Lorimers at War (39 page)

‘She married a prince. A dangerous choice in these
times. At the moment when his identity was discovered he was travelling on permits signed by myself, so for a little while it seemed that the danger might be contagious. But I was able to prove that he must have stolen them. His rank, of course, makes it impossible for Katya to enquire openly about his fate and in her own interest I have made sure that no one could connect the doctor at the orphanage with a man – one of many men – arrested by the Cheka.'

‘Was he killed? Does she know what has happened to him?'

‘She will not believe that he is dead. She hopes.'

‘And you. Do
you
know the truth? Have you told her?'

Sergei gestured with his hand in a manner which could have meant any of several contradictory things, and Margaret felt a moment's uneasiness. They had greeted the stranger as a friend because he brought good news, but everything they knew about Russia since the revolution, and everything he was telling them now, built up a picture of a society ruled by suspicion, in which any kind of knowledge might spell danger. Could he be a government spy and not a friend at all, looking for information which might incriminate Kate in a way her English relations could not even imagine? Or could he, on the other hand, be more than a friend – in love with her, perhaps, and anxious to keep her in Russia so that he could marry her himself one day? So many horrifying stories of betrayal and death had come out of Russia in the past three years that Margaret did not know what to believe. If Kate's husband were really dead, she ought to come back to the safety of her own country. There was plenty for a doctor to do in England as well. As definitely as she could, Margaret made her opinion clear to the Russian, but once again he merely shrugged.

‘Any message that you give to me, I will pass on,' he said. ‘If you tell me that you have a home and a welcome
waiting for her here, I promise that I will explain that to her. But I think you should not hope too much. Katya is a woman of great determination and strong loyalties. You know that for yourselves, I'm sure. She could have returned to England when she was forced to leave Serbia. When she made the decision to stay with a defeated army she was well aware that nothing but danger and discomfort lay ahead.'

Margaret was silent, knowing that this was the truth. She excused herself for a moment while she sent a message to Alexa at her house in Park Lane. By the time she returned to the drawing room she was already half reconciled to accepting what Sergei had said. She invited him to stay for the night, but was not surprised when he refused, agreeing only to dine with them. Doubtless he was no more anxious than Kate to be suspected of having friends in England. So all that remained when the meal was over was to dictate to Sergei the news of everything which had happened to the family in the past four years.

‘She knows of her brother's death,' Sergei said. ‘The news upset her very greatly and it was because he died, I think, that she was committed to the ideals of the Revolution even before it began. And it's because of his death that she cares so deeply for the orphans who are still alive.'

There were other deaths to report: Kate's father, Alexa's husband, Robert's wife – although Kate would not even know that Robert had ever married, or that he was the father of a daughter who was almost three years old by now.

‘But there is good news as well,' Margaret said. ‘Her younger brother, Grant: tell her that he lives in England now and that an operation has made it possible for him to walk much more easily. And as a result he has become a happier boy.'

‘And a fitter one,' said Robert. ‘I've never known such a chap for doing exercises. When I think how fat and lazy
he was when he first arrived! Now he seems determined to set himself endurance tests. Where an ordinary boy would do an exercise ten times, nothing less than a hundred is good enough for Grant. He's becoming very tough indeed.'

‘He will take over her father's property in Jamaica when he is old enough, I suppose,' suggested Sergei.

‘No.' Margaret hesitated, wondering how far it was safe to entrust a stranger with news which would come as a shock to Kate. ‘No, the land was left to one of Kate's childhood friends, Duke Mattison.'

‘She has spoken of him to me. The clever black boy, with a talent both for figures and for –' The word for ‘bowling' had obviously escaped Sergei; instead he swung his one arm vigorously to indicate what he meant.

‘Yes, he's a good cricketer. Kate ought to be told, perhaps, that he inherited both his talents from his father. Her father.'

By his smile Sergei showed how confident he was that Kate would not mind. He waited with patient interest for the next piece of information.

‘What other good news is there?' asked Alexa, who had joined them for dinner to celebrate Kate's being alive. She had been pale when she first arrived, interrupted in a vigil of remembrance for her husband, but now her normal vivacity had returned, as though she had consciously made a decision to change her mood. ‘You could tell her that her cousin Arthur has been given a baronetcy to go with his fortune – which may now be a little less than before the honour was bestowed. So when he chooses a wife, she will be Lady Lorimer. He must be the most eligible bachelor in Bristol, for he's still unmarried. Be sure to tell Kate that.'

It was unkind of them all to laugh, Margaret thought, as she saw that the family reference could only puzzle Sergei. But he added the name to the notes he was making without showing any reaction and then looked
across at Frisca, who had been specially allowed to join the adults at dinner.

‘And from the evidence of my own eyes I can tell her how beautiful is her young cousin,' he said, bowing slightly as he paid the compliment. Margaret, who agreed with it, noticed that Frisca glanced at Robert and flushed very slightly before laughing it off in her usual self-assured manner.

‘Since it may be years before we see Kate again,' Frisca said, ‘she'd better have our future news as well as what's happened in the past. You can tell her that I'm going to be a great dancer, even if I am a foot taller than anyone else on the stage.'

‘Well, if we're to talk about the future, she may like to know what's happening at Blaize,' Alexa added, ‘That's the name of my house in the country,' she explained for Sergei's benefit. ‘Before Kate left for Serbia, she helped to turn it into a hospital for wounded soldiers. Now the house has been restored as a home, and the theatre will open again for opera next summer.'

She went on to give details of the productions she planned in a way which Margaret felt would be of limited interest to Kate, so far away and in such a different society. Margaret allowed her attention to wander, realizing that the significance of the conversation only indirectly related to what was being said. Alexa's emergence from her bereavement was almost complete. She was no more than forty-three years old and it was right that she should have picked up the threads of her life again and made plans for the years to come. When the enthusiastic flow of words came to an end, Margaret looked at her son.

