‘Splendidly, thank you. We’ve decided to give a grand dinner for Sir Thomas. He’s putting the town in an absolute forefront of international yachting by bringing the Shamrock here, it’s only right that we should honour him. A dinner seems the most appropriate gesture. Where, though? That is the problem!’ Peter went on talking about the plans for the dinner, about which yachts were to be invited to match their speed against the Shamrock, about how the harbour berths would need to be reorganized, but Mercy scarcely heard a word. She was far too absorbed by her own plans.
Time passed slowly. Her trip to Edinburgh glowed on the horizon like a golden sun, beautiful, desirable, and seemingly just as inaccessible. June crept by at such a snail’s pace that she began to fear the magic date when she was to travel to Scotland, the twenty-ninth, would never arrive.
She told Peter she would be going away for a few days, and he made no objection, though he was so involved with plans to welcome the Shamrock she wondered if he had heard her. It came as a bolt from the blue, therefore, when, the day before she was due to depart he remarked to her, ‘I hope you’ve bought a new dress for the occasion.’
For a second she was alarmed, thinking he had discovered about her trip to Edinburgh.
‘What occasion?’ she asked, hoping her voice sounded calm.
‘The dinner, of course.’
‘I’m sorry. What dinner?’
Peter looked at her askance.
‘Honestly, I’ve been convinced recently that you’ve not been listening to anything I said, and now you’ve proved it,’ he complained. ‘I’m referring to the dinner, the one we’re giving to honour Sir Thomas Lipton.’
‘Oh, is it soon?’
‘Really, this is too much!’ he protested. ‘It’s the daytomorrow, so I certainly hope you have got something suitable to wear. We will be sitting at the top table.’
Now it was Mercy’s turn to look bemused.
‘You’re talking as though I’m going,’ she said.
‘Of course you’re going. For heaven’s sake, I’ve talked of little else for three weeks, so don’t pretend to be surprised!’
‘But I can’t come. I’m going away.’
‘Then you must cancel your trip.’
‘That’s not possible.’
‘Why not? What is it? Visiting friends, or something to do with this charity work of yours? If it’s so important you can leave on Tuesday, but on Monday you will attend the dinner with me.’
‘I can’t! I’m going away tomorrow, I tell you!’ How could she say that Tuesday was too late? That Tuesday would give her no time with Gunther?
‘And I tell you you’re not! I refuse to go on my own. Think how it would look!’
‘I can’t!’ Mercy could hear her voice rising.
‘Can’t or won’t? Which is it?’ His voice was suddenly very low and furious. ‘Goodness knows, things between us are pretty grim, and I’m aware I must take my share of the blame! But you must admit I ask very little of you. I make no attempt to curb your allowance. I make no objections to your friends. I don’t even inquire how you spend your time when you are not with me. However, on this occasion I must insist. I will not be shamed in front of all of Torquay by having to attend an important dinner by myself, while my wife goes gallivanting about to goodness knows where! Whatever you think of me in the privacy of our home, I would be grateful if on this occasion you would play the devoted wife in public.’
‘And what will you do if I refuse?’ she demanded.
He looked at her, a strange expression she could not fathom in his eyes.
‘I have no intention of threatening you,’ he said. ‘It is my express wish that you attend the dinner with me on Monday. That should be sufficient.’
If Peter had put pressure on her or attempted to bully her she would have defied him, but he had not. Instead he had made a reasonable request. She knew he had a point, it would cause comment if he attended the dinner without her. If she let him down now she would be flouting all the rules by which his society existed, the very rules she was relying on to permit her to love Gunther and yet remain the respectable Mrs Lisburne. It was a double standard, there was no denying it, but a double standard she knew she had to maintain.
‘I have something suitable to wear,’ she said in a dull voice. ‘Coral-coloured lace. It’s new. I’ve not worn it yet.’
She had been intending to wear it in Edinburgh, for Gunther.
‘That sounds very pretty. I am sure you will look delightful,’ said Peter courteously.
She was glad when Peter went out without making any further comment. She did not want him to see her weeping.
She would have to send a telegram because Gunther had already left for Scotland. It was difficult to arrange the meagre words in a way which would hurt him as little as possible. Even so, the scant message seemed terribly spare and inadequate.
When the day of the dinner party dawned, it brought with it an oppressive feeling of foreboding. Mercy thought this was due entirely to her own misery, but the dark mood seemed to have affected Peter too. He , was still reading the newspaper as Mercy came downstairs, and she heard him remark, ‘Things seem to have taken a very nasty turn, Rogers. Very nasty indeed.’
‘Indeed they have, sir,’ replied the butler.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Mercy.
‘A spot of bother on the Continent,’ answered Peter. ‘It’s far enough away at present. Let’s hope it doesn’t come any closer!’ He rose from the table. ‘If you’ll excuse me deserting you the moment you arrive. I have to get down to the Yacht Club as soon as possible.’
‘Yes, of course.’ She helped herself to kidneys and bacon, before picking up his discarded paper.
‘Archduke Ferdinand of Austria assassinated in Sarajevo’, read the headlines.
