by Ken Follett
She also told the story of Eva's family in Berlin. Bernie was Jewish, and tears came to his eyes when he heard about Rudi's broken hands. "They should have fought the bastard Fascists on the street, when they had the chance," he said. "That's what we did."
Millie said: "I've still got the scars on my back, where the police pushed us through Gardiner's plate-glass window. I used to be ashamed of them--Abie never saw my back until we'd been married six months, but he says they make him proud of me."
"It wasn't pretty, the fighting in Cable Street," said Bernie. "But we put a stop to their bloody nonsense." He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes with his handkerchief.
Ethel put her arm around his shoulders. "I told people to stay home that day," she said. "I was wrong, and you were right."
He smiled ruefully. "Doesn't happen often."
"But it was the Public Order Act, brought in after Cable Street, that finished the British Fascists," Ethel said. "Parliament banned the wearing of political uniforms in public. That finished them. If they couldn't strut up and down in their black shirts they were nothing. The Conservatives did that--credit where credit's due."
Always a political family, the Leckwiths were planning the postwar reform of Britain by the Labour Party. Their leader, the quietly brilliant Clement Attlee, was now deputy prime minister under Churchill, and union hero Ernie Bevin was minister of labour. Their vision made Daisy feel excited about the future.
Millie left and Bernie went to bed. When they were alone Ethel said to Daisy: "Do you really want to marry my Lloyd?"
"More than anything in the world. Do you think it will be all right?"
"I do. Why not?"
"Because we come from such different backgrounds. You're all such good people. You live for public service."
"Except for our Millie. She's like Bernie's brother--she wants to make money."
"Even she has scars on her back from Cable Street."
"True."
"Lloyd is like you. Political work isn't something extra he does, like a hobby--it's the center of his life. And I'm a selfish millionaire."
"I think there are two kinds of marriage," Ethel said thoughtfully. "One is a comfortable partnership, where two people share the same hopes and fears, raise children as a team, and give each other comfort and help." She was talking about herself and Bernie, Daisy realized. "The other is a wild passion, madness and joy and sex, possibly with someone completely unsuitable, maybe someone you don't admire or don't even really like." She was thinking about her affair with Fitz, Daisy felt sure. She held her breath: she knew Ethel was now telling her the raw truth. "I've been lucky, I've had both," Ethel said. "And here's my advice to you. If you get the chance of the mad kind of love, grab it with both hands, and to hell with the consequences."
"Wow," said Daisy.
She left a few minutes later. She felt privileged that Ethel had given her a glimpse into her soul. But when she got back to her empty apartment she felt depressed. She made a cocktail and poured it away. She put the kettle on and took it off again. The radio went off the air. She lay between cold sheets and wished Lloyd was there.
She compared Lloyd's family with her own. Both had troubled histories, but Ethel had forged a strong, supportive family out of unfavorable materials, which Daisy's own mother had been unable to do--though that was more Lev's fault than Olga's. Ethel was a remarkable woman, and Lloyd had many of her qualities.
Where was he now, and what was he doing? Whatever the answer, he was sure to be in danger. Would he be killed now, when at last she was free to love him without restraint and, eventually, to marry him? What would she do if he died? Her own life would be at an end, she felt: no husband, no lover, no friends, no country. In the early hours of the morning she cried herself to sleep.
Next day she slept late. At midday she was drinking coffee in her little dining room, dressed in a black silk wrap, when her fifteen-year-old maid came in and said: "Major Williams is here, my lady."
"What?" she screeched. "He can't be!"
Then he came through the door with his kit bag over his shoulder.
He looked tired and had several days' growth of beard, and he had evidently slept in his uniform.
She threw her arms around him and kissed his bristly face. He kissed her back, inhibited somewhat by being unable to stop grinning. "I must stink," he said between kisses. "I haven't changed my clothes for a week."
"You smell like a cheese factory," she said. "I love it." She pulled him into her bedroom and started to take his clothes off.
"I'll take a quick shower," he said.
