Читать книгу The Cavendon Luck - Barbara Bradford Taylor - Страница 13

The arrangement they had made was to meet in the conservatory just before dinner, but Diedre was not there when Cecily arrived. Walking across the terracotta floor, she went over to the French doors, stood looking out at the moors rolling towards the North Sea, admiring the view. It was familiar, but never failed to please her.

Twilight had descended and the sky was already growing darker. It was a deeper blue and the far horizon was streaked with a mixture of colours: lavender and apricot, and a deep pink bleeding into red.

Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight, red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning. These words ran through her head as she remembered how often her mother had said them to her when she was a child.

Turning away from the window, Cecily strolled over to the desk, ran one hand across the mellow old wood, and lovingly so. How often she had stood here, talking to Daphne, who had made it her desk, having commandeered it when she was seventeen and facing terrible problems in her young life.

The conservatory had soon become Daphne’s private place, her haven. None of the family ever used it, and so she had taken it for herself.

From here she had planned her marriage to Hugo, a joyful event, and later it had become her command post.

After a moment longer, lingering near the desk, she walked across to a wicker chair, part of a grouping, and sat down. Her thoughts turned to Diedre. Cecily knew that the best person to talk to about Greta’s family and their predicament was Diedre. In 1914 she had gone to work at the War Office and had remained there after the Great War had ended. Only when she became engaged to Paul Drummond did she resign.

Cecily knew how grief-stricken she had been when Paul had unexpectedly, and very suddenly, died; she had helped her as best she could through that devastating first year of widowhood. One day, quite unexpectedly, Diedre had confided she was returning to her old position at the War Office. She had explained that work would ease her grief and loneliness. Also, she had explained, there was going to be a war, a very bad war, and she would be needed.

Although Diedre had never discussed her job at the War Office, Cecily was quite positive she worked in Intelligence, and Miles agreed with her. Therefore, if anyone knew how to extract someone from a foreign country, she was sure it was Diedre.

Cecily’s thoughts now turned to Greta. She had grown very attached to her and cared about her, worried about her wellbeing. Her assistant was extremely sincere, had enormous integrity, and was a hard worker; certainly Cecily had grown to depend on her. She had great insight into people, especially those who were meaningful to her; Cecily knew how much Greta was suffering because of the situation that existed in Berlin.

Greta’s father was a well-known professor of philosophy. He had studied Greats at Oxford years ago, and become an expert on Plato. In fact, he ranked as one of the greatest professors in his field. Greta adored him. She was fond of her stepmother, Heddy. As for her two half-siblings, Kurt and Elise, they were almost like her own children, and she worried about them constantly. Cecily hated to see her suffer and was mortified that she herself could do nothing to help. Leaning back in the wicker chair, Cecily closed her eyes, her mind whirling.

The sharp click of high heels on stone brought Cecily up sharply in her chair. Diedre strode into the conservatory, looking elegant in a navy-blue silk dress, which Cecily had made for her.

It was cut on the cross and made Diedre look taller and even svelter than ever. But then, Diedre had long been known for her chic fashion sense, spending much of her time in London.

‘You always make my clothes look so much better,’ Cecily exclaimed, her face filled with smiles.

Diedre laughed. ‘Thank you for the lovely compliment, but it is the dress, you know that. And it’s become my favourite.’ Diedre sat down in a chair, and said, ‘You sounded anxious earlier. So let’s talk. What’s wrong?’ Like Great-Aunt Gwendolyn, Diedre got straight to the point.

‘Greta’s family is Jewish. They need to get out of Germany. I would like to help her if I can. But I need advice. Your advice, actually.’

When she heard these words, Diedre stiffened in the chair. She shook her head vehemently. ‘That’s a tough one. Hard. And there’s no advice I can give you, Ceci.’

‘Her father, stepmother and their two children don’t have the proper travel documents apparently. They’re at their wits’ end,’ Cecily said, and fell silent when she became aware of the look of dismay on Diedre’s face, the fear in her eyes.

Diedre, who was acutely observant, understood people, knew what made them tick, was aware Cecily was being genuine and sincere about wanting to help Greta. Yet she was unaware how hard a task that would be. Not wishing to be too quickly dismissive, Diedre now said, ‘You told me a bit about Greta, when she first came to work for you. Please fill me in again. I’ve forgotten most of what you told me.’

