Victoria held up a fur rug as Leonora climbed in beside her. ‘Here, wrap yourself up in this and tie that scarf over your head. We’re in for a freezing drive.’
She got out and cranked the engine and at the noise Leo expected lights to go on in all the houses, but the darkness remained complete. The roads were deserted but Victoria had to nose the car along at little more than a walking pace because of the fog. Once or twice they had to stop and peer around them to get their bearings, but eventually they found their way across Vauxhall Bridge and into the southern suburbs. Neither of them spoke much. Victoria was concentrating on the driving and the noise of the engine made conversation difficult. The slow progress gave Leo time to think, and to realize the enormity of what she was doing. She thought of the note she had left on her bedside table and her grandmother’s reaction when she read it and was suddenly smitten with remorse. The old lady was a martinet but after all she had only wanted what she thought was best for Leo. To run away like this was the height of ingratitude. But what was the alternative? She knew that faced with the possibility that Leo might take herself off to a foreign war her grandmother was quite capable of locking her in her room until the opportunity had passed. This was her one chance to strike out on a path of her own – and it was too late to have second thoughts. She huddled deeper into the fur and tried to stop her teeth from chattering.
Once they were clear of the city the fog cleared and they were able to see the stars. As they glided down Wrotham Hill the Kentish Weald lay before them like a dark ocean and Leo had a strange illusion that the car was stationary and the shadowy trees and hedges were somehow being blown past them by the wind that whipped her face. They would go on like this forever, never reaching their destination, and the dawn would never come. As they passed through the villages on their route the noise of the engine echoed back from the houses and Leo expected to hear windows being thrown open but no one stirred. In Maidstone a tramp sleeping in a doorway jumped to his feet and sent a stream of curses after them and at every farm they passed the noise set dogs barking frantically. By the time they reached Dover it was getting light and the first pedestrians were about, moving like ghosts, the men with their coat collars turned up round their ears and the women wrapped in shawls. But at the docks there was already a bustle of activity as the cross-channel ferry prepared to leave.
There was a delay while Victoria negotiated with officials who were reluctant to accept Sparky without prior warning but eventually the car was strapped to a wooden platform and hauled up on the ferry’s deck by a crane. When Victoria was satisfied that it had been lashed firmly in position and was quite secure they were at last able to seek the warmth of the passenger cabin.
Leo blew on her fingers. ‘Thank goodness! I don’t think I’ve ever been so cold!’
‘We’d better try to get a bit of sleep,’ Victoria said. ‘It’s the only chance we’ll have.’
There were few other passengers, so they both stretched out on the seats and Leo fell into an uneasy doze, interrupted mid-channel when the movement of the ship threatened to tip her onto the deck. When she next woke, it was broad daylight and they were sailing into Calais harbour.
Four
While Leo and Victoria were breakfasting in Calais, Tom Devenish was working in his studio at the top of his house in Cheyne Walk. It was a large room, ideal for his purpose, with a big north-facing skylight, and a view from the front windows over the River Thames. He was working on a sketch of the river, with its constant traffic of barges and pleasure boats, but after a short while he threw down his pencil and turned away in a fit of despondency. It was not that the work itself displeased him. He knew that he was a skilled draughtsman. But who, he asked himself for the hundredth time, needed one more picture of the Thames, however perfect, or one more pretty watercolour of a rural scene? They added nothing to the sum total of human knowledge and there were more than enough already to decorate the walls of every house in the country.
He looked round the room. The walls were covered in sketches and watercolours, some finished, others incomplete. He had tried his hand at portraiture, too, and stacked in one corner were several sketches of Leonora, each one abandoned because, no matter how hard he tried, at some stage they all began to look like Ralph. There was only one set of pictures that he really valued. In a folder locked away in a drawer was a series of portraits of Ralph, which constituted a complete record of his development from a boy of fourteen to the present day. Ralph had never seen them and had no idea that they existed and Tom had promised himself that no one else would ever have sight of them either.
He went to the window and looked out towards the river. A tug was chugging downstream, a string of barges bobbing behind it. On the road beside the river a motor car passed in the opposite direction, its occupants wrapped to the ears in scarves, waving cheerily to someone on the pavement. Tom leaned his head against the glass. It seemed a perfect metaphor for his situation. Out there was life, with all its complex possibilities, but he was cut off from it, condemned forever to be an observer.
