No More Dying

by David Roberts

  ‘You must tell me about this Phoebe,’ she said with a laugh. ‘It’s the first I’ve heard of her and I thought I knew all his sins.’

  Edward was beginning to enjoy introducing Verity as his fiancée but the moment was spoiled for him by her rather too frank appreciation of his friend.

  ‘Never think you know all a man’s sins,’ Casey said with mock gravity. ‘Probably even he doesn’t know them.’

  ‘And Phoebe was one of them?’ she inquired.

  ‘Edward accused me of stealing her but, if you ask me, I did him a good turn,’ he smiled back. ‘She was “orflly nice” and all that but, when she introduced me to “Mummy”, I knew it was time to make myself scarce. But that’s all old history. I’m so pleased to meet you at last. You know the Old Man hasn’t stopped talking about you since you interviewed him yesterday. By the way, may I say that I read your articles in the New Gazette with considerable interest, Miss Browne, and, though I sometimes disagree with your conclusions, I am always impressed by the clarity of your exposition and the reasoning behind it. You have witnessed history being made, which I envy.’

  ‘You call it history but I’d call it tragedy if it weren’t so squalid. Betrayal, cowardice and moral bankruptcy . . .’

  Verity’s face was flushed and Edward looked at her with alarm. He hoped she wasn’t going to embark on one of her lectures. Catching his eye, she hesitated. ‘But I won’t bore you.’

  ‘Please, you won’t bore me. When I was in New York, they announced that the theme of the World Fair was to be “The World of Tomorrow”. I thought you might appreciate the irony. It assumes there will be a tomorrow. If England were to go under . . .’

  ‘Why do all you Americans love England so much?’ Verity said, suddenly angry. ‘Our slums are the worst in Europe and our rich are for the most part quite careless – I mean uncaring – of the misery at the back door. Our foreign policy – if you can call it a policy – is based on cowardice and betrayal. This country is literally and metaphorically bankrupt.’

  ‘For all that, I love England. Often I wish it were entirely inhabited by Americans,’ Casey answered her lightly. ‘Couldn’t you take New England in exchange? We would drain the swamps, redeem the slums and make it the Garden of Eden of our imagination. We could be England’s future if you would permit it.’

  Verity laughed, disarmed by his ability to be lighthearted and serious at the same time. ‘Not possible, I’m afraid. We must make do with the present – with today. We know our future and it has to be endured. No doubt America will have a tomorrow and if we slip into the darkness, perhaps you will have our tomorrow. It would serve you right.’

  ‘You really think things are that bad?’

  ‘Don’t you, Mr Bishop?’

  ‘Please call me Casey. Look, I guess you’ll think it forward of me but may I invite you to lunch one day and we can have a good – what do you English call it? – a good chinwag.’

  Verity smiled. ‘I don’t know yet if I’ll ever be allowed in again. It all depends whether the Ambassador approves of my article.’

  At that moment the door of the drawing-room opened and Kennedy reappeared, his face wreathed in smiles.

  ‘Very good, Miss Browne. I have made . . . suggested, I should say, just a few alterations. Did I really say, “I expect, with great regret, to write the obituary of the British Empire”?’

  ‘You did, Ambassador.’

  ‘Well, if I did, I was wrong and I regret saying it. You will remove it, won’t you? I’m sure Lord Weaver would agree that this isn’t the moment to cause friction between our two countries.’

  Verity smiled wanly. He was correct, of course. Weaver would never print such a statement from the American Ambassador. It was too inflammatory.

  At dinner she sat between the Ambassador and Eamon Farrell and was subjected to a barrage of questions about the war in Spain and what it meant to be a Communist now that worrying stories of Stalin’s repressive regime were being reported on a daily basis. The Ambassador was, unsurprisingly, a fervent admirer of General Franco and it was only with a considerable effort of will that Verity managed to keep her temper. She was exhausted by the end of the meal and glad to get away and play backgammon with Joe Jr.

  Edward was seated between Kick and Casey Bishop. He took the opportunity of asking Casey for help in identifying Churchill’s would-be assassin. ‘Our sources indicate that there may be some connection with the embassy,’ he finished up, ‘and we need your help.’