‘Greta is German by birth, like her father. But her mother, who died when she was a child, was English. Her name was Antonia Nolan. After her mother’s untimely death, her father sent her to live with her grandmother, Catherine Nolan, who’s still alive, by the way, and lives in Hampstead. It was she who brought Greta up.’

‘Now it’s all coming back to me,’ Diedre murmured. ‘She went to Oxford, didn’t she?’

‘Yes, following in her father’s footsteps. Eventually, her father remarried, but Greta stayed on in London, preferring her life here.’

Diedre nodded. ‘And I remember something else. Greta married an Englishman, an architect.’

‘That’s right, Roy Chalmers. Sadly he died of leukaemia about five years ago now.’

‘Just out of curiosity, is Greta a British citizen? It occurs to me that with an English mother and an English husband, she must have become one. Didn’t she?’

‘Yes, and she has a British passport.’

‘I’m glad to hear it, and that passport is important here, a necessity in wartime. It won’t help her family in any way, but I’m relieved to know she can’t be interned, anything like that.’

‘She could be if she were a German? Is that what you’re saying, Diedre?’

‘I am.’

‘Well, she’s all right, protected by her English nationality. Still, she has been talking about going to Berlin to check up on her father, assess the situation,’ Cecily murmured.

‘She mustn’t go! No, no, that’s dangerous.’

‘Perhaps I could go instead. What do you think?’

‘Absolutely not. I won’t let you. There’s something else … her father might well be under scrutiny. He’s a famous man, could easily be on a list of troublemakers, so called. Being watched and not knowing it.’

‘She’ll be very upset if that’s true,’ Ceci exclaimed.

‘Don’t tell her what I said. She must not know. And she certainly cannot go to Berlin.’ Diedre sounded stern as she continued. ‘Look, I’m sorry to be negative, but the situation in Berlin is worse than you can possibly know, or even imagine. It’s dangerous – full of thugs, foreigners and Nazis, a sinister city. No one is safe.’

Cecily nodded. ‘I understand. And I do make a point of listening to you. You’re the one who knows what’s going on there better than anyone else I know.’

‘A few months ago a new rule was made. Jews were forced to go and have their passports stamped with the letter “J” for Jew.’ Diedre said this quietly.

Cecily gaped at her, aghast. ‘What a hideous rule!’

‘Yes it is. Everything they do is hideous. No, horrific.’ Diedre leaned forward, coming closer to her sister-in-law, went on in a lower voice, ‘Hitler was made Chancellor of Germany in January of 1933, and only seven months later he built the first concentration camp. It’s called Dachau.’

‘Jews are interned in the camp. Is that its purpose?’

‘That’s right, it is. And so are others … Catholics, and dissident politicians, and anyone who doesn’t agree with the Nazi credo. Anti-Semitism is rife. Hatreds fester. Violence is paramount. And people are arrested for no reason at all.’ Diedre gave Cecily a long hard stare. ‘Hitler became a virtual dictator in January of 1933 and he means to swallow up as much of Central Europe as he can.’

‘Why? Power? Does he want to rule the world?’

‘Yes. But he also wants land, the blessed space, to breed his perfect race of Aryans. Lebensraum … that’s what he calls it … this dream of land, on which to create a master race.’

Cecily was pale, and her eyes were fastened on Diedre. ‘I don’t frighten easily, but what you’re telling me does make me worried,’ Cecily confided softly.

‘Worry if you want, Cecily, but don’t be afraid. We must all be brave and strong. And we must make sure not to have our necks under the German jackboot. That would be disastrous.’

Diedre paused. ‘Look, Ceci, please don’t repeat any of this to the family. I shouldn’t really have told you. I trust in your confidentiality and your loyalty to me.’

‘You know you can trust me. But could I tell Miles?’

‘Yes, you can. However, he must be discreet as well. No chitchatting with Charlotte and Papa. You must insist on that.’

‘I will.’ There was a slight hesitation before Cecily went on, ‘Yours is an office job, isn’t it? I mean, you’re not out there, are you? Out there doing … things?’

‘No, I’m not. I’m … well, let’s say I’m in management. Nevertheless, I have my own rules and I do not forget them.’

‘What are they? Can you tell me, Diedre?’

‘Believe no one. Tell no one. Remember everything. Walk alone.’