He found a taxi in Soho Square and they were driven to Claridge’s, neither saying more than a few words to one another. It was almost two o’clock when they reached the hotel but the bar was still open. Joan begged him to have a nightcap and he did not feel he could leave her without being sure she was all right.
‘What about your husband?’ he asked when they barman had given them cognac in ridiculously large balloons. ‘When will he come back?’
‘Not tonight. He and Putzi will take a couple of whores back to their rooms.’
Edward was shocked. ‘Does he often do that?’
‘He’s not interested in sex with me,’ she said flatly, her voice cloudy with cigarette smoke. ‘I told you before, I’m just a useful possession. Anyway, it makes him feel good which means he leaves me alone. He thinks himself a Teufelskerl – the devil of a fellow.’
‘I could find you a place to stay,’ he said uncertainly.
She smiled for the first time that evening and raised a hand to stroke his cheek. ‘That is good of you but it would not be sensible. It would cause trouble for you, for your government perhaps, and certainly for me. I have to get my child out of Austria – or must I now say Greater Germany?’
‘Have you got anyone at home who would help you? Is there a nanny or a servant you trust?’
‘My little girl’s nanny would do anything I asked but she’s seventy-five – she was my nanny also, you understand. She could not do anything that needed . . .’
‘I understand.’
‘Have you an idea?’ she inquired, sounding almost eager.
‘I have the beginnings of one – a wild scheme but it might just work.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Not yet. I have to think things through. Are you to be at Broadlands next weekend?’
‘Yes. Mandl is to meet some navy friend of Lord Louis’ – something to do with selling the gun I told you about.’
Edward noticed she almost always referred to her husband as Mandl, as if she did not know him well enough to call him by his first name.
The bar was closing so he said goodbye, shaking hands formally as though a kiss might alter their relationship.
He got back to Albany after three and went straight to bed. ‘I’m much too old for late nights,’ he told himself as he brushed his teeth. The following morning he said it again feeling the fur on his tongue and the ache in his head.
4
One of the few disadvantages of being single, Verity decided as she twirled in front of the mirror, was that she had no one to tell her she looked good in a new dress. Although she went for months not thinking about what she wore, in London she tended to splurge in all her favourite shops. It was true that Vienna had its temptations, unlike war-torn Madrid. For a start, taxis were cheap – just fifty groschen for most journeys. At Zwieback’s, the department store in the Kärntnerstrasse, you could buy almost anything. The shoes were particularly seductive and she had bought several pairs at Coyle and Earle in the Karlsplatz, while for the hats she loved she went to Habig’s . . . but all these were still in her apartment in Vienna so, of course, it was incumbent on her to buy more in London.
She could hardly go to dinner in Eaton Place in some old thing she’d bought a year before, she said to herself. As she had often argued – though never fully convinced herself – you didn’t need to be dowdy just because you were Communist. In London, she liked the restrained luxury of Bond Street. She loved Schiaparelli but this time, feeling rather guilty, she bought one of Coco Chanel’s classic black dresses and though she had hitherto never worn scent, was persuaded into buying Chanel No. 5. Its soft, flowery, almost powdery scent was voluptuous and made her feel alluring. She also bought an irresistible pair of Daniel Green evening shoes – ivory silk satin with rhinestone buckles, open-toed and with heels to give her some of the height she lacked.
Verity had dined with Lord Weaver on several occasions but this particular evening was one she would always remember. As the butler showed her into the drawing-room she stopped short in surprise and consternation. Winston Churchill was talking to her host in the slurred, almost melancholy growl that was already familiar to her and many thousands of others who had heard his wireless broadcasts or attended the public meetings he addressed. Here was her bête noire – the man she held to be the enemy of the working class. The man who had broken the General Strike, who had praised Mussolini and who had repeatedly attacked the Communist Party as nothing more than Stalin’s cat’s paw.
As Weaver turned to greet her, Verity almost gave way to her strong desire to make a run for it. Then she noticed the wicked gleam in the newspaper proprietor’s eye. He wanted to see how she would comport herself. He had a reputation for enjoying bringing together at his table inveterate enemies – ‘to see what would happen’, he had once told her – and he must have known from what Edward had told him that she considered Churchill to be an enemy of everything she held sacred.
