by Anne Perry
There was the opportunity, right in front of her. Had it been like this for Elena when she was in Berlin? She never spoke of it. In fact, she very obviously had avoided it. There had been a loss there, but perhaps many other things, too. There was a big change in the pattern of their relationship. Margot was four years older, and she had always known Elena well. Elena kept very few secrets, until now, and Margot was just beginning to understand that they were deep. Held because of their nature—not for power, but for safety. “How interesting,” she murmured. “How…encouraging.”
“Hans never mentioned you, so I conclude that you have only just met.”
It was a delicate compliment. She smiled, appreciating it. “Yes, I have known Cecily since we lived here years ago. My father was a friend of her father’s so it was natural we should meet.”
“We?”
Had that been a mistake? She should not tell him too much. She might make a slip she could not cover. What did he know of Grandfather Lucas?
He was waiting.
“My family,” she replied. “My sister was closer to Cecily’s age.”
“She is here with you?”
“No, her job would not allow her.”
“But yours?”
“I’m a widow.” There was no point in denying it, it would seem dishonest.
“I’m sorry,” he said with apparent sincerity.
“England and Germany have so many.” She seized the chance. It was open right in front of her. “Yes, we must never, ever let that happen again.” She put all the grief of her own loss into her voice, her face, even the tears that came into her eyes. “Not ever.”
He raised his glass. “Here’s to you, Frau Driscoll, and all who have the courage and wisdom to think like you.”
She lifted her own glass and touched it to his, then took another sip of her drink, although it nearly choked her.
She might learn more about their beliefs, who supported them, and how, if she practiced patience and stifled her own emotions.
CHAPTER
10
Margot woke up on the morning of Cecily’s wedding day with emotions choking her so much she could barely breathe. She wanted to weep for all that had been hers for a moment and then lost. She turned over and felt her pillow cold on her cheek. It was wet with her tears.
Paul! Paul, why did you have to go back there one more time? There were only weeks left, and the war would have been over.
But Paul was dead years ago and time was rolling on inexorably. The year 1918 seemed like another lifetime. She must pull herself together, bathe her face in cold water, and go to breakfast with the family. They would expect it of her. This was Cecily’s day, not Margot’s. She must help make it happy. God knew, nothing was guaranteed.
Margot wished Cecily were marrying anyone but Hans.
How must Winifred be feeling? Her only child slipping out of her protection and into a big, noisy, deaf, and dangerous world. There was nothing Winifred or anybody could do to protect Cecily—or anyone else. “You can’t fight their battles for them, only give them armor.” Who had said that? Grandfather Lucas, to Josephine.
And pray, of course. You could do that. You would feel as if you were helping. But what was God going to do that would help? Make Hans good? Make him love Cecily so much he would turn out to be a good man? What did that mean? In this context, it meant not a Nazi. Not an admirer of violence, oppression, the belief if you won, you could justify whatever you had done.
Would God soften this young man’s heart so he did not break Cecily’s? Find a way for him to serve his country, other than by becoming one of Hitler’s acolytes? “Ja, mein Führer. Nein, mein Führer. Heil Hitler!” Reject all of that and still survive, even prosper?
Wasn’t it the ultimate hypocrisy to pray for something you would not work for yourself, sacrifice for yourself? Rather like giving the servants a list of things to do for the day.
Get up, Margot! Go and do all you can for it yourself. Make Cecily’s day one to remember all her life, whatever happens afterward.
She washed and dressed carefully, putting on new underwear, lace and silk. She had washed her hair yesterday evening. Now it was silky soft and shining. She wound it up carefully, sleekly, into a chignon, held together by a forest of pins. She made up her face lightly, complexion perfect, eyes wide and dark, lashes black. She stopped and looked at herself. There was no slackness in her jaw, no severe lines on her brow. Where was the wear and tear of time? She was now comfortably over thirty. In her eyes, she saw a certain immobility to her smile.
Now she must go downstairs looking happy and confident, and give all her attention to the Cordell family.
“Good morning, dear,” Winifred said, as soon as Margot came into the dining room.
The table was set as usual, but no one except Cordell himself seemed to be taking a proper meal. Winifred was looking after everyone else, including the staff, at the expense of herself. Cecily was sitting at the table in her glistening white petticoat, trying to force herself to eat some scrambled eggs on toast.
A maid came in with a flat iron in her hand and tears on her face.
“What is it now, Greta?” Winifred asked with careful patience.
Greta explained in German that she did not trust the electric iron. The old flat iron did as you told it, and she was so scared of scorching Miss Cecily’s dress, she couldn’t do it.
“Then don’t worry.” Winifred took the iron from her. “I’ll do it. You get Miss Margot some scrambled eggs from Cook. Go on, now, there’s a good girl.”
Greta handed her the iron and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Can I help?” Margot asked.
