The Granville Sisters (33 page)

And a very dark horse too, Candida thought, feeling a great sense of disillusion. She’d always thought her parents’ marriage had been perfect, her father’s behaviour beyond reproach.

‘Well,’ she said at last, finding the facts hard to accept, ‘I have a half-brother, then.’

‘He is a nice man. A very talented writer,’ Margaux said quietly.

Candida wondered what Henry would say if he knew? He wouldn’t like it. He’d huff and puff, and say let’s not talk about it; it’s water under the bridge, and should be swept under the carpet, and every other cliché he could think of.

Margaux continued: ‘I was surprised when your father invited me to join you for lunch that day, but I was pleased too.’

‘You never talked about … anything, of course.’

‘We did talk,’ Margaux replied, ‘when you went to powder your nose.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘Just a quick word, you know. I told him Gaston was all right. I also told him my husband had accepted Gaston as his son and was good to him.’

It crossed Candida’s mind to suggest that surely Gaston should be helping his mother run this place now, but with unusual forbearance, she refrained.

‘You have no other children?’ she asked instead.

‘
Non
. Just Gaston.’ Fleetingly her eyes brimmed with tears.

‘I’m so sorry. I had no idea. You’ve had a tough time.’

Once more the shrug. ‘Life is difficult at the moment. No one comes here any more.’

‘Except for us. No one’s going to let the bloody Nazis stop us from going on holiday,’ Candida retorted.

Margaux gave a wistful smile. ‘You are so much like your father. So strong. So stubborn.’

‘What are you going to do if there is a war?’

‘I cannot afford to stay here, but I cannot afford to leave, either. Anyway, this is Gaston’s inheritance. Perhaps they’ll use it as an army billet.’ She gave a dry laugh and topped up her drink again.

‘Come on, Louise. It’s your go,’ Marina said impatiently.

‘Sorry.’ Louise rattled the dice and got two sixes.

‘Go on, then. Move your boot.’

Louise was finding it hard to concentrate, and she’d lost her interest in this stupid game of Monopoly. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, knew it was wrong, but on her way back from the loo next to the lobby, she’d heard most of what Aunt Candida and Madame Brevelay had been saying, as they sat in the
petit salon
.

To think that Grandpa had had a secret son shocked Louise to the core. What would Granny do, if she ever found out? How would her father feel if he knew he had a half-brother? Even more importantly, how was she going to act naturally in front of her aunt without this new terrible knowledge showing in her face?

‘Are you going to play this game or not?’ Marina asked impatiently. ‘Shall we have a game of
vingt-et-un
instead?’

‘If you like.’

While Louise shuffled the playing cards, Marina put the board game back in its box. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked suddenly, looking at her cousin.

Louise started. ‘Nothing,’ she said hastily. ‘I think I’ve got a bit of a headache coming on.’

‘You’ve either got a headache or you haven’t.’

‘Yes. Well, I have.’ Was she going to have to keep this terrible secret to herself for the rest of her life?

‘I think I’ll go to bed,’ she said, desperate to be alone so she could think things over.

‘Shall I ask Mummy to give you an aspirin?’ Marina said more gently, seeing how pale Louise looked.

‘No, don’t disturb her. I’m sure I’ll feel better when I lie down.’

Louise slept fitfully. The next morning she looked washed out.

‘Are you all right?’ Candida asked, watching her niece toy uninterestedly with her breakfast.

‘I’m fine, thank you. Aunt Candida, when are we going home?’

Candida stared at her in astonishment. ‘Home? But it’s so lovely here. I thought you were enjoying yourself.’

Louise spoke quickly. ‘Oh, I am.’

‘Good. I’m glad to hear it, because I’ve said we’ll stay for another week. The weather’s wonderful, and Marina is getting stronger by the day. More orange juice, Louise?’

‘No thank you. So, there’s not going to be a war?’ she asked, brightening.

Candida shook her head. ‘I don’t know about that, but it certainly isn’t going to happen for ages. We’re quite safe here. Margaux listens to the wireless every day. If there’s the slightest sign of trouble, she’ll let us know.’

Privately, Louise thought that Madame Brevelay had probably persuaded her aunt to stay on because she needed the money.