"No," she said. She pushed him back on the bed. "I'm in too much of a hurry." Her longing for him was frantic. And the truth was that she relished the strong smell. It should have repelled her, but it had the opposite effect. It was him, the man she had thought might be dead, and he was filling her nostrils and her lungs. She could have wept with joy.
Taking off his trousers would require removing his boots, and she could see that would be complicated, so she did not bother. She just unbuttoned his fly. She threw off her black silk robe and hiked her nightdress up to her waist, all the time staring with happy lust at the white penis sticking up out of the rough khaki cloth. Then she straddled him, easing herself down, and leaned forward and kissed him. "Oh, God," she said. "I can't tell you how much I've been longing for you."
She lay on him, not moving much, kissing him again and again. He held her face in his hands and stared at her. "This is real, isn't it?" he said. "Not just another happy dream?"
"It's real," she said.
"Good. I wouldn't like to wake up now."
"I want to stay like this forever."
"Nice idea, but I can't keep still much longer." He began to move under her.
"If you do that I'll come," she said.
And she did.
Afterward they lay on her bed for a long time, talking.
He had two weeks' leave. "Live here," she said. "You can visit your parents every day, but I want you at night."
"I wouldn't like you to get a bad reputation."
"That ship has sailed. I've already been shunned by London society."
"I know." He had telephoned Ethel from Waterloo station, and she had told him about Daisy's separation from Boy and given him the address of the flat.
"We must do something about contraception," he said. "I'll get some rubber johnnies. But you might want to get fixed up with a device. What do you think?"
"You want to make sure I don't get pregnant?" she said.
There was a note of sadness in her voice, she realized, and he heard it. "Don't get me wrong," he said. He raised himself on his elbow. "I'm illegitimate. I was told lies about my parentage, and when I found out the truth it was a terrible shock." His voice shook a little with emotion. "I'll never put my children through that. Never."
"We wouldn't have to lie to them."
"Would we tell them that we're not married? That in fact you're married to someone else?"
"I don't see why not."
"Think how they would be teased at school."
She was not convinced, but clearly the issue was a profound one for him. "So, what's your plan?" she said.
"I want us to have children. But not until we're married. To each other."
"I get that," she said. "So . . ."
"We have to wait."
Men were slow to pick up hints. "I'm not much of a girl for tradition," she said. "But, still, there are some things . . ."
At last he saw what she was getting at. "Oh! Okay. Just a minute." He knelt upright on the bed. "Daisy, dear--"
She burst out laughing. He looked comical, in full uniform with his limp dick hanging out of his fly. "Can I take a photo of you like that?" she said.
He looked down and saw what she meant. "Oh, sorry."
"No--don't you dare put it away! Stay just as you are, and say what you were going to say."
He grinned. "Daisy, dear, will you be my wife?"
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"In a heartbeat," she said.
They lay down again, embracing.
Soon the novelty of his odor wore off. They got into the shower together. She soaped him all over, taking merry pleasure in his embarrassment when she washed his most intimate places. She put shampoo on his hair and scrubbed his grimy feet with a brush.
When he was clean he insisted on washing her, but he had only got as far as her breasts when they had to make love again. They did it standing in the shower with the hot water coursing down their bodies. Clearly he had momentarily forgotten his aversion to illegitimate pregnancy, and she did not care.
Afterward he stood at her mirror shaving. She wrapped a large towel around herself and sat on the lid of the toilet, watching him. He asked: "How long will it take you to get divorced?"
"I don't know. I'd better speak to Boy."
"Not today, though. I want you to myself all day."
"When will you go to see your parents?"
"Tomorrow, maybe."
"Then I'll go to Boy at the same time. I want to get this over as soon as possible."
"Good," he said. "That's settled, then."
iv
Daisy felt strange going into the house where she had lived with Boy. A month ago it had been hers. She had been free to come and go as she wished, and enter any room without asking permission. The servants had obeyed her every order without question. Now she was a stranger in the same house. She kept her hat and gloves on, and she had to follow the old butler as he led her to the morning room.
