The Quality of Mercy Page 24

  ‘I’m going up to London to see a man about a dog,’ Edward said facetiously at breakfast the next morning.

  Verity lifted her head from her cornflakes. ‘Will you give me a lift? My father’s in town and wants to see me. I don’t know how he knew I was here but I’ve just had a telegram from him.’

  Verity very rarely saw her father who was a busy lawyer but when he summoned her, she always came running. Edward wondered if she would tell him about his proposal – even ask his permission to marry. He knew better than to voice his thoughts.

  ‘And Joe wants me to come in to the paper to discuss my new posting,’ Verity added.

  ‘Two excuses to leave us?’ the Duke said with ponderous good humour. ‘You want to escape the children? You know the spotty one – I think he’s called Emil – has broken the Ming vase in the hall? Mind you, I never liked it.’

  ‘Not escape the children exactly. I hope you don’t think I’m running away from my responsibilities but . . . Well, I can’t do much here.’ Verity managed a smile. ‘Connie, you’ve got a good team to look after them until they can be placed. You don’t need me, do you?’

  ‘No, dear. You go and do the job you are meant to be doing. It’s much more important than being a nursemaid.’

  ‘Now you are making me feel guilty. You know they’ve got another train planned – did I tell you, Connie? Don’t worry!’ she laughed, seeing her face. ‘They’re not coming here. The New Gazette has really got behind the Kindertransport as it’s being called. You remember when Joe organized that ship to bring refugees from Spain? He sees this as a natural follow-up. His readers love it – feeling generous – and the circulation has shot up.’

  ‘Don’t be cynical, V,’ Edward put in.

  ‘I’m not. I’m a realist. Joe can get the New Gazette to do good deeds but there has to be some sort of reward.’

  ‘So, you’re coming with me to London?’

  ‘Yes please.’ Verity knew she must not outstay her welcome and, without Edward to protect her, Gerald might give her one of his fierce stares which she found so disconcerting. Connie, she noticed, kept on looking at her oddly, as though suspecting she had something to announce and not understanding why nothing was said. ‘Joe telephoned yesterday to say everything is almost ready for me to go to Prague. Apparently, things are really beginning to hot up there.’

  ‘You’ll be quite safe in Prague, my dear,’ the Duke said comfortably. ‘Hitler will not invade – take my word for it. He’s got enough on his plate absorbing Austria into his Grossreich or whatever he calls it.’

  Edward saw Verity wrestle with her need to correct him and was glad to see that she was able to restrain herself.

  The Duke’s complacency and the fact that he had made what passed for a joke suggested to Edward that his brother was reconciled to Frank’s marriage. Sunita had accepted with good grace the Duke’s request that she and Frank had a secret six-month engagement before anything was announced publicly and they had gone off happily to tell Sunny and Ayesha.

  In the Lagonda, on their way to London, Verity leant over and put her hand on Edward’s knee. He jerked the steering wheel and almost hit the kerb.

  ‘I’m such a cow, aren’t I, Edward? Any decent girl would be tickled pink to be asked to be your wife. I just use it as a weapon to beat you about the head. I want you to know that it means a great deal to me . . . it means everything to have you beside me. No, don’t interrupt! I want to say this while I can. I love you and the proof is that I will marry you – since it means so much to you – even though I always swore I wouldn’t marry. You are the only man I trust and that’s important because, as I have found out, love without trust means nothing. I’ll do my best to make you happy but, if I fail, you must never think it was because I didn’t love you. Don’t say anything!’

  Edward was silent but he was deeply moved. This bellicose, awkward, courageous girl had decided to marry him against all her principles. It was enough. He had won through.

  Guy Liddell looked at Edward over the top of his spectacles and then looked back at the papers on his desk. Edward was reminded, as Verity had been reminded in Mountbatten’s drawing-room, of uneasy interviews with school authorities. It was in just such a way his housemaster – m’tutor, as he was known to the boys in his care – had studied his report before sealing it for despatch to his father. Since the old Duke never referred to them in his presence and, Edward was inclined to think, never even read them, he was able to approach these inquisitions without due concern. This was different. If Liddell approved of what he had done he might be offered a permanent berth in the department. If he was judged to have failed, he would have to look elsewhere for war work when the time came.