The Glorious Twelfth had come and gone, and Liza had been thrilled by the splendour and hospitality provided by Juliet and Cameron. They had arranged a perfectly balanced house party, with a mixture of his friends and hers, and Liza was filled with pride at how brilliantly her daughter had organized everything.

Not that she liked blood sports any more than Juliet, but she relished the aristocratic way of life, and pretended that following the guns was ‘great fun, darling’.

Each morning the sight of the ghillies and beaters, standing in the drive surrounded by the gamekeeper’s gun dogs (not to be confused with the eight pet dogs, who, being gun-shy, stayed indoors) made Liza’s heart swell with satisfaction at how well Juliet had achieved her own ambitions.

Back in London, Liza started to plan several dinner parties for the coming months. It was good to be on home ground again, though. This was where she felt most confident, in control of her life and her household.

That evening, Henry returned from the city, distraught.

‘Would you believe it?’ he exclaimed incredulously. ‘Candida insists on staying another week in Brittany. She said everything’s very quiet, and the proprietress of their hotel is listening to the radio, and will tell them if anything happens! Have you ever heard such madness? I’ve a good mind to go over there and fetch them back myself.’

‘Darling, I’m sure they’ll be all right,’ Liza replied mildly. ‘Candida is sensible if nothing else. Why are you so worried?’

Henry threw her a despairing look. What was the point of having this argument again? He strode over to the drinks tray, and poured himself a neat whisky. He’d been keeping in touch with Ian Cavendish. In spite of warnings from the Prime Minister, the Germans were on the brink of invading Poland. If that happened, Britain would have no alternative but to declare war on the Third Reich.

‘It’s very nearly September,’ Liza said soothingly. ‘Then Candida will
have
to bring the girls back, because of school.’

It was, in fact, now August the twenty-ninth. ‘If they’re not back by the thirty-first,’ Henry said heavily, ‘I’m going over to fetch them.’

Lady Anne was worried too. What on earth was inducing Candida to stay on in Brittany, under the circumstances? The situation was becoming dangerous. She phoned Henry at the bank, to express her concern.

‘You should shut up the house and come down here, Henry,’ she said. ‘Thank God the rest of the girls are down here, but you and Liza are in danger. Everyone is saying the Germans will start bombing London the moment war is declared.’ Her voice, usually so controlled, wobbled with emotion.

‘I know, Mother. I know.’ Henry felt dazed by the rapid escalations of his worst fears. ‘But Candida is absolutely refusing to take the situation seriously. So is Liza! I’m at the end of my tether.’

‘Henry dear, you’re being too soft with Liza. Shut up Green Street, bring all the servants with you – we’ll fit them in somehow; some can sleep in the flat above the coach house – and you can commute to the bank every day, for the time being.’

‘You’re right, Mother.’

When Henry told Liza of his decision, she exploded with chagrin.

‘How can we possibly shut up the house, Henry? We’ve got people coming to drinks on Monday and we’re giving several dinner parties during the next two weeks. It’s impossible for us to go to Hartley at the moment.’

‘Cancel everything, Liza,’ he said angrily, ignoring her protestations. ‘I’m going to tell Parsons to start packing up the house. Miss Ashley can pack up our clothes, and I’ll arrange for the silver and your jewellery to be put in the bank vault.’

‘Stop being such an alarmist!’ she retorted, shrilly. ‘We’re
not
going to run away, like rats deserting a ship; why should we? We’ll look complete fools if nothing happens, and worse than that, cowards.’

‘I’m not having an argument about this,’ he said with unaccustomed force. It was the first time he’d stood up to Liza in all their married life, and he felt slightly light-headed with shock. ‘We’ll all leave for Hartley tomorrow afternoon. Is that clear?’

Sobbing, her hand covering her mouth, Liza fled the drawing room, hurrying up to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her. Her beautiful, comfortable, lovely,
lovely
life that she’d worked so hard to achieve, was in
ruins
. She’d miss London terribly. She’d miss her friends, she’d miss the delightful social events, around which her whole life had revolved for the past twenty-three years. What the
hell
was she going to do with herself, buried in the country? Not being able to have her hair done several times a week by Mr Reek? Her facials at Elizabeth Arden? Her manicures? Her pedicures? Turkish baths at the Dorchester? Lunch at the Ritz? A little shopping at Asprey’s?

Everything
she loved about her life was being forcibly wrenched from her, and she lay on her bed, crying her heart out for the losses that lay ahead.

