Edward realized that he had never got round to telling her about his extraordinary conversation with Georg at Mersham that morning. He had been about to when he had been distracted by her declaration of love for him which had, naturally, wiped everything else from his mind. Georg had begun by asking when he would be able to talk to Liddell. He had sighed heavily when Edward told him that he still had not pinned Liddell down to a definite date but assured him that what he had to say about the secret development of the bomb would be taken very seriously.
‘There’s so little time!’ Georg had groaned. ‘If we are to persuade one of the scientists on the team to come to England, we must act now. There’s a real chance some-thing can be done in the next few weeks but . . .’ he shrugged his shoulders expressively, ‘after that . . . who knows? My friend warned me that the SS were increasing security around them and restricting their movements and that was a month ago.’
Edward, to change the subject, told him that he had met Joan Miller at Broadlands and that she had spoken of him.
‘You know she is spending this weekend at Broadlands? You will see her if you come to the polo with us.’
‘Her husband’s a pig – not above prostituting her to Hitler. Bad luck for him the man’s a eunuch.’
Edward had never heard him speak so coarsely and it was obvious he was jealous of Mandl, as well as hating him for being a Nazi arms dealer.
‘May I ask . . .’ Edward said hesitantly, ‘were you and Joan . . . great friends?’
‘We were lovers,’ Georg replied simply. ‘But what could I offer her? A Jew . . . a penniless student. She had to marry a rich successful businessman.’
‘Does Mandl know you were lovers?’
‘He suspects,’ Georg said with satisfaction. ‘He does not know but he suspects. He hates the sight of me. I look forward to renewing my acquaintance with him.’
He then began what was to Verity a familiar lament.
‘I do not understand, Lord Edward, why you English do not comprehend what is happening to my country. You know, one of the guests at dinner last night – Lady Carlyon, I think she was called – asked me if I knew the Goerings! She said they were such “dear people” and told me how her husband had shot a boar on their estate last year. I mean, what was I supposed to say?’
‘Nothing, I hope.’
‘Remembering where I was – a guest of your brother, Lord Edward, for whose kindness to me I am truly grateful – I did indeed say nothing. But I must tell you I was tempted to pour my wine over her stupid head.’
Edward pursed his lips and was silent. He understood Georg’s frustration and he recognized that he was suffering amertume de coeur – bitterness of heart – which, if he did not take care, might destroy him.
Verity was being much more tactile than usual – taking Edward’s arm, and even his hand, in public. She had insisted on bringing her dog to the polo – perhaps, Connie suggested to Adrian, as a fashion accessory.
‘Beauty and the beast?’ Adrian offered.
Certainly, in all his liver-coloured magnificence, Basil set off his mistress who wore a charming blue and white cotton dress with a belted coat and a hat so large it almost dwarfed her.
‘That hat makes her look like a mushroom,’ Adrian muttered to Connie who giggled guiltily. Connie and Adrian, who were getting on very well together, remarked on the change in Verity.
‘Something’s happened to make her appreciate what she’s got in Edward,’ Adrian said, pleased but puzzled.
‘I know. I ought not to tell you, I suppose, but I believe I witnessed the moment she agreed to marry him.’ Adrian looked shocked. ‘I didn’t mean to . . . I just happened to look out of the window this morning and there they were . . . the two of them . . . in each other’s arms. I didn’t hear anything. Oh, do stop looking at me like that, Adrian.’
‘Sorry! I’m only teasing. So, you think . . .?’
‘Yes, I do.’
So she took my advice, Adrian thought to himself in surprise.
‘What happened to that German boy she was so taken with at the cricket match last summer?’ Connie inquired.
‘You heard that Himmler’s thugs kidnapped him in Vienna?’
‘No, I didn’t. Edward never mentioned it.’
‘It was awful. I thought he would have told you. Von Trott was kidnapped in front of Verity’s eyes and she thought he must have been sent to a concentration camp.’
‘But I thought he came from a very good family. Wasn’t his father one of the Kaiser’s ministers?’
