Authors: David Roberts
‘No, of course you couldn’t. In any case, the evidence Harvey gathered and von Trott’s testimony on how involved Himmler was with the Foundation were enough for the powers-that-be to close it down. Harvey was successful in that at least, though he did not live to see it. Sir Simon was fortunate not to have been prosecuted. I think in the end they thought he was just a crackpot, not an out-and-out villain. Montillo’s a different matter, of course, but he’ll never be brought to justice.’
‘At least Miss – I mean Mrs – Berners got her husband out. That was a miracle.’
‘A miracle worked by von Trott. He truly is a remarkable man. I just hope he’ll survive. He’s walking such a tightrope. Himmler must hold him responsible for the Castlewood Foundation folding and with it the expedition to Tibet.’
‘Oh no. That’s going ahead. I read it in
The Times
.’
‘The Nazis must have funded it themselves, then. But I’m seriously worried that Himmler will think – not without reason – that Adam made a fool of him and he’s not a man to forgive that.’
‘And now Adam’s with a Communist journalist,’ Maggie added. ‘I can understand why you are worried about them. When Verity comes home at Christmas, you must make her see the danger she’s in.’
‘She knows very well the danger she’s in but that won’t stop her. She’s steel all the way through,’ Edward said grimly.
‘Well, that’s settled then. We’ll go the ball, like Cinderella. Every time I receive an invitation, I think I should accept because there may never be another one. You really believe there will be war?’
‘It’s inevitable. It’s just a case of when. Our beloved Prime Minister gives ground to Hitler time after time in a vain attempt to appease him but you can’t appease a ravening wolf. His hunger is never satisfied. If Hitler told his followers he had had enough and he would be making no more territorial demands, he wouldn’t last six months. He has to feed his flock with blood or they will tear him apart.’
Maggie shivered.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’
‘I’m not frightened.’
‘And you really aren’t bitter about my part in Edmund’s . . .’
‘No, it would be quite unjust. It wasn’t you who stabbed Maud to death.’
‘If only I had listened to her properly before I went in to bat that day, your brother would have had no reason to kill her. I would have known what she knew.’
‘We cannot live on “ifs”.’
‘What if your brother . . . if Edmund hears that we are seeing each other? Won’t he be . . .?’
‘Teddy went a long way to ruining my life so I don’t see how he can complain if I have a little happiness. But I have decided not to tell him.’
‘Well then,’ Edward said, ‘that’s settled. I feel happier now than I have for a long time. There’s the gong for lunch. You will stay, won’t you? Connie is longing to meet you. It was she who said we should . . . ’
‘I would like that very much,’ Maggie said rising. ‘And then I want you to show me around the castle – if you have the time,’ she added gravely.
As it turned out, Verity did not make it back to England for Christmas, accepting instead an invitation from Adam’s parents to spend the holiday at the family
schloss
in Solz. Edward was almost fully recovered and his convalescence had been helped by the close friendship which had developed between him and Maggie. They had not become lovers but somehow it did not seem to matter to him. He preferred this easy-going marriage of minds to the ‘big-dipper’ relationship he had with Verity. He had heard nothing from her for almost three months – not even a Christmas card though that hardly surprised him as she did not believe in Christmas which she had once likened to eating marshmallow drowned in Golden Syrup.
The only cloud over his growing friendship with Maggie was Edmund Cardew. She visited him in Wormwood Scrubs on a regular basis but she had still not told him she was seeing Edward. She said it would do no good and might bring on the melancholia to which he seemed – understandably – prone. His final appeal was being considered by the Home Secretary, Samuel Hoare, but there seemed little chance of a reprieve. Maggie said that, perversely, he was more cheerful now that the waiting was almost over but was this just a façade? He had told her he wasn’t sure he could survive long in prison without hope of ever being released and that hanging might, after all, be preferable. She reported that he was very thin and haggard.
The strain on Maggie was beginning to tell and Edward was worried about her. Sometimes she was depressed and lethargic while at other times bright-eyed and determinedly gay, which was almost worse. He asked her whether she really wanted to go to the Castlewoods’ New Year’s Eve party and she was angry with him.
‘Of course we must go,’ she said. ‘I want to show them that we’re all right.’