Silently she shook Churchill’s hand and, unable to do anything else, tried to smile as he said how much he had looked forward to meeting her. ‘Lord Edward tells me that you find my views objectionable, Miss Browne. I do hope we discover that we have some opinions in common. I particularly admired your reports from Vienna. I confess I shed a tear for Kurt von Schuschnigg. I was informed today that he has been incarcerated in one of those damnable Nazi gaols.’
Verity was surprised into speech. ‘I had not heard that but, as you know, I was deported immediately after Hitler entered Vienna. There’s no news, is there, Joe, of when I will be allowed back?’
‘Soon, I hope,’ was all Weaver could say.
Verity’s surprise at his guests was increased when she was introduced to Unity Mitford, a large blonde with bad teeth and an expression – permanent, she thought – of resentment tinged with frustration. Verity had met her sister Jessica, an active Communist, but she knew Unity was of a quite different persuasion. She was obsessed with Hitler, whom she had first met in 1933, and Jessica had told her that she had made up her mind to become Hitler’s lover. Jessica had also confided to Verity that she believed her sister to be mad. Unity was a cousin of Mrs Churchill’s, which was something of an embarrassment to Churchill.
Still reeling from shock at being thrust into such company, she was reassured to see she had an ally of sorts in another guest, the young American art critic, Stuart Rose, whom she knew to be a Communist sympathizer, if not a Communist. Weaver seemed suddenly aware of the combustible nature of the party and, perhaps wondering if he had gone too far in bringing enemies together, signalled to the butler to announce that dinner was served.
During the soup and well into the fish course, Verity was able to talk to Lady Weaver about trivialities but then, inevitably, the conversation turned to what was happening in Austria.
Unity started by telling what she considered an amusing story. She had joined the Council of Emergency Service which had been formed to train women to take over men’s jobs in the event of war. Its chairman was Dame Helen Gwynne-Vaughan, Professor of Botany at London University.
‘I was told to present myself to Dame Helen,’ Unity said in her rather high voice. ‘She said she had heard I was trying to become a German citizen and, if this were true, I could not remain a member of the Council. I tried in vain to persuade her that, though I spent a lot of time in Germany, I had no plans to take German citizenship. The old bat had it in for me from the beginning,’ she ended sulkily, ‘so I had to resign. My friend Putzi, Herr Braken – Stuart knows who I mean – said it was sheer jealousy, nothing more.’
Verity was surprised to find that Rose was on familiar terms not only with Unity but also with this other Nazi whom she had heard Edward mention. She bit her tongue and said nothing.
Rose opened his mouth to say something but seemed to think better of it.
Unity continued to lecture the dinner table. ‘I gather you were in Vienna, Miss Browne, when Herr Hitler entered the city. Wasn’t it the most wonderful day? I was ther
e with my friend Mrs Cochrane-Baillie. I was heartbroken that I did not see mein Führer when he arrived at his birthplace, Linz. I believe it was most affecting. You know he’s going to make it the capital of the new province? He told me so himself. I strained my voice shouting for that great man outside the Imperial. We cried, “Was! Ihr beide hier!” as we did when he occupied the Rhineland. He is a great patriot, is he not, Miss Browne? I was allowed ten minutes with him after he appeared on the balcony – an interview I shall never forget.’
Unity spoke affectedly, hoping for a reaction. Verity knew she ought not to respond but was, in the end, unable to restrain herself.
‘I’m afraid, Miss Mitford, that I cannot share your enthusiasm for seeing a country raped and good men thrown into concentration camps.’
Unity pretended to look surprised. ‘Oh, but that’s nonsense. You must have seen! The Austrians are happy and full of hope at being united with the mother country. How can you call it rape when I witnessed, as I am sure you did, the people going mad with joy shouting “Heil Hitler! Anschluss” at the top of their voices and waving swastika flags. Did you see, when night fell, the bonfires in the shape of swastikas on the hills round the city? It was inspiring.’