  Liddell took off his spectacles and stared at Edward. The little moustache on his upper lip quivered and his eyes were icy. It was hard, Edward thought, to imagine him dancing or playing the cello yet he had been told on the best authority the man in front of him was more than proficient in both activities. No, he looked like a thousand other ex-officers, which only went to prove the old axiom that one could not judge a book by its cover.

  ‘In America!’ Liddell jabbed at the paper on his desk. ‘Braken has thrown in his lot with our cousins across the water. How do you account for your failure, Corinth?’

  ‘I did what I could. I did not like the man but we got on well enough.’

  ‘You didn’t like the man? What has that got to do with anything?’ Liddell asked angrily. ‘Your job was to get him into our fold and you failed.’

  ‘You told me not to suck up to him too obviously. You said I ought to make him want to join us but not bribe him.’

  ‘You think he was bribed?’

  ‘You told me Braken was a snob. He may be a snob but what he wants more than invitations to grand country houses is money. The Americans have more of it than we have. It’s as simple as that.’

  ‘Who offered him money? Who handled him?’

  ‘It is in my report, sir. Stuart Rose who, I was informed, was of no account – because he was a Communist and a homosexual – turned out to be an agent of the American intelligence service. Braken found Rose and what he had to offer more attractive than anything we could offer him.’

  ‘You seem very cool about your failure.’

  ‘I am a realist. I can only do what I can do. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn’t.’

  ‘Is that the way you judge your unfortunate interference in the marital affairs of that arms-dealer fellow?’

  ‘I very much regret what happened. Mandl is an out-and-out Nazi. He had a better gun to sell than we have – Mountbatten says so and I believe him – but there was no possibility of the British Government doing business with him. What happened to Joan Miller was a tragedy but it had no effect on what I was doing for you.’

  Liddell grunted but said nothing for a minute. He turned over several pages of the document on the desk in front of him.

  ‘This is better. You found a way of spiriting the nuclear scientist – Fritz Lange – out of the country before anyone in Vienna noticed.’

  ‘Ruthven-Stuart’s a good man, sir.’

  ‘But it was you who set it up.’

  ‘I had help from an Austrian patriot.’

  ‘Don’t be so infernally modest, man,’ Liddell said with the hint of a smile. ‘You won’t get much praise from me so you might as well enjoy whatever comes your way.’ Edward held his peace. ‘Rutherford says he’s been an eye-opener. He had no idea the Germans were so advanced. Well done – good work! We’re pleased with you.’

  Liddell really did smile now and Edward allowed himself a slight nod of acceptance.

  ‘What do you make of Unity Mitford, by the way? You saw she was arrested in Hyde Park the other day for causing a disturbance at a Socialist rally? She was wearing a swastika and shouting Fascist slogans.’

  ‘Mad and bad but no real danger, I would say. Miss Browne says she fancies she’s in love with Hitler. She’s just a silly girl
– nothing worse.’

  Liddell went back to grunting. Then he said, ‘Anything else to report? What about the death of that Jew your young lady brought over? Was that just an accident, as the police decided?’

  ‘At first, I thought it might have been murder but, in the end, I came to the conclusion that it was an accident. I did not like the way the police came to that decision without a proper investigation – just because he was a Jew and so as not to annoy Mountbatten and bring him unwelcome publicity.’

  Liddell grunted. ‘I don’t think you are being quite fair. Beeston’s an oaf, I grant you, but he wouldn’t say something was an accident if he knew it wasn’t.’

  ‘I beg to differ, sir.’

  ‘And Mountbatten? What’s your assessment of him? Is the man a charlatan?’

  ‘Not at all. He may be a little vain but he’s no fool and as a result of his efforts, some important modifications have been carried out to naval gunnery. He may not have much imagination but he’s very thorough. I give him full marks for determination. He could have wasted his life away as a playboy but he’s set on making it to the top of his profession. Mr Churchill thinks he has it in him to do it on his own abilities.’