He nodded but remained uneasy right up to the moment when they arrived at Swifts Hill and were announced by Lampton. He, at least, seemed genuinely pleased to see them. Maggie was looking better than Edward had ever seen her in a new Balmain ball gown, shimmering white silk which clung to her body until it reached her ankles where it flowed outwards. As she danced, no longer self-conscious about her damaged face, he felt proud to have her in his arms. He could not but be aware that all eyes were on them.
Shortly before midnight he found himself sitting with Isolde Swann watching Roddy dance with Maggie. She whispered in his ear that she was pregnant and he congratulated her. He was glad to find her happy and relieved that she was to have the child in the Middlesex Hospital, not in the South of France. Sir Simon touched Edward on the shoulder and asked if he could have a word. Curious but a little apprehensive that he was to be thrown out of the house, Edward followed him into his study. Edward relaxed when he was offered a whisky and a cigar. Sir Simon was obviously not going to berate him.
‘Forgive me for tearing you away from the party,’ he said. ‘Maggie is lovely, isn’t she? I’m so pleased to see that you have become such friends. She needs friends with her brother in so much peril.’ Edward said nothing, waiting to hear what Sir Simon really wanted to tell him. ‘I wanted to explain . . . to convince you that I was quite unaware of what Montillo was doing at the Clinic. When you warned me, I couldn’t believe what you were telling me. I thought I was funding serious research into heredity that would help babies born with diseases and defects inherited from parents or grandparents. I want you to believe that I was ignorant of his . . . experiments. I was absolutely horrified when I was told what the police had found down there. I know I ought to have known. I can’t even pretend that I wasn’t warned. Natalie said she thought something was wrong but I did not believe her either. I have been a fool but I . . .’
‘You are right, Sir Simon, you ought to have known,’ Edward said coldly, unwilling to make it easy for him.
‘I have withdrawn all funding of medical research.’ He hesitated and added, ‘You know the police found evidence that Dominic was taking money from Himmler himself to . . . to carry out his beastly experiments? Of course you do.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Well, I wanted to say how grateful I am that you and Miss Browne exposed what was going on under my nose without my knowledge. You do believe me, don’t you?’ He rose from his chair and paced about the room.
Edward did not know if he believed him or not but decided he would give him the benefit of the doubt. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘And I want to recompense Maggie for the money her brother lost in the Institute. Do you think she will take it?’
‘I really cannot say. You must ask her yourself.’ Edward’s voice was ice cold.
They returned to the great hall, ablaze with lights and decorated from the floor to its magnificent roof. Edward parted from his host with relief. As the minutes ticked away and 1937 with all its horrors limped into history, he held Maggie in his arms. When the new year was welcomed with shouts and hurrahs, he kissed her and she kissed him back. Inevitably, he asked himself what 1938 would bring. He had no answers. He tried to banish his fears but they kept crowding in on him. He had just heard from a friend in the Foreign Office that Nanking had been destroyed by the Japanese and the Chinese inhabitants tortured, raped and slaughtered with unparalleled cruelty. It made him sick to the stomach to think of it and he was glad when Maggie asked if he would mind taking her back to London. As they were collecting their cloaks, Sir Simon appeared and asked to have a final dance with Maggie. She could not refuse but Edward watched with a sense of foreboding as he whisked her back on to the dance floor. They had barely completed a circle of the floor before he heard a shriek and Maggie ran towards him. Behind her he saw Sir Simon standing with his hand to his cheek.
‘Softly, softly!’ he murmured soothingly as she sobbed in his arms. ‘Did you slap him?’
‘I did,’ she said, looking up into his face, her arms still about his neck. ‘Was that wrong?’
‘It was the right thing to do,’ he told her firmly. ‘His arrogance . . . his need to play God has brought misery on many people – not just you and your brother. He must face his own conscience but at least we have put an end to his wickedness and your slap may bring him to his senses. Now we shall go. I don’t imagine we shall ever come back to Swifts Hill and the thought lightens my heart.’
‘And mine too,’ she agreed. ‘He tried to “buy” me. Did you know he was going to try?’
‘I confess I did but I thought it was not for me to tell him you weren’t for sale. Was I right?’
