripped off his goggles. When he removed his helmet, she was shocked at how drawn his face looked. She ran now, across the grass and the gravel. At the noise he looked up, paused, then threw his helmet down and waited, bracing himself.

  She called, ‘I love you. Whatever you do, whoever you are, I love you, Tim Forbes, or whoever you are today.’

  He paused again, and then opened his arms.

  She threw herself into them. ‘I love you,’ she said yet again, holding his face. ‘I love you, I always have, and I always will. I will trust you till the day I die.’

  He pulled her to him, and kissed her. Her hands were in his hair, pulling him down to her. She broke away, so happy she thought her heart would burst.

  He said, ‘Then you will trust me for millions of years, because you’ll never die, Bridie Brampton. You will marry me, cook haute cuisine, have our children, and I will adore you, and tell you every truth in my life. Trust me, my love, the essence of you will remain in the world forever.’

  She knew she was already home, but it felt better, much better, with Tim here too. Soon the others would see that, though they’d never know the whole truth. James would guess, though, because he was part of the three of them.

  ‘I love you,’ she said again.

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  Epub ISBN: 9781473518902

  Version 1.0

  Published by Arrow Books 2016

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  Copyright © Margaret Graham, 2016

  Margaret Graham has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in Great Britain in 2016 by Arrow Books

  Arrow Books

  The Random House Group Limited

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 9781784751043