  Liddell grunted again but this time his grunt sounded surprised. ‘You’re very sure of yourself, Corinth.’

  ‘You asked for my assessment, sir,’ Edward said, feeling rather hard done by.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Liddell agreed impatiently. ‘Well, that’s all then, Corinth. Good work – keep it up.’

  ‘Does that mean you will give me other assignments?’

  Liddell looked at him and Edward thought there was a suspicion of a twinkle in his cold grey eyes. ‘Would you like that?’

  ‘I would, sir. In the event of war, I shall be too old to join the army without making an ass of myself. I would like to be of use to my country some other way, if that’s possible.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Liddell said with a brusque nod. ‘You’ll just have to wait and see.’

  ‘But there’s not much time. War may be declared sooner . . .’

  ‘There’ll be no war for another year at least,’ Liddell said decisively. ‘Take my word for it.’

  Verity was made to wait. Lord Weaver’s secretary explained that the great man was discussing with the editor the government’s surprise decision to spend eleven million pounds on new aerodromes but Verity was sure that it was his way of putting her in her place. She might be one of Fleet Street’s star foreign correspondents and his particular protégée but that did not mean she was indispensable.

  She was in a fever because she was dining that evening with her father at the Ritz. It was such a rare treat – he was always so busy and, of course, Verity was now so often abroad – that she wanted to look her best. She had to have her hair done. She had managed to get an appointment with Ray at four and she knew he hated clients being late. He would take his revenge with painful tugs and twists but he was still the best hairdresser in London.

  It was ten past three before the editor came out of Weaver’s office, throwing her a glance of undisguised dislike. She had never got on with his predecessor and had been full of hope when Michael Henderson was appointed. She had heard good things of him and, under different circumstances, they would probably have got on well. The problem was that Henderson thought he could rewrite her reports. She was adamant that he could not do this and had appealed to Weaver who came down in her favour. As a result, Henderson refused to have anything more to do with her and tried whenever possible to spike her stories.

  ‘Verity! My dear – I hope you haven’t been waiting long,’ Weaver greeted her disingenuously. ‘You know what a gasbag that man is. By the way, he doesn’t seem to like you much. Recommended you be fired. No need to look like that. I wouldn’t fire you. Annoying my editor gives me too much pleasure – it reminds him who’s the boss around here.’ He smirked and Verity tried to smile. ‘Now, I haven’t a lot of time, I’m dining with the Prime Minister tonight.’ He could never resist bragging to his staff of the circles in which he moved.

  ‘Well, I hope you will tell him not to betray Czechoslovakia – at least not until I’ve learnt the language.’

  Weaver chuckled. ‘You don’t need to learn the language. They all speak German, some French and a few speak English. You’ll be all right.’

  ‘They wouldn’t have me back in Vienna?’

  ‘Wouldn’t hear of it! You must have been doing something right. I’ve never heard Ribbentrop be so rude about anyone. In any case, Vienna’s a backwater now. You have to be one step ahead of Hitler. The Sudetenland is next, mark my words.’

  ‘Will we go to war over it?’

  ‘Over a few German-speaking Czechs joining the Reich? Certainly not.’

  ‘But if he takes over the whole country?’

  ‘He won’t – not yet, at least. He’s still got a lot to do in Austria.’

  ‘Jews to kill?’ Verity asked ironically.

  Weaver was unperturbed. ‘I was sorry to hear about your Jew. Sounded an interesting man. What a bizarre way to die. Talking of Jews – your idea of getting us involved in the Kindertransport was inspired. New Gazette readers have been writing to us in their hundreds expressing their outrage at Hitler’s heartlessness and many are sending cheques and postal orders. And the photographs – very moving. This is the way to mobilize public opinion. A single photograph of a weeping child holding a teddy bear is worth a hundred of Winston’s speeches. That reminds me, he was talking to me about you the other day. He seems to think highly of you though I’m not sure why. I don’t know what you said to him at that dinner party. I thought you hated his guts. I counted on there being an almighty row.’