  Casey was dismissive – almost suspiciously unwilling to co-operate. ‘I’m sorry, Edward, but as I said to your people when this rumour was first mentioned to me, I don’t believe it. It is just a rumour with no basis in fact. Now, don’t let’s spoil our dinner with a discussion of absurd gossip.’

  Edward could do nothing but accept the brush-off and they went on to talk of old Cambridge friends and memories of times past.

  Kick told him all about being presented to the King and Queen and how she had had to learn how to curtsey at Miss Vacani’s School of Dancing – no easy matter wearing a long dress and tight shoes. She regaled him with all the social blunders she had made which seemed mostly to consist of her being relaxed and informal instead of stiff and reserved. She told him about her morning ride in Rotten Row and playing tennis with Kay Stammers.

  ‘She’s just adorable,’ Kick enthused. ‘I love her to bits. She says I might be quite good if only I practised harder.’ And in whispers – so that her father could not hear – she told him of her liking for ‘Billy’ Cavendish. ‘I know it can’t come to anything,’ she said sadly. ‘For one thing, there’s this religious business. Apparently the Dukes of Devonshire were famous for hating Catholics and I don’t know what my father would say if I told him I was going to marry a Protestant. Anyway, what am I talking about? Billy’s family is about the grandest in England. He’s got to marry someone like a princess.’ She put her hand on his arm. ‘Please, Lord Edward, you won’t repeat any of this, will you? I don’t know why I’m confiding in you. I think it must be because you are marrying Miss Browne. I don’t suppose that went down very well with your family. I mean, I think she’s just great but . . .’ She giggled and looked to see if he was annoyed. ‘There I go, being tactless again.’

  Edward smiled. ‘No, you’re quite right. My brother doesn’t approve of Verity but I do believe one ought to marry for love unless . . . he hesitated, ‘it’s your duty to sacrifice yourself for the greater good.’

  ‘You mean like the Duke of Windsor and Mrs Simpson?’

  ‘I suppose I do. Fortunately neither of us has to choose between the person we love and serving our country.’

  Kick pursed her lips. ‘I’m not sure Billy would agree with you, Lord Edward. If things get very bad for me, may I come to you for advice?’

  ‘I would be honoured,’ he said, touched by her naive trust in him.

  ‘Did my father tell you that we’ve been invited to Cliveden this weekend? Nancy – she insists I call her Nancy which is so sweet of her – says you and Miss Browne will be there too. That’ll be such fun. I like Cliveden. Papa’s happy talking to all his political friends and we lesser mortals can fool around. There’s always dancing after dinner or charades and, of course, in the summer there’s the pool and tennis . . . One can relax there. They don’t allow newspapermen anywhere near the house. I don’t mind having my picture taken but it’s nice being out of the limelight sometimes, isn’t it?’

  ‘Will he be there?’

  ‘Billy? No, sadly not. I’ll just have to find someone else to flirt with, won’t I? There’s always Casey and Eamon. Which do you think is the better looking? Casey, I suppose.’ She put her finger to her chin as though she were a little girl trying to choose between two dolls. ‘But he has that lean and hungry look which rather scares me. No, I think, he’s more Miss Browne’s type. She could tame him. Now, don’t look like that. I was only joking.’

  ‘I’m used to being jealous, Miss Kennedy.’


  ‘Please call me Kick. Everyone does.’

  ‘Eamon’s good-looking,’ Edward said, trying to match her mood.

  ‘He is rather but of course one mustn’t flirt with the hired help.’ Once again she saw she had gone a little too far and added quickly, ‘I’m still joking. Eamon is almost one of the family. You can tell him what I said if you like. I’ve called him much worse.’

  ‘Will they both be at Cliveden too?’

  ‘Oh yes. Father never goes anywhere without them.’

  ‘If I may say so, the best-looking man in this room is your brother.’

  ‘Joe?’

  ‘He is very good-looking, but I meant Jack.’

  To Edward’s embarrassment she leant across the table and said, ‘Do you hear that, Jack? Lord Edward thinks you are more handsome than Joe.’

  Jack, who had said very little during dinner, looked at Edward with sleepy eyes and raised his wineglass in an ironic toast.