‘You were right, Edward. Thank you.’
He kissed her once again and then they got into the Lagonda and Fenton drove them back to London.
At ten o’clock on Monday February 21st – the date was one Edward would never forget – he walked across the park to the Foreign Office to discuss his future with Sir Robert Vansittart. There had been several earlier appointments all of which Vansittart had had to break. It was wet and cold and the rain made light of his umbrella, making him regret he had not taken the Lagonda. The international situation was becoming ever more serious and the word ‘crisis’ loomed out at him from newspaper placards. It seemed only a matter of weeks, or even days, before there would be the ultimatum which would lead to war. It was no surprise to Edward that, when he arrived at the Foreign Office, he found it alive in a way it had not been when he had last stood on the great staircase under the magnificent chandelier. Secretaries were almost running down the corridors and normally sedate men in pinstripe suits were adjusting their ties and mopping their brows. Edward prepared himself to hear that Vansittart was too busy to see him and indeed it was forty minutes before he was told the great man was ready for him.
Vansittart was a man of considerable physical presence. He was tall and ruggedly handsome, perfectly dressed and apparently not the least infected by the excitement bordering on panic Edward sensed in his minions.
‘Dear boy,’ he said, rising from behind his huge desk and clasping Edward’s hand. ‘You must forgive me for being elusive but it’s been one thing after another. But first let me congratulate you on your recovery. You really ought not to be shot at, at your time of life. I suppose we must regard the Duke of Windsor’s life as worth saving? Now, I never said that,’ he added, putting a finger to his lips.
Edward opened his mouth to explain that, far from saving the Duke’s life, he had simply been trying to disarm a man who was taking revenge for the killing of his lover but it was all too complicated.
‘As always,’ Vansittart continued, ‘you showed resolution and pluck and, if I may say so, more important than either – discretion.’ Edward groaned inwardly. It always came down to this – nothing must get out. The status quo had to be preserved and reputations salvaged. ‘You ought to have a medal or something.’
‘I don’t want a medal, thank you, sir,’ Edward said with some asperity. ‘I merely wondered if you might have some employment for me. I would like to contribute something to our preparations for war.’
‘Oh, as for that,’ Vansittart said breezily, ‘there will be no war.’
‘What do you mean, Sir Robert? I thought that if Hitler were to walk into Austria . . .’
‘There will be no war because – and I speak in complete confidence – the Prime Minister has taken over the running of our foreign policy himself. He and Lord Halifax will avoid war whatever the cost.’
Edward was about to say something when Vansittart’s principal private secretary, Mr Sanderson, entered without knocking.
‘What is it, man? Can’t you see I am in conference? I thought I said I was not to be disturbed.’
‘The Foreign Secretary has asked whether you can spare him a moment,’ Sanderson said unperturbed.
Vansittart looked annoyed. He obviously did not like being summoned peremptorily in front of a visitor, even by Mr Eden. Edward saw him wrestle with himself but, of course, he could not do otherwise but obey.
‘I’ll not be a moment, Lord Edward but I suppose I must see what’s up. It’s most unlike him to . . .’
Edward murmured that he quite understood and Vansittart got up from his chair and strode out of the room.
Alone in Vansittart’s office, Edward was tempted – like a small boy – to run round behind the desk and imagine
he
was His Majesty’s Permanent Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs but he told himself this was not the time to play the fool. He was aware that the job Vansittart might have offered him six months earlier was no longer available. But might there not be something else? He wanted to do his bit. He had got his foot in the door in this great department of state and he had a strong desire to be a part of it. To know more than his fellows, to be at the heart of great events . . . The prospect stirred his blood. He got up to look at the pictures. The portrait of Lord Palmerston was particularly fine and he wondered what that old pirate would have said to Hitler. He certainly would not have had any truck with appeasement.
The minutes passed and still Vansittart did not return. Edward gazed out over the park. He had heard that plans had been made to dig trenches where civilians could take cover in the event of an air raid. He felt the impermanence of everything. He wondered how Verity was and felt his insides twist uncomfortably. Just as he thought he might slip away – it seemed Vansittart was not going to return in the near future – he heard his footsteps.