During the last days of August, the sun had grown paler and the sea colder. Candida and the girls still went for their morning swim, but the chill in the air marked the end of a glorious summer.

Sated by good food and fine wine, Candida had become lulled by a false sense of security. Every time she thought she ought to take Marina and Louise back to England, another beautiful day dawned, and she couldn’t resist telling the girls, ‘We’ll stay for another couple of days, shall we?’

She dismissed Henry as a ‘fuddy-duddy’ whenever he phoned to demand she return to England.

Of the three of them, only Louise was beginning to feel anxious. By now she had a strong, gut-wrenching presentiment that something awful was about to happen. They were now the only people staying in the hotel. Paramé was deserted. It was Margaux who was pressing Candida to stay.

‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ Margaux told them airily. ‘I listen to the radio several times a day. There is no news of an imminent war.’

Louise was waiting for Marina in the hotel lobby, when she heard voices coming from the kitchen.

Margaux was loud in her welcome to someone who seemed to have arrived by the rear entrance. Louise didn’t know much French, but she could pick out certain words, and Margaux’s tone of delight. Almost of relief, as if she’d been waiting for her visitor for some time.

Marina came running down the stairs at that moment, followed by her mother. ‘Come on. We’re off to the beach,’ she said.

At that moment, Margaux rushed into the lobby. She sounded agitated. ‘Candida, you must depart this minute! I have just heard the last passenger steamer for England is leaving St Malo in one hour. You haven’t a moment to lose!’

‘The
last
passenger boat?’ Candida queried, her face flushed with anger and distress. ‘How do you know? This can’t have happened so suddenly. There must have been an indication there was an emergency. Why didn’t you tell us before?’

Margaux was also red in the face but it was a look of guilt that filled her eyes. She shrugged. ‘
Alors
! I did my best to find out what was happening,’ she argued. ‘It seems we may be at war within hours.’

At that moment a tall man, who looked exactly like Henry, emerged from the darkness of the old kitchen. He was roughly dressed, unkempt, and with dark stubble and unruly hair.

Candida drew in her breath sharply, and Louise knew exactly who he was.

‘This is Gaston,’ Margaux said in a low voice. ‘He’s just arrived from Amiens. I beg you to take him to England with you, Candida. He has his passport and enough money until he finds work, but if he stays …’ She drew a shuddering breath and the tears streamed down her face. ‘If he is with you and the girls, he’ll be allowed into the country. You can tell them … You know.’

Stunned, Candida stared at her half-brother, and felt great anger and resentment. ‘This is an imposition,’ she said coldly, realizing Margaux had been persuading her to stay on for her own ends. Now, not only were they lumbered with him, they were all in danger of being stranded in Brittany.

‘Please, Candida. Do this for me, for …’ Margaux begged, her cheeks awash. ‘I am an old woman and I must stay to look after this place, but he will be made a prisoner of war …’ She broke down, sobbing now, her fat fingers covering her face.

‘You have put us in danger by not warning me sooner,’ Candida exploded. She glanced at Gaston, who was regarding her with narrowed eyes. ‘What happens when we get to England? He can’t stay with me.’

Margaux looked stricken. ‘For the love of God, just take him with you, where he will be safe. He is a young man. He will find work. And somewhere to live.’

Gaston put his arm around her shoulders, whispering something in her ear. She straightened up, her expression fearful.

‘
Mon Dieu
! You must hurry or you’ll miss the boat. Already, Gaston says, there are many people trying to get on board.’

‘What a pity you didn’t think of that a week ago,’ Candida retorted icily, angry with herself for being such a fool as to prolong their departure.

Then she turned to Marina and Louise. ‘Go and pack now. This moment,’ she ordered. ‘Just grab what you can. I’ll be up in a sec.’

As Louise and Marina tore up the stairs, taking them two at a time, Candida turned to Margaux, ignoring Gaston. ‘Please order us a taxi.’

‘This is the end of everything,’ Margaux sobbed, ignoring her request. ‘I’m losing my son, my livelihood and soon my country.’

‘A
taxi
, Margaux!’ Candida ordered, fiercely. Then she too hurried up to pack.

Clothes and shoes and games were thrown into cases, with books and damp, sandy towels. She couldn’t stop Gaston tagging along, but she did not intend to be responsible for him when they arrived in England.