There was a tap on the door and his manservant, Peters, entered.
‘Excuse me, sir. I’m sorry to disturb you but this note has just been delivered from Sussex Gardens. It’s marked urgent.’
Tom slit the envelope and read, ‘Leonora vanished. Come at once. Ralph.’
When Tom arrived at the house he found Amelia Malham Brown sitting bolt upright in her morning room with a face like marble, while Ralph paced distractedly around her.
‘Here’s a fine thing, Tom!’ he exclaimed as soon as his friend entered. ‘Leo’s gone off on some fool’s errand, without saying a word to anyone. First thing we knew about it was when her maid went in this morning and found the bed unslept in and this note on the dressing table.’
He handed Tom a sheet of notepaper and his nostrils caught a breath of perfume which he recognized as Leonora’s, though he had never been conscious of it before. He read,
By the time you read this I shall be in France. I am going to join the Women’s Sick and Wounded Convoy caring for soldiers in the Balkans. Please forgive me for going off without telling you, but I knew if I said anything you would try to stop me. Don’t worry about me. Victoria is with me and I’m sure we shall not come to any harm. This is something I have to do, so please try to understand. Leonora.
‘That damned woman!’ Ralph exploded. ‘Victoria, I mean. I knew she was no good for Leonora.’
‘Really, Ralph,’ his grandmother said coldly, ‘there is no need for profanity.’
‘Sorry, Grandmother. But if I could get my hands on that woman I’d strangle her!’
‘Idle threats will not get us anywhere,’ Amelia said. ‘The question is, what do we do now? And to me the answer is obvious.’
Ralph turned to Tom. ‘Grandmother wants me to drop everything and go and find Leo. I keep telling her that I’m a serving officer. I can’t just take myself off at a moment’s notice. You’ll have to go.’
Tom stared at him. ‘Me? I’ve never been further than Deauville. The mere sight of the cross-channel ferry makes me feel sick.’
‘Damn it, man!’ Ralph exploded. ‘Someone has to go. After all, you are supposed to be engaged to Leo – well, almost.’
Tom considered the dizzying prospect before him and grasped at a last hope. ‘Just a minute. Has anyone been round to Victoria’s flat? Are we sure they have actually left?’
‘I sent Wilson, Leo’s maid, round straight away,’ Amelia said. ‘The flat is shut up and Victoria told the hall porter that she would be away for several weeks. I don’t think there is any doubt about their intentions.’
‘Then I – I suppose I shall have to go.’ Tom felt a vast unknown opening up before him. ‘But where do I go? How do I find her? I’m not even sure I know where the Balkans are.’
‘That’s easily remedied,’ Ralph said. ‘Grandmother, do you have a good atlas in the house?’
‘There is a globe in the library,’ the old lady replied.
‘Right!’ Ralph gripped Tom’s arm and marched him towards the door. ‘Come on. Let’s go and sort out a battle plan.’
In the library Ralph led Tom over to the large mahogany table in the centre of the room, on which stood the globe.
‘Now, look.’ He spun it and stabbed with his forefinger at a point to the east of the Adriatic. ‘There’s Serbia, and there to the east is Bulgaria.’
‘It’s a huge area,’ Tom said despondently. ‘Where do you think they are heading?’
‘She just says “the Balkans”. I don’t suppose the silly girl has any real idea of where she’s going. But I suppose they must be heading for where the fighting is.’
‘Which is where?’
‘According to what I’ve heard there are two main battle fronts at the moment,’ Ralph said. ‘The Serbs here, in the west, around the borders of Albania and the Bulgars right over here to the east, almost at the Dardanelles. She could be aiming for either of those, but I doubt if she’ll get anywhere near them.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Well, think about it. Two unaccompanied young women, without any credentials. The authorities in Belgrade and Sophia are not going to let them get near a battlefield. My guess is they’ll be turned back at the border.’
‘But that means they could be back home again in a day or two,’ Tom said, but his relief was short lived.