‘And were the Jews cheering too?’ Verity inquired coldly.
‘The Jews, the Communists . . . who cares about them? Oh, but of course,’ she smiled sweetly, revealing her bad teeth and opening wide her baleful blue eyes, ‘I forgot that you and Stuart share my sister’s sympathies for those evil people.’
Before Verity could reply, Churchill broke in.
‘My friend Georg Franckenstein, the Austrian Ambassador, tells me that just thirty-five per cent of the population supported Anschluss. He tells me that there are great numbers of Austrians who are vigorously opposed to having a regime forced upon them which is alien in aims and methods to their traditions. Why else did Hitler forbid the plebiscite which would have shown the level of support he had? I consider Hitler’s rape – yes, I too use that word – his rape of Austria a dastardly outrage. Tens of thousands of liberals, democrats, socialists and Jews will now try to leave the country and I very much fear that many of them will not succeed. Their fate can only be imagined.’
Churchill pugnaciously leant across the table like an old bulldog whose snarl could easily become something worse but Unity seemed unperturbed. Stuart Rose tried to lighten the atmosphere by asking Unity about her painting. ‘I remember particularly a picture of yours of Hannibal crossing the Alps – most striking. You had an exhibition at the Brook Street Gallery, did you not?’
‘Oh, I have no time for that now,’ Unity said brusquely, ‘but I have started on a portrait of the Führer . . .’
Unity Mitford was so much of a monster that Verity could not feel her own dislike of Churchill as she might have done in other company. What was more, he asked her intelligent questions about the situation in Austria and, which was even more surprising, listened to her answers. He treated her with charm and courtesy but never patronized her or talked down to her as so many men, particularly politicians, were prone to do. Weaver seemed amused by the trouble Churchill was taking with her and absolutely refused to let his wife take the ladies out when the port and brandy were circulated. It was a courtesy Verity appreciated – as she also appreciated Churchill’s restraint in not mentioning Edward. He was sensitive enough to know that she would resent the least hint that he was being polite to her out of consideration for her friend.
She was enthralled by Churchill’s estimate of how badly the country was doing in its efforts to catch up with Germany. ‘A stolen march indeed,’ he said, taking the cigar out of his mouth and breathing smoke like some benevolent dragon. ‘It can hardly be doubted that the Germans have laid new types of fighters and bombers upon their mass production plants. As they order whole-sale from a unified industry, full supplies of these should be available by next April. Perhaps Miss Mitford is able to furnish us with more detail?’
Unity refused to admit that there was any threat to Britain. ‘The Führer has often expressed to me the friendship he feels for us. We are Aryans and the natural allies of . . .’
Without seeming to hear her, Churchill continued to talk about the Anschluss and what it meant to Britain. ‘The gravity of what has happened to Austria cannot be exaggerated. Europe is confronted with a programme of aggression, nicely calculated and timed, and there is only one choice open – not just to us but to other countries in Europe. We either submit, like Austria, or take effective measures while time remains to ward off the danger and, if it cannot be warded off, to cope with it.’
His measured phrases and deep seriousness impressed Verity profoundly. ‘And will the next victim of Hitler’s mad aggression be Czechoslovakia, do you think?’ she asked.
‘I do. Czechoslovakia manufactures the munitions on which both Rumania and Yugoslavia depend for their defence. Isolated on three sides by Hitler’s annexation of Austria, her fate is sealed. No doubt to English ears the name Czechoslovakia sounds outlandish,’ he continued. ‘It is just a small democratic state with an army not much larger than ours. I have hopes that they will stand firm but can they hold out in the long run without our support and the support of the French? I very much doubt it. Some people have called me a warmonger but I must remind them – remind you all – that force and violence are, alas, the ultimate reality.’
‘Why are you not in the government, sir?’ Stuart Rose asked.
‘That is the question,’ Weaver said, pouring himself another brandy. ‘That is indeed the question – where is the only man with the strength of purpose and moral authority to stand up to Hitler?’