‘That’s right. He must have been protected from the worst Himmler could do to him because she eventually got a letter from somewhere in the Far East.’
‘The Far East?’
‘Yes, he’s studying philosophy of all things.’
‘And so poor Verity was left . . . ?’
‘High and dry.’
‘I ought to be sorry for her but really . . .’
‘So why are you smiling, Duchess?’
‘You must call me Connie. I can’t gossip with you like this if you keep on calling me Duchess. Anyway, I wasn’t smiling – not much, anyway.’
‘One can’t help feeling that it serves her right for treating Edward so badly,’ Adrian said judiciously, ‘but, you know, she never means to be unkind. She’s just impulsive and honest about her feelings.’
‘A dangerous combination! But you know them both as well as anyone – do you think they are together . . . what shall I say . . .?’
‘Permanently . . .? Yes, I think so but who can tell? I’ve given up thinking I know what’s happening in my friends’ marriages or relationships.’
‘You think they might get married despite Verity’s principles?’
‘I can only say again – who can tell? Verity has always been dead set against the “bonds of matrimony”, as you know, but I think she may be mellowing. Have you noticed that she doesn’t lecture us nearly as much on social issues as she used to?’
‘You don’t mean she might give up being a Communist?’
‘I won’t go that far, Connie. She still has her principles but she’s seen enough in Spain to realize that the British Communist Party is now controlled from Moscow and no Party member can question any instruction – however nonsensical or contradictory it may seem. Now, you know Verity. She won’t stand for being muzzled. My bet is she’ll be thrown out of the Party before long. They don’t like her friends, they don’t like Edward and they don’t like her coming to this kind of event unless she blows it up. I’m just joking,’ he added, seeing the alarm on Connie’s face.
‘Well, the Lord works in most mysterious ways. All I want is for Ned to be happy. Oh look! Frank’s bringing over his nice Indian friend. Isn’t he good-looking in his polo clothes!’
Adrian, however, was not looking at Frank. ‘She’s beautiful,’ he said with what might almost have been a sigh of regret. ‘There’s something about a pretty girl in boots and breeches . . . She’s a maharaja’s daughter, isn’t she?’
‘Adrian, I’m shocked,’ Connie laughingly rebuked him. ‘You’re a married man, remember?’
‘Don’t worry! What hope does any of us have when she looks at Frank the way she’s looking at him now?’
Frank was in high spirits and talked of the coming polo match with enthusiasm, all the time glancing at the girl for approval. ‘I hope it’s not going to rain,’ he said, looking up at a particularly black cloud.
‘Your brother’s not playing, I hear?’ Connie asked.
‘No, poor lamb,’ Sunita said with a smile. ‘He’s in a bad mood, hoping one of us will get injured so he can step in and save the day.’
‘Oh, I hope not! Is polo so dangerous?’
‘Don’t fuss, Mother!’ Frank said. ‘Sunita will look after me.’
Connie smiled. Any man would want to impress this girl, she thought. She tried to imagine a scene in which Frank told his father he was marrying an Indian and that a grandson, who would one day be Duke of Mersh
am, would be brown-skinned but she could not make it convincing.
Edward had wanted to witness Georg’s reunion with Joan Miller but, as it turned out, he missed it.
‘Lieber Gott! Hedwig! Immer, immer, Hedwig. Nicht wahr?’
Georg took her hand and kissed it fervently.
‘Georg, is it really you? You escaped?’
They spoke quickly in German knowing that they would soon be interrupted. ‘Mandl? He is with you?’
‘Of course! And he’s in a very evil temper. He had a meeting with an English admiral last night who he hoped would buy his guns but he refused.’
‘Ah, that is good! I am glad. The British should have no dealings with the Nazis. So now you go back to Vienna?’
‘On Monday.’
‘Why do you not stay here? I am lonely. You do not love that man.’
‘I cannot, Georg. You know I cannot. My child is still in Vienna. Unless I can find a way of bringing her with me . . . I would never see her again if I left her. I asked your friend, Lord Edward Corinth, to help me. He said he would try and think of something but,’ she added gloomily, ‘I know no one can outwit Helmut. He hates me now but he still needs me. Hitler has asked to see me again. It is said he watches Last Night in Vienna very often . . . too often. He scares me, Georg. If I do not please him then . . .’