Boy did not shake hands or kiss her cheek. He looked full of righteous indignation.
"I haven't hired a lawyer yet," Daisy said as she sat down. "I wanted to talk to you personally first. I'm hoping we can do this without hating one another. After all, there are no children to fight over, and we both have plenty of money."
"You betrayed me!" he said.
Daisy sighed. Clearly it was not going to go the way she had hoped. "We both committed adultery," she said. "You first."
"I've been humiliated. Everyone in London knows!"
"I did try to stop you making a fool of yourself in Claridge's--but you were too busy humiliating me! I hope you've thrashed the loathsome marquis."
"How could I? He did me a favor."
"He might have done you a bigger favor by having a quiet word at the club."
"I don't understand how you could fall for such a low-class oik as Williams. I've found out a few things about him. His mother was a housemaid!"
"She's probably the most impressive woman I've ever met."
"I hope you realize that no one really knows who his father is."
That was about as ironic as you could get, Daisy thought. "I know who his father is," she said.
"Who?"
"I'm certainly not telling you."
"There you are, then."
"This isn't getting us anywhere, is it?"
"No."
"Perhaps I should just have a lawyer write to you." She stood up. "I loved you once, Boy," she said sadly. "You were fun. I'm sorry I wasn't enough for you. I wish you happiness. I hope you marry someone who suits you better, and that she gives you lots of sons. I would be happy for you if that came about."
"Well, it won't," he said.
She had turned toward the door, but now she looked back. "Why do you say that?"
"I got the report from that doctor we went to."
She had forgotten about the medical. It had seemed irrelevant after they split. "What did he say?"
"There's nothing wrong with you--you can have a whole litter of pups. But I can't father children. Mumps in adult men sometimes causes infertility, and I copped it." He laughed bitterly. "All those bloody Germans shooting at me for years, and I've been downed by a vicar's three little brats."
She felt sad for him. "Oh, Boy, I'm really sorry to hear that."
"Well, you're going to be sorrier, because I'm not divorcing you."
She suddenly felt cold. "What do you mean? Why not?"
"Why should I bother? I don't want to marry again. I can't have children. Andy's son will inherit."
"But I want to marry Lloyd!"
"Why should I care about that? Why should he have children if I can't?"
Daisy was devastated. Would happiness be snatched away from her just when it seemed to be within her reach? "Boy, you can't mean this!"
"I've never been more serious in my life."
Her voice was anguished. "But Lloyd wants children of his own!"
"He should have thought of that before he f-f-fucked another man's wife."
"Very well, then," she said defiantly. "I'll divorce you."
"On what grounds?"
"Adultery, of course."
"But you have no evidence." She was about to say that that shouldn't be a problem when he grinned maliciously and added: "And I'll take care you don't get any."
He could do that, if he was discreet about his liaisons, she realized with growing horror. "But you threw me out!" she said.
"I shall tell the judge you're welcome to come home anytime."
She tried to stop herself crying. "I never thought you'd hate me this much," she said miserably.
"Didn't you?" said Boy. "Well, now you bloody well know."
v
Lloyd Williams went to Boy Fitzherbert's house in Mayfair at midmorning, when Boy would be sober, and told the butler he was Major Williams, a distant relative. He thought a man-to-man conversation was worth a try. Surely Boy did not really want to dedicate the rest of his life to revenge? Lloyd was in uniform, hoping to appeal to Boy as one fighting man to another. Good sense must surely prevail.
He was shown into the morning room, where Boy sat reading the paper and smoking a cigar. It took Boy a moment to recognize him. "You!" he said when comprehension dawned. "You can piss off right away."
"I've come to ask you to give Daisy a divorce," Lloyd said.
"Get out." Boy got to his feet.
Lloyd said: "I can see that you're toying with the idea of taking a swing at me, so in fairness I should tell you that it won't be as easy as you imagine. I'm a bit smaller than you, but I box at welterweight, and I've won quite a lot of contests."