‘And what about you, Robert? What message will you send to Kate about the future?'

In the silence which followed, Margaret knew at once that something was wrong. The Russian was merely waiting politely to hear what else he should note; and Alexa's expression, too, revealed nothing more than a
normal interest. But Frisca was almost literally holding her breath, while Robert's face reminded his mother of that earlier occasion when – knowing that she was bound td disapprove – he had broken the news to her that he had volunteered for the army.

‘Well?' she asked.

‘I have some plans, certainly,' said Robert. He made the admission with reluctance. ‘But I'd like to discuss them first of all with you, Mother.'

‘That means that Kate will never know. And after such an ominous hint, I shan't be able to sleep until I know what you're proposing. So you might as well confess at once.'

She tried to keep her voice light as she spoke, and with a similar effort sought to maintain an untroubled expression on her face as Robert, still reluctantly, told her of his intention to go to India. The blow fell on her like a landslide. He must have realized it, because he came across and sat on the arm of her chair, putting his hand on her shoulder.

‘You have responsibilities here,' was all she allowed herself to say. ‘Barbara.'

‘Yes, I know.' His grip tightened for a moment. ‘I can't go without your co-operation. That's why I wanted to talk about it privately with you.'

‘We'll think about it tomorrow, then,' she said. Her attempt to pretend that nothing disturbing had taken place evidently did not deceive her visitor, who put away his notebook and stood up to take his leave.

‘But you have to let us know where Kate is!' exclaimed Margaret. Her voice quavered under the two shocks of the evening. Just as Robert, who had earlier returned from the disappearance which might too easily have signified his death, was about to leave again, so too it seemed that Kate had only briefly come back to life and would now slip into invisibility in the blackness of a closed society. ‘I understand everything you've said about
the danger to her of having connections in England. But in case something really important should happen – here or there – we must have some idea of where to look for her. You've told us that because of your own affection for Kate you would never do anything to harm her. Well, you must believe that our love is at least no less than yours. We won't write to her, but we need to know where she is.'

Sergei had already taken Margaret's hand as he prepared to say goodbye to her. For a moment he stared steadily into her eyes. ‘Knowledge that cannot be used is like a long fuse leading to a hidden bomb,' he said. ‘The day comes when it is tempting to light the fuse, just to see where it leads.' He lifted her hand to his lips but, although his manners might be pre-revoiutionary, Margaret recognized the ruthlessness with which he was rejecting her plea.

After he had gone and Frisca had been taken home to bed by Alexa, Robert lingered for a moment in the drawing room; but Margaret knew that she was too upset to be either kind or rational.

‘After the service tomorrow,' she said. ‘We'll think about it then.'

But the next day, Armistice Day, imposed thoughts of its own. Margaret's house in Queen Anne's Gate was so near to Westminster Abbey that the family party did not emerge until an hour before the procession bringing the body of the Unknown Warrior for burial was due to arrive at the abbey. They found the streets already packed with men and women dressed in black. Margaret had not expected that the crowd would be so great, and – because she was not tall – realized that she would see nothing of the ceremony.

She would hear it, however. Six years earlier Brinsley had left for France to the sound of a military band. Now the sound of another military band brought back memories of his departure, but it was a different sound –
not the cheerful strains of Tipperary, with fifes and piccolos disporting themselves in high-pitched mischief, but the slow, muffled drum beat of a funeral march. And it was greeted not with the cheers of a crowd which could have no conception of what lay ahead, but with the tears of a nation which had had time to count the cost. Three-quarters of a million men had gone out to fight and had not returned. Now one of them was being brought home.

The sound came nearer, masking the slow footsteps of the escort. Military orders were given: the music stopped. There was a curious stiffening as the men in the crowd straightened their shoulders and held up their heads until, without any ostentatious movement, they were standing at attention. The women, by contrast, bowed their heads as though they were in church. During the hours of waiting there had been conversation and movement, but when the slow drum beat came to an end, the crowd became quiet and still. Thousands of living people, sharing a single emotion, were together – and spontaneously – paying tribute to the silence of death.

Intense and oppressive, the absolute silence extended for what seemed a very long time. It was broken in the end not by any sound but by an almost imperceptible change in the atmosphere as the men and women in the crowd began to listen for the muffled sounds of the burial rites. Margaret's concentration, too, was broken, and she could not prevent her thoughts from returning to the bombshell which Robert had dropped on the previous evening.

In her mind the two subjects merged. There was a connection between what was happening in the abbey and Robert's plans for the future – although an hour earlier she would not have been able to recognize it. She had not been conscious of any change of heart during the long and emotional silence, but at the end of it she had accepted a new idea. The partings and losses of the war
must be seen for what they were – memories, not a continuing part of everyday life. Those who had died were dead: those who were still alive must make plans for their future lives – otherwise, what point would there be in their survival?

It was right that everyone should look ahead: that Frisca should dream of dancing, that Alexa should shake off the grief of her bereavement and plan for the reopening of her theatre, that Matthew should come to terms with his injuries and refuse to let them bring his career as an artist to an end. It would not be reasonable to expect that Robert alone should stand still, frozen in the role of the only son of a widow, returning from the dead and bound to stay within her sight in order to reassure her that he was still alive. Margaret was glad that she had managed to control her first reaction of distress at Robert's news.

He would come back, after all. This would be a different kind of parting from those of the war years. Robert would build his dams and then come home again. And in the meantime he would leave Barbara behind to give her grandmother, like everyone else in the family, a window to the future.