‘Schnell! Don’t look round but I see Lord Louis coming towards us. Meet me later at the stables during the polo game, if you can. I have something to say to you . . . for old times’ sake.’
‘Natürlich, Liebling . . .’ Then in English – as Hedwig Kiesler became Joan Miller again – she introduced Georg to Mountbatten.
‘Herr Dreiser, Lord Edward has been telling me about you. We must talk later.’ Turning to Joan and effectively removing her from Georg, he murmured, ‘Your husband is disappointed, I am afraid.’
‘After his talk to your admiral?’
‘Yes, I did my best but . . . I have told him to be patient but he says there is no time and that you must return to Vienna. Tell me,’ he said, touching her hand, ‘is there anything I can do? I would so like to see you again.’
She gave him her film-star smile. ‘I am afraid there is nothing any of us can do, Lord Louis. I want to go to Hollywood and be a film star . . .’
‘And I can help you,’ Mountbatten said eagerly. ‘I have friends . . .’
She raised her hand to stop him. ‘Instead, I shall return to my child . . . to Vienna . . . to Berlin. We shall never meet again.’
Mountbatten looked put out. ‘Come and talk to Herr Braken. Between ourselves, I think he’s a little bored. You know him, don’t you?’
‘Oh yes, I know Putzi,’ she agreed wryly. ‘You want me to entertain him for you, Lord Louis?’
‘That would be very kind.’
Each team consisted of four players with the Broadlands Fencibles – Ayesha, Sunita and Frank under Mountbatten’s captaincy – taking on four sailors from the Bluejackets. There were to be six chukkas of seven minutes each and Mountbatten warned Frank that he would find it exhausting. ‘You start with a handicap of minus two goals as a beginner but you should come out with something better.’
‘What’s your handicap, sir?’ Frank inquired.
‘Seven,’ Mountbatten replied modestly.
‘Golly!’
‘I like to win, my boy,’ Mountbatten said, baring his teeth.
Edward – munching smoked-salmon sandwiches and sipping champagne – was talking to Putzi in the marquee. This was not proving as hard work as he had feared. Delighted at last to be hobnobbing with the aristocracy Putzi was in high good humour. He was telling Edward about Hitler.
‘He has a very sweet tooth, as so many Austrians do. He adores those Viennese cakes piled high with sugared cream. I recall once watching him pouring a heaped tablespoon of sugar into a glass of Prince Metternich’s best Gewürztraminer! Fortunately, I was alone with him.’
‘Hitler’s manners are bad?’
Putzi leant forward and Edward caught a whiff of sour breath. ‘Between the two of us, Hitler is the best of the pack. That man Alfred Rosenberg – the Jew-hater – he was with us before Hitler became what he is, you understand. Dear Alfred never washed his shirts. He wore them till they stank and then threw them away. He had the taste of a costermonger’s donkey. Boorman’s no better. I’ve seen him sniff his own . . .’
Edward, suddenly nauseous, changed the subject. ‘You speak such good English because you were in America before the war?’
‘I went to New York after I finished at the Gymnasium in 1905. In many ways, those were the happiest days of my life.’
‘And you went to Harvard?’ Edward prompted.
‘I did and I may say I was much teased for being German. The United States may be a mongrel nation but Harvard is Anglo-Saxon, Christian and moral – very like your Oxford and Cambridge, I imagine.’
Edward wasn’t sure how moral his Cambridge had been but perhaps it had been rather smugly Christian and Anglo-Saxon. When he came to think of it, there had been only a handful of Jews and . . . But Putzi was holding forth.
‘I think I was popular in my four years there. I became president of the Deutsche Verein. I am a Kunstmensch – I celebrate all that is good in German culture.’
‘Indeed,’ Edward said fervently, ‘and Hitler likes that . . . culture?’