  ‘He’s been very silent tonight,’ Kick remarked. ‘I think his back must be paining him.’ She spoke quietly but her brother must have guessed they were talking about him because, with a muttered word of apology, he pushed back his chair and left the room.

  ‘He has a bad back? An accident or . . .?’

  ‘No, not an accident. Although he looks strong, he’s been plagued by illness from when he was a child, poor boy. Will you excuse me? I had better go and see if he needs anything.’

  ‘Of course, anyway it’s time we were going,’ Edward said, rising. ‘I have so much enjoyed talking to you, Kick, and I much look forward to seeing you again at Cliveden.’

  ‘Me too,’ she responded with a smile that lit up her face. ‘I feel we shall be great friends.’

  ‘I very much hope so,’ he replied, quite sincerely

  When Edward dropped Verity off at Cranmer Court, he could see she was very tired but in high spirits. She kissed him on the mouth.

  ‘Thanks for being there,’ she said, touching his face with her hand. ‘I couldn’t have managed without you.’

  ‘You were very restrained, and the Kennedy young loved you.’

  ‘Do you think it’s a good idea us going to Cliveden? What if I say something awful and disgrace you?’

  ‘You won’t. And if you do, what does it matter? Nancy says exactly what she thinks and gets away with it.’

  ‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow. If I’m honest, I still don’t have quite the energy I used to before I was ill.’

  ‘You’re getting stronger every day. You can’t expect to be back to normal yet.’

  ‘Thank goodness, I hear you say.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Now go. We’ve kept Fenton up long enough. Goodnight, Fenton. Keep him out of trouble, will you?’

  ‘I’ll do my best miss,’ he replied with a theatrical sigh.

  In the car Edward said, ‘I have this terrible fear she’ll have a relapse. The doctor warned it could happen.’

  Fenton made no comment. He knew his master well and the last thing he needed was facile reassurance. ‘Shall you wish me to drive you and Miss Browne to Cliveden?’

  ‘No, I’ll drive. You take the train with the luggage.’

  ‘Very good, my lord.’

  5

  The following day, Verity tried to find Danny O’Rourke. She telephoned George Castle. He was at work but Mary said they hadn’t seen him, adding in a stage whisper that she was relieved because she did not like him.

  Verity wanted to ask if she thought Danny was involved in the IRA bombings but David Griffiths-Jones had drummed into her that the telephone was insecure and might even be tapped. She tried a few other people she thought might know where he was but without much success, although Harold Knight had heard a rumour that he had been arrested – a rumour David confirmed when he telephoned her to arrange a meeting.

  She hesitated to ring him because, whenever she did, he so often seemed to have another job for her and all David’s jobs were at best embarrassing – making use of friends and contacts to gain information – or at worst frightening. More often than not she found herself using that word when she thought about him. He had always been something of a bully and his ill-disguised contempt for Edward and her life in general had made him even less easy to talk to than when she had first known him. That must have been what had made her impatient with Tom Wintringham when he had put into words what she was thinking.

  She and David met in a pub off the Strand and for once he seemed to be in a good mood. He was pleased with her and said so. He explained that the main objective of any political organization or security service was to place someone as near the top of a rival organization as possible.

  ‘To have eyes and ears so close to Kennedy is a bit of a coup. I gather you are driving down to Cliveden this afternoon?’ Verity nodded. ‘Very good. You may meet some one you know there.’

  ‘Lulu?’ she guessed.

  ‘Best to pretend not to know her.’

  Verity was uncomfortable with the idea that she was a spy and a hypocrite but she couldn’t think of any way to justify her behaviour so she kept quiet and accepted his praise with as much grace as her queasy stomach would allow. She did not ask why Lulu was at Cliveden because she thought she could guess.

  ‘Incidentally, O’Rourke and MacDade are being questioned by the police but they’ll have to let them go as they have no evidence to link them to the bombings.’

  Verity heard the satisfaction in David’s voice and wondered if, in the Soviet Union, suspects could count on being released when there was no evidence that they had committed a crime. It was at that precise moment she decided to resign from the Party but she said nothing.