“Yes, please. Eat your breakfast and see that Cecily eats hers. We want her radiant, not looking like a ghost and fainting in the aisle,” Winifred replied. “Please.” She was wearing some kind of a robe that covered her, but clearly she, too, had all but prepared herself. Her hair was coming out of its pins. Margot would have liked the opportunity to fasten it for her and make sure everything was set, before they finally departed for the church.
She glanced at Cordell. He was immaculately shaved, and his thick, slightly graying dark hair could have been a barber’s advertisement for its perfection. He was dressed, ready to leave, but for his jacket and his expression. He might have been going to his own execution, judging by the tension in his shoulders and the muscles of his neck.
Margot sat down and poured herself a cup of tea. It would be a few minutes before her eggs arrived. She was not at all sure she wanted them. She did not usually eat much at breakfast, but this was not a day to upset their little routine.
Cecily was watching her, a hesitant smile on her face.
Margot glanced out of the long windows onto the garden. They faced east and caught the first light. A good piece of planning. No one cared so much about last light at dinnertime.
“Going to be a lovely day in everything,” she said, smiling back at Cecily. “Are your flowers here yet?”
“Oh, yes,” Cecily replied, easing a little. “September roses, lush pink, so they can be seen, not lost against the dress, and framed with a little greenery…”
“Perfect,” Margot said, although she would have said that if it had been a bunch of asparagus. “And from the look of the sky, no chance at all of rain.”
Cecily picked at her food, as if her throat were closed and she could not have swallowed it.
“I probably won’t know many of the guests,” Margot went on. “I may know some of your friends, if they were here when I was.”
“Not many of them are coming,” Cecily said hastily.
Margot could see from her face that it was an apology.
“I…I’ve lost touch with many of them,” she added.
Margot wondered what that really meant. Did she not want to introduce th
em to Hans because they would not approve? It might even endanger her. Many people would surely prefer that the Gestapo did not know their names, see even their smallest mistakes or disloyalties. Or was it that Hans might not approve of them? At least in the past her friends were an eclectic group, rejoicing in their differences and conflicting ideas. That was a dangerous occupation now, but it was hard to give up the ideas of a lifetime—even a short one.
Did she miss them? Had everybody changed a little with hunger, despair, and then this new order? Everyone had hostages to fortune: family, friends, teachers, priests, simply the vulnerable. Were the circles getting smaller?
The silence was deepening over the breakfast table. Cecily took a mouthful and swallowed it with difficulty.
The maid brought Margot’s breakfast, and Margot thanked her.
“I expect Hans has many friends,” Margot remarked. “There must be some you particularly like and they will be so happy for him.”
Cecily smiled. “Yes. Some of them are really nice. Especially those he has known a long time.”
“Tell me about them.”
The rest of the meal passed more easily. Cordell did not interrupt, but as Margot rose to leave, he gave her a quick look of gratitude. He had not spoken, but the warmth in his expression was unmistakable.
Margot found Winifred and helped her, mostly by taking her mind off the details, which had already been dealt with. The cars were ordered and checked on. The invitations to the evening’s dinner were all sent, acknowledged, and replied to. The meal was catered and really more to do with the groom’s family, the Beckendorffs, than with the bride’s.
Winifred would go to the church early. Cordell would bring Cecily at the appointed hour. Margot would wait with Cecily, to make sure everything was perfect and that she was not alone in attending to the small details.
They had plenty of time. Margot went to the library beyond the study to fetch a book Cecily had decided she wanted to take with her on the honeymoon. She had just found it and was going to leave again, when she heard voices in the study: Roger Cordell and another man. They were speaking in German.
What an odd time for anyone to visit! The wedding began in less than an hour. Odd, certainly, but also a time when someone could be sure to find Cordell alone! Accident, or intention? She could not leave now without calling attention to herself. She had already heard too much.
“Are you sure about this? Once started, you know, there will be no going back,” the stranger said.
“Do you think I haven’t thought about it, weighed it again and again?” Cordell answered, his voice urgent, even frightened. “It always comes back to the same.”
“I can’t make promises,” the man replied.
“For God’s sake, do you think I don’t know that? I’ve watched the bloody thing take form, grow like some sick incubus, feeding on the weak, the vulnerable, the frightened, until it can consume anybody…”
Margot stiffened. What on earth was he talking about? His voice grated with emotion. It reminded her of people during the air raids, during the war. There was a deep, devouring fear.
“I know. I know!” the other voice replied. “And you know what the cost will be, if we do this, and we’re caught?”
“Of course I do,” Roger said tartly. “But have you thought of the cost if we don’t?”
“Nothing’s guaranteed. The Fatherland Front has a lot of power and it’s growing.”
“Yes. And I think of the cost if we don’t even try. But it will be paid, sooner or later, by everyone. Not only by us or our children, but their children, too.”
“Has Cecily any idea…?”
“For God’s sake, of course not!” Cordell’s voice was almost strangled in his throat.