‘No, but he liked me. I played the piano for him. He likes being with superior people.’
And you are superior, Edward thought drily. God help the Reich!
‘I introduced the Führer to the Wagners – he adores those interminable operas – and to the Bechsteins and the Bruckmanns . . .’ He sounded wistful.
‘But not any more, I gather?’
Putzi shrugged. ‘Now he thinks only of war. I do not like war. I did not serve in the war, you know. Hitler holds it against me, I feel.’
‘And the Anschluss – did that come as a surprise?’
‘Not at all! I remember – it must have been in 1930 – I was with Hitler at Berchtesgaden. He was standing on the veranda looking across towards Salzburg. He said, “Look, Putzi, I was born over there in Braunau on the Inn.” I said to him, “Why don’t we drive over and see it?” He replied, “We will one day. It’s a real shame it doesn’t belong to us but they’ll come home into the Reich some day.”’
Edward was impressed. However foolish and debauched this man was, he certainly knew Hitler intimately and his insights into the mind of the madman who was threatening to bring disaster on a peace-loving world might well be useful.
‘You were very successful looking after the foreign press,’ he said, hoping flattery would get him somewhere. ‘I remember Miss Browne telling me how you helped a friend of hers . . .’
His eyes narrowed and he wiped his hands on his trousers as though wishing to rid himself of something unpleasant. ‘I have heard of her. She is a Communist. I do not like Communists, except perhaps that nice Mr Rose.’
Edward was taken aback. ‘Stuart Rose?’
‘Yes, he has been talking to me about America. I like America – except for the Jews. The American press always ask about the Jews. I say there are not so many Jews in Germany. Why not ask about the ninety per cent who are not Jews – who were unemployed and starving until the Führer rescued them? Ask me about that. Soon there will be no Jews in Germany for the Americans to worry about.’
Joan Miller appeared beside them looking more melancholy than ever. Putzi brightened. ‘Ah, Liebling! You will excuse me please, Lord Edward? I must talk to this beautiful lady . . .’ He took her hand and kissed it. ‘Ach! Those days . . . those happy days . . .’
Edward made himself scarce.
7
‘Who’s that over there?’ Edward – relieved to have done his duty with Putzi – was in a corner of the marquee with Adrian.
‘That’s Peter Gray’s niece, Vera. You remember . . .’
‘Of course! I was being stupid. I suppose I didn’t expect to see her here.
’
‘Nor did I but apparently Mountbatten invited her. I’ve just been talking to her as a matter of fact. She said she was amazed to get a telephone call from him asking her down for the night. She said he was really nice about her uncle . . . He wanted to talk to her about him.’
‘So he has got a heart!’ Edward exclaimed. ‘I would never have thought . . .’
‘Stuart Rose is a friend of Mountbatten’s – he’s here too somewhere and it may have been him who suggested it.’
‘Rose! He seems to be everywhere and know everyone.’
‘You don’t like him?’ Adrian queried.
‘Do you like him?’ Edward countered.
‘I hardly know him but he seems amiable enough. Of course, he wants to get on – become a famous art critic or something. I’m not a bit surprised Mountbatten encourages him. Rose and Peter Murphy are great chums.’
‘That man!’ Edward said. ‘I’ve heard about him. He’s a queer too, isn’t he? Is he here today?’
‘Murphy? No. He’s in Kenya, I believe, on some sort of jaunt. Here comes Vera. Now be kind to her. I know she wants to ask your advice about something.’
Edward raised his hat. ‘Miss Gray – how very nice to see you again.’
‘Do excuse me, I see a friend over there,’ Adrian said tactfully and walked away leaving Vera to talk to Edward alone.
‘I had no idea you were a friend of Stuart Rose.’
‘Stuart knows everybody in our little world, Lord Edward.’
‘The art world, you mean?’
‘Yes.’ She looked at him, amused. ‘Adrian says you don’t much care for artists?’
‘That’s not true. I certainly like him.’ She lowered her eyes as though she did not know how to continue. ‘What is it, Miss Gray?’
The Quality of Mercy Page 13