"I'm not going to soil my hands on you."
"Good decision. But will you reconsider the divorce?"
"Absolutely not."
"There's something you don't know," Lloyd said. "I wonder if it might change your mind."
"I doubt it," Boy said. "But go on, now that you're here, give it a shot." He sat down, but did not offer Lloyd a chair.
Be it on your own head, Lloyd thought.
He took from his pocket a faded sepia photograph. "If you'd be so kind, glance at this picture of me." He put it on the side table next to Boy's ashtray.
Boy picked it up. "This isn't you. It looks like you, but the uniform is Victorian. It must be your father."
"My grandfather, in fact. Turn it over."
Boy read the inscription on the back. "Earl Fitzherbert?" he said scornfully.
"Yes. The previous earl, your grandfather--and mine. Daisy found that photo at Ty Gwyn." Lloyd took a deep breath. "You told Daisy that no one knows who my father is. Well, I can tell you. It's Earl Fitzherbert. You and I are brothers." He waited for Boy's response.
Boy laughed. "Ridiculous!"
"My reaction, exactly, when I was first told."
"Well, I must say, you have surprised me. I would have thought you could come up with something better than this absurd fantasy."
Lloyd had been hoping the revelation would shock Boy into a different frame of mind, but so far it was not working. Nevertheless he continued to reason. "Come on, Boy--how unlikely is it? Doesn't it happen all the time in great houses? Maids are pretty, young noblemen are randy, and nature takes its course. When a baby is born, the matter is hushed up. Please don't pretend you had no idea such things could occur."
"No doubt it's common enough." Boy's confidence was shaken, but still he blustere
d. "However, lots of people pretend they have connections with the aristocracy."
"Oh, please," Lloyd said disparagingly. "I don't want connections with the aristocracy. I'm not a draper's assistant with daydreams of grandeur. I come from a distinguished family of socialist politicians. My maternal grandfather was one of the founders of the South Wales Miners' Federation. The last thing I need is a wrong-side-of-the-blanket link with a Tory peer. It's highly embarrassing to me."
Boy laughed again, but with less conviction. "You're embarrassed! Talk about inverted snobbery."
"Inverted? I'm more likely to become prime minister than you are." Lloyd realized they had got into a pissing contest, which was not what he wanted. "Never mind that," he said. "I'm trying to persuade you that you can't spend the rest of your life taking revenge on me--if only because we're brothers."
"I still don't believe it," Boy said, putting the photo down on the side table and picking up his cigar.
"Nor did I, at first." Lloyd kept trying: his whole future was at stake. "Then it was pointed out to me that my mother was working at Ty Gwyn when she fell pregnant, that she had always been evasive about my father's identity, and that shortly before I was born she somehow acquired the funds to buy a three-bedroom house in London. I confronted her with my suspicions and she admitted the truth."
"This is laughable."
"But you know it's true, don't you?"
"I know no such thing."
"You do, though. For the sake of our brotherhood, won't you do the decent thing?"
"Certainly not."
Lloyd saw that he was not going to win. He felt downcast. Boy had the power to blight Lloyd's life, and he was determined to use it.
He picked up the photograph and put it back in his pocket. "You'll ask our father about this. You won't be able to restrain yourself. You'll have to find out."
Boy made a scornful noise.
Lloyd went to the door. "I believe he will tell you the truth. Good-bye, Boy."
He went out and closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
1943 ( II )
Colonel Albert Beck got a Russian bullet in his right lung at Kharkov in March 1943. He was lucky: a field surgeon put in a chest drain and reinflated the lung, saving his life, just. Weakened by blood loss and the almost inevitable infection, Beck was put on a train home and ended up in Carla's hospital in Berlin.
He was a tough, wiry man in his early forties, prematurely bald, with a protruding jaw like the prow of a Viking longboat. The first time he spoke to Carla, he was drugged and feverish and wildly indiscreet. "We're losing the war," he said.