  ‘If that’s what you wanted, I think you made a mistake inviting Unity Mitford, Joe. Next to her, Mr Churchill seemed a moderate.’

  ‘So you are open to argument! I never would have thought it.’

  ‘Don’t tease, Joe. Of course I can be persuaded to change my opinions. I hadn’t met Mr Churchill until that evening and he wasn’t anything like I expected. He ought to be in the cabinet.’

  Weaver looked at her in genuine amazement. ‘Well, fancy that! Our most notorious Communist makes common cause with the man who broke the General Strike! You’ll be telling me next you’re going to marry Edward.’

  Verity tried not to blush and decided to make a determined effort to keep to the less dangerous subject of Churchill. ‘I’m not saying I agree with everything he does and says but, as far as the one big thing is concerned, he is right and almost every other politician is wrong.’

  ‘Hmm! Well, I’m going to throw you out now.’ He touched a bell under his desk. ‘You are flying from Croydon on Thursday. You go via Paris. Best not to go anywhere a German agent might kidnap you.’ He saw the look of disbelief on her face. ‘You can say I’m talking poppycock – I probably am but stranger things have happened. Think of what happened to your friend von Trott. By the way, have you heard anything from him?’ He did not wait for an answer. ‘You count your lucky stars you got out of Vienna alive. It’s not only Henderson who hates your guts.’

  Weaver’s secretary came in to say his car was waiting and to hand over to Verity her letters of accreditation and other necessary documents.

  ‘Can I give you a lift?’ he flung at her but, before she could ask him would he mind dropping her in Sloane Square, he had disappeared. She smiled at the secretary, whom she knew well. ‘I’d best get used to finding my own way, I suppose!’

  By eight thirty she was in the Ritz being handed a note from her father. ‘A hundred apologies,’ it read, ‘but something has come up and I have to fly to Paris tonight. Tried to get you on the telephone but no answer. Have a very expensive dinner on me – with a friend if you have one. What about that nice man Corinth you treat so badly? Know you’ll understand. The same in your profession, I don’t doubt. Your loving father.’

  Verity crumpled the sheet of paper in her hand and asked the attendant to return he
r cloak. With as much dignity as she could manage, she got into a taxi and returned to Cranmer Court. She sat on the edge of her bed cursing her father and all the men who had let her down. She then thought of Edward and burst into tears. She picked up the telephone and dialled his number. Of course she would marry him – the one man who had never let her down. It was Fenton who answered. His master was engaged and could not be disturbed. Was there a message? She said there was not. If there were, it was not one she could relay to Edward through his valet.

  Feeling exceedingly sorry for herself, she lay on the bed, still in her Chanel dress, and cried like a little girl for the mother she had never known until, eventually, she slept.

  14

  As Edward reached the steps of Albany, he noticed a young woman. She had her back to him and was engaged in conversation with one of the porters. She turned and, to his surprise, he saw that it was Vera Gray. He was still in good spirits after his interview with Liddell so he raised his hat and greeted her cheerfully.

  ‘What are you doing in this part of the world, Miss Gray? Were you coming to see me?’

  It crossed his mind that she might have developed an interest in him, which would be embarrassing, but when she spoke he realized this was not her motive in seeking him out.

  ‘I feel awful coming to see you unannounced, Lord Edward, but I thought I would take the chance that you might be in. I’ve just been visiting the Royal Academy.’

  ‘I’m delighted to see you. Come in and have a cup of tea or something stronger. I’m sure we deserve it.’

  He ushered her into the drawing-room and set about making cocktails – a ritual of shaking and rattling he much enjoyed. He was talking lightly of trivial matters – asking about preparations for her uncle’s exhibition and how her own work was progressing – when she stopped him with a gesture and an odd noise somewhere between a sob and a gasp.

  ‘The truth is, Lord Edward, I have something to confess.’

  ‘To confess?’ Edward repeated, at a loss to know what she meant. ‘What is there to confess? If you mean about your uncle . . .’