‘Not if I know my sister,’ Ralph responded grimly. ‘She’s the most obstinate creature in the universe if she’s set her mind on something. She won’t give up that easily. There’s no way out of it, Tom. You’ll have to go and find her and bring her back.’ He paused and laid his hand on Tom’s arm. ‘You’ve always been a good friend, Tom. I knew I could rely on you.’
Tom felt the colour rush to his face. He took a deep breath. ‘How do I get there?’
‘Train is the obvious way. Leo says she will be in France by the time we read the note, so they must have taken the early ferry. Then train to Paris, I presume, and from there on the Orient Express.’
‘The Orient Express!’ Tom repeated. The words seemed so exotic they might belong to another world.
‘It’s the obvious way. Now, I’m sure Grandmother has a copy of Baedeker somewhere.’ He searched along the shelves. ‘Ah, here we are. Let’s see . . . Yes, there’s a service twice a week, Sundays and Wednesdays, to Munich, Vienna, Budapest, Belgrade, Sophia and Constantinople. Today is Wednesday and the girls obviously set off at the crack of dawn, so they are probably aiming for that one. It doesn’t leave till the evening. The next one is not until Sunday, but see, here? There is a service that leaves Brussels on Thursdays and an overnight sleeper from Paris that connects with it in Vienna. So if you leave tomorrow morning you can catch that.’
‘To where?’
‘I’d try Belgrade. It’s the closest. Anyway, you might be able to pick up their trail. Two young women travelling alone is pretty unusual. If you ask when you get to Vienna someone may remember them.’
‘And if they don’t?’
‘Take a ticket to Belgrade. And ask on the train. Ask the stewards, the porters, anyone who travels regularly on that route. And every time you cross a border, ask the frontier guards. They will have checked everyone’s passports and it’s quite likely they will remember the girls. If all else fails, when you get to Belgrade, go to the British Embassy. Leo and Victoria may have gone there of their own accord to ask for help getting to the front, but more likely they will have been stopped by the Serbian police and handed over.’
‘In which case,’ Tom said, ‘surely the embassy will contact you, or your grandmother.’
‘If they do, I’ll be able to tell them that a friend is on his way to escort the girls home.’ Ralph smiled at him and Tom knew that further argument was futile. Like it or not, he was going to Belgrade.
‘Just one thing,’ Ralph added. ‘We don’t want every Tom, Dick and Harry – sorry, old chap, but you know what I mean – knowing why you are going. You know how people gossip. Obviously, you’ll have to come clean with the authorities, but in general conversation it might be better to make up some other reason for the journey. Tell them you’re on business or something.’
‘But I know nothing about business! I wouldn’t have the faintest idea why any businessman might be going to Belgrade.’
‘No, true. Well, think of something else. Tell them you’re a writer looking for local colour – or a journalist on your way to cover the war.’ Ralph looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I’ve got to get back. The CO gave me a couple of hours off when the message arrived saying Leo had done a bunk, but I’ll be in trouble if I don’t report back soon.’ He squeezed Tom’s arm. ‘I won’t forget this, Tom. I don’t know who else I could have relied on. Cheer up! You might actually enjoy the trip – and think how much credit it will give you with Leo – her white knight riding to the rescue.’
‘I doubt whether she’ll see it like that,’ Tom said gloomily.
‘Oh, she will. Once she’s had a few encounters with Serbian officialdom and realized how hopeless the whole idea is. You wait. She’ll be overjoyed to see a friendly face. Now, I must go. I’ll pop in to your place this evening, to check that you’ve got everything arranged.’ He headed for the door. ‘Cheerio, old chap. Best of luck!’
Tom arrived in Paris in a mood of deepening gloom. He had been sick on the ferry, as usual. It had been that experience, on three summer holidays with his parents, which had convinced him that foreign travel was not for him. The prospect of several nights on a train did nothing to improve his temper. Enquiries at the booking office at the Gare de l’Est produced no result. No one recalled two unaccompanied young English ladies travelling on the Wednesday service to Constantinople. Worse was to come. There were no vacant berths on the Orient Express leaving Brussels that day. He would have to wait for the Paris service the following Sunday. Feeling more strongly than ever that he had been sent on a wild goose chase, he booked into the Hotel Bristol for three nights.