  When she discussed it with Edward later, as they drove down to Cliveden, she confessed that she had been unable to bring herself to tell David she was leaving the Party. Edward refused her comfort, merely quoting his school friend, Eric Blair, who now wrote under the name of George Orwell, ‘In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.’ ‘I have come to the conclusion, V, that Lord Acton was wrong when he said power tends to corrupt. I think fear corrupts – corrupts us all.’ Cliveden was approached down a long drive, the far end of which was marked by an ornate Italian fountain in the form of a shell being viewed by a puzzled-looking sylph or naiad which Verity remarked would put her off oysters. It was not a ‘great’ house like Chatsworth or Blenheim but it was in a perfect position. The original house had been built by Charles II’s favourite, the Duke of Buckingham, in the late 1660s. He had sited it dramatically on a cliff with long views over the River Thames snaking its way through woodland towards Henley. That house had been destroyed by fire, as was the one that succeeded it. The house the American millionaire, William Waldorf, 1st Viscount Astor, bought in 1893 was mainly the work of Charles Barry who had also designed the new Houses of Parliament. Astor bought it for his wife, Mary, but she died a year later. He continued to restore and improve the house but his heart was no longer in it and he gave it to his son and daughter-in-law as a wedding present in 1906.

  Nancy, one of the famously beautiful Langhorne sisters from Virginia, had met Waldorf in England where she was recovering from a brief, disastrous marriage and subsequent divorce. Bernard Shaw called her a volcano and she had certainly turned Cliveden upside down. She had thrown out much of the dark Victorian decorations and furniture, banishing what she called the ‘splendid gloom’ which had suited her father-in-law. She set out to make the house the centre of English political and cultural life.

  With over a hundred staff, each guest was treated like royalty. It was just after four when Edward brought the Lagonda to a halt outside the elegant but rather oppressive entrance. They were immediately surrounded by footmen. Their bags were taken away almost before they stepped out of the car and it was driven away to be garaged. As they were ushered into the house, Edward looked at Verity with concern. She had been uncharacteristically silent on the journey and he guessed that she might be worried about her reception, whether she would f
ind the Astors overwhelming and Nancy, in particular, too much the grande dame. Mr Lee, the Astors’ famous butler – he had also been butler to Waldorf’s father – welcomed them to Cliveden with courteous dignity and escorted them into the hall where Nancy met them with her usual ebullience.

  ‘Now Verity, my dear – I may call you Verity, mayn’t I? – you mustn’t believe everything you hear about us. This is not a nest of spies or anything of that kind.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t worry, Lady Astor. You must remember that I work for the newspapers so I know not to believe a single word they say. But,’ she added hurriedly, ‘I promise I’m off duty this weekend. My friend, Professor Laski, says you are his favourite Conservative.’

  ‘He’s a dear, dear man.’

  ‘And Ellen Wilkinson, who I first met on the Jarrow March, told me when I said you had been kind enough to invite me to Cliveden – now, how did she put it? “Lady Astor knows a good deal more than most of her critics about political affairs. Her biggest political drawback is that nothing can prevent her laughing at pompous fools.”’

  ‘Ellen and I may be on opposite sides of the House but we stick together as we women have to. It’s not easy being women in what Winston once told me was a gentlemen’s club. You must remind me to tell you about the only lavatory we are allowed to use.’

  Changing the subject, Verity remarked on the vases of lilies that stood on pedestals on either side of the front door.

  ‘I’m so glad you like them. It’s a little fad of mine – one that Waldo indulges. I have lilies here all year round – from our hothouses, you know. This is so exciting.’ She clapped her hands together. ‘I can see we are going to be great friends and I do like to make new friends. How clever of you, Edward, to have found her – or did she find you? Now, I don’t know why I’m keeping you standing here in the hall. Let’s go into the drawing-room. I’m sure you must both be dying for a cup of tea.’

  Edward had stood in silent amazement as what might have been an embarrassing meeting between two strong-minded but very different women turned into a show of mutual admiration. He supposed that Nancy – or rather Mr Lee – had welcomed so many statesmen and celebrities to Cliveden that his arrival with his fiancée, a notorious Communist and journalist, did not merit a raised eyebrow.