“If you’re sure…”
“Of course I’m not sure! I’m not sure of anything, except that to stand apart and not even try is the one thing that’s wrong. I’m going to give my daughter away to that ambitious would-be dictator today and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. My wife thinks it’s the surest way to keep her safe…” His voice cracked and he clearly struggled to keep it level. “She could be right. I…I can’t bring myself to tell her what I believe…what I’ve seen. But you need a bloody long spoon to sup with the devil. I can only hope that in poisoning myself, I’ll poison him, too.”
There was silence beyond the door. Margot waited. There was nowhere in here to hide. No cupboards. No curtains heavy enough to conceal her. She could feel the sweat trickling down her skin, inside her glorious, rust-colored silk dress. It was as close fitting as it could be, without vulgarity. It felt like a cocoon now, something she wanted to break out of.
“Then I’ll begin,” the man said from beyond the study door.
She heard Cordell say something, then footsteps, one set of them going to the door to the hall. There was a rustle of paper. Cordell was still in the study. What was she going to do if he stayed?
She had to get out! Cecily would be looking for her. If she insisted that she had heard nothing, he would know she was lying. She could hardly say she’d fallen asleep. At this time in the morning? Today, of all days? And standing up!
She looked at her watch. She had only a few minutes before she should go to check if Cecily was ready. And she had to get into her own car to follow them. That driver would soon be here, too.
There was nothing for it but to face Cordell honestly. She turned the handle and pulled the door open. It squeaked faintly on its hinges. She had not even noticed it when she came in.
Cordell swung round to face her. The color drained out of his skin. For a moment, he fought for words, even as he knew they were pointless.
She was overwhelmed with pity for him. He struggled, and the net tightened. Everyone he loved could so easily be hurt, even destroyed. She walked forward without even thinking. It was the only thing she could bear to do. She put her hand very gently on his arm. “Be careful, Roger, please.”
“Margot…”
“Don’t try to explain,” she said quickly. “I understand what I can see, and a few things that Elena told me. There are things of which we see only bits and pieces, and we can only guess what the rest is, or could become. I’ll look after Cecily and do all I can to make this a wonderful day. What happens after that…nobody knows.”
“Winifred…” he began, then stopped, his face filled with distress.
“I know,” Margot said quickly. She gave him a quick smile. Then she turned away and walked to the door, opened it, and went through without looking back.
* * *
—
The wedding itself was beautiful. The church was not a large one and was filled with people, even spilling out into the warm sunshine in the street. The families of the bride and groom and all their close friends were inside. Margot just managed to be at the back, on the aisle, as Cordell walked slowly past her, with Cecily on his arm. Whatever Cecily felt—tension, fear, just nervous excitement on the brink of what might be the most important decision of her life—she looked beautiful, vivid and confident, even through her light veil. She walked with her head high and with an extraordinary, almost regal grace.
Again, Margot found the tears prickling in her eyes, but it was not from grief for the past, for all the people who could have been here, if they had come home from the war. It was from emotion for Cecily: hope, courage, trust that fate would be kind to her, that she would find all the strength she would need.
Margot glanced toward the front of the church and saw the back of Winifred’s head, the elegant tilt of her hat. It was blue-gray; its sweeping brim would reflect the color of her eyes. Winifred was still beautiful in a luminous, fragile way. And she was prepared to pay any price at all to protect her only child.
The organ music swelled, filling the huge vault of the ceiling with a happy, glorious sound.
Cord
ell and Cecily were almost at the altar.
Margot was too far toward the back to recognize particular people, but she saw plenty of gray or balding heads above military uniforms. And there was a gorgeous array of hats: white, pale pink, blue, red, green, decorated with feathers, flowers, silk, velvet ribbons, with brims of every width and at every angle. Margot imagined what kinds of faces were beneath them and why they were here.
She watched Hans. He stood very straight. His uniform was immaculate, his thick, fair hair shone under the light. He stood with his back to the body of the church. She tried to imagine his expression. What was he thinking? Was he listening to the words? Did he believe in the God to whom he was giving lip service in the promises he made? Or was Adolf Hitler his god in this world?
She forced the thought out of her mind, lest she have to face the fear that the essence of it was true.
The vows were complete, the sermon over, and organ music filled the air with elation and joy. Hans and Cecily turned and walked back down the aisle, smiling at friends and semistrangers alike, radiating happiness.
Margot found herself smiling, too, as widely as if she had no chill of doubt at all, as if the music took her on its wings and carried her along.
* * *
—
The meal was lavish, elegant, and in excellent taste. The triumph of Frau Beckendorff or Winifred? Or an uneasy alliance of the two?
Margot moved with ease among the guests, most of them speaking to each other in German, but also finding many British, from the embassy in particular. They were there as a courtesy to Cordell, and perhaps out of affection and loyalty for Cecily herself. It would not do to have an English girl marry a German and her own people not turn out in elegance and charm to support her, to pretend they were delighted and there was nothing to disturb their equanimity and self-assurance.