Unity stood up to leave. ‘I cannot listen to any more of this nonsense,’ she said with a touch of hysteria. ‘Why cannot any of you understand that we must stand as a friend to Germany? Herr Hitler is not the enemy. The Jews and the Communists – they are the enemy.’
When Unity had gone, Stuart Rose looked round the table and said drily, ‘A year or two back, I spent a few days in Styria in a little inn at Aflenz. Burnt into the beams of the ceiling was this couplet, “Wer ehrlich denkt und handelt recht, Er bleibt im Dreck, es geht ihm schlecht,” which I would roughly translate as “He who thinks honourably and behaves justly gets left behind and has no success.”’
Churchill harrumphed and Weaver grinned his tiger-smile.
‘You speak good German, Mr Rose,’ Verity said in surprise. ‘It’s better than mine.’
‘Not at all,’ he replied, almost too quickly. ‘I just happened to remember those lines. I have no idea who wrote them.’
With the departure of Unity the conversation became less political and more relaxed. Rose and Churchill discussed art and how painting was worth doing even if, as Churchill modestly admitted, one did it badly. Verity asked Rose what he thought of Frank. Edward had told her they had met at Broadlands and seen a lot of each other since.
‘An admirable young man. He thinks highly of you, Miss Browne. Told me so himself. Said he would like to have fought in Spain.’
‘He did for a few days.’
‘And you and Lord Edward hauled him back by the scruff of his neck. He told me that too.’
‘You seem to have talked a lot,’ she said, caustically.
‘As a matter of fact, we did. I like young people and I like Frank. He may not know much about art but he knows about life. He knows who to trust and that’s always half the battle.’
‘He trusts you?’
‘You mean that might not be a good idea?’ Rose seemed amused.
‘I wouldn’t trust you,’ she said, emboldened by the wine she had drunk.
‘You may have to,’ was his surprising and somewhat enigmatic response.
As they were putting on their coats, Churchill offered to drop Verity at Cranmer Court and she accepted. For the first time, in the car, the scent of Havana cigar heavy about them, Churchill did mention Edward.
‘Forgive me for saying so, Miss Browne, but I think that
man of yours, Lord Edward Corinth, is to be reckoned with. He tells me that you don’t share my views on many social issues but you must grant that I have seen more of life than you and I know a good man when I see him. There are not so many of them around that they can be squandered. You should hold to him. He will be an anchor in the coming storm, as Clemmie is for me.’
It was disconcerting to have advice on so personal a matter from a man she had met for the first time just a few hours earlier. She ought to have resented it but she did not. Whether it was the lateness of the hour, the wine she had imbibed, the mad girl who had spoken of Hitler as though he were a god or the comfortable car lulling her into a false sense of security but all she could think of was that this man sitting beside her saw the world for what it was. He recognized the danger and had prepared himself to overcome it.
She roused herself to say, ‘I agree with everything you said at dinner, Mr Churchill, but you must allow that we Communists are your only true allies. We alone have steadfastly stood up to Fascism since Hitler came to power in 1933 while the politicians have procrastinated and . . .’
‘Miss Browne, I grant you that the Communist Party has stood against Fascism while other parties – my own most culpably – have courted and appeased it but I have the profoundest misgivings concerning the Soviet Union. I do my best to suppress them in the crisis we now face. The Soviet Union may be our ally in the coming conflict but we must not close our eyes to who these people are and what they really want. You must have seen in Spain how ruthless were those who took their orders from Moscow. They were not interested in the Spanish Republic but in extending the influence of the Russian Bear into Europe. Regardless of the political colour of the government of that great empire, that has always been Russia’s design.’
Without waiting for her to object, he went on, ‘We know very little of what is happening in Russia but we know enough to see the terrible repression, the starvation, the terror, the fear that permeate that vast country. We know that the Soviet prison camps are as full of innocent men and women as those in Germany. The power of the executive to cast a man into prison without formulating any charge known to law and to deny him the judgement of his peers is in the highest degree odious and is the foundation of all totalitarian government, whether Nazi or Communist.
The Quality of Mercy Page 7