She had only a vague notion who Archduke Ferdinand was, other than that he was related to the Austrian Emperor. Too concerned with her own unhappiness to bother about happenings in a place she could not even pronounce, let alone guess where it was, she threw the newspaper on one side. Her breakfast suddenly looked less than interesting. She pushed it away and signalled Rogers to bring the coffee-pot instead.
In a town as devoted to yachting as Torquay a dinner to welcome the owner of the famous Shamrock dynasty was bound to be the social event of the year. Yet even the benign and genial presence of the guest of honour, Sir Thomas Lipton – friend of kings, grocer extraordinary, and one of the premier yachtsmen in the land – failed to dispel the general mood of apprehension. Phrases such as ‘Europe’s a powder keg’ and ‘What’s the Hun up to now, do you imagine?’ kept drifting across the dinner table.
Mercy’s already low spirits were not helped by the atmosphere of unease.
However, she chatted amiably, smiled until her face felt it must crack with the effort, and laughed at the appropriate moments, determined Peter should not find anything to criticize in her conduct. By the time the dinner party finally came to an end and they returned home she was exhausted.
‘A successful evening, didn’t you think?’ remarked Peter, as they climbed the stairs together.
‘Very!’ she agreed, ‘How do you rate Sir Thomas’s chances of winning the America’s Cup this time?’
‘Excellent I would say, if the international situation doesn’t spoil things.’
‘You think there is going to be real trouble? Just because the Austrian archduke was assassinated in some outlandish place? Everyone says it was the work of a fanatic.’
‘So it was, and all this fuss will soon die down again, you’ll see. Sir Tommy’ll get his crack at the America’s Cup.’ He sounded very hearty, as if to compensate for his burst of pessimism.
‘That’s all right then. I’ll say good night now.’ She began to move towards her bedroom.
‘Mercy!’ The sudden urgency in Peter’s voice made her swing round.
‘What is it?’ she asked, wearily stifling a yawn.
‘Oh nothing. Just “Good night�
�.’ He hurried off towards his own room, leaving Mercy wondering what he had really been going to say.
She was dreading the return of Gunther, yet looking forward to it at the same time. It felt like years since she had last been with him and felt his arms about her, she could not wait to be with him once more. All the same, she knew he would be hurt and angry because she had not gone to Edinburgh. She was right. When they met again, out in the country beyond the town, his face was white with suppressed pain and fury.
‘Why?’ he demanded. ‘Why did you not come? Was one of your children ill? Was it a matter of life and death?’
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘I had to attend a dinner with Peter.’
‘A dinner! You disappoint me! You break my heart, and all for a dinner?’ He could scarcely believe it. ‘I thought you cared for me. How wrong I was!’
‘No you weren’t!’ she cried. ‘Of course I love you! You must never doubt that!’
Gunther was insistent. ‘You gave in to him, with no thought of me!’ it wasn’t like that!’
‘How? Did your husband threaten you?’
‘Certainly not. It’s not in his nature to be brutal.’ ‘He threatened you once before, to make you leave Ivywood.’
‘That was only because he was afraid for the boys. He would never have been so severe on his own account.’
‘How quickly you leap to his defence! If he is so reasonable then why did you give in? Why did you not come to me? I would not have let anything or anyone come between us in the same circumstances.’
‘It’s easy for you to say. You’re free! Please try to understand. This dinner was so important to him, and he could not have attended it alone. He asks very little of me, as long as we maintain the illusion that ours is a united family. Though there must be many marriages like ours, I doubt if many husbands are as truly tolerant as Peter. He could make things very much more difficult for us. Have you ever considered that? He never inquires where I’ve been or who with. He didn’t even insist I attend the dinner with him – he asked. That was why I agreed in the end, although I was desperately disappointed.’ She was surprised by her heated defence of Peter. Was it her troubled conscience asserting itself or old loyalties dying hard? She said quietly, ‘We’ve missed being in Edinburgh, but there will be other opportunities in other places.’
‘Will there? I doubt it.’ Gunther sounded very pessimistic. ‘Though I suppose you are right. It wouldn’t do for you to provoke your husband into being more dictatorial.’
He had not understood her motives, but Mercy did not correct him. She was more concerned by an underlying note of anxiety in his voice, one she had never noticed before.
‘Is something else wrong?’ she asked gently.
‘You can ask that? Have you not read the newspapers?’ He leaned disconsolately against a farm gate and gazed at the rolling green hills beyond. You must realize that there is likely to be a war in Europe.’
‘So people say. It won’t concern us, will it?’
‘I am afraid that Germany is heavily involved, which does concern me. And though Britain is an island, she too has allies on the Continent. If they get embroiled so will she.’
‘Are you saying that our countries could be at war?’
‘Yes.’
She stared at him, shocked by his blunt answer. For the first time she was beginning to appreciate the dark clouds that had been gathering.
‘You – you needn’t be involved, not you personally. You are a doctor, not a soldier,’ she said hurriedly. ‘You could stay here. You would be safe!’
The twin prospects of war and losing Gunther were almost too much for her.
‘There are so many complications.’ Suddenly he reached out and grasped her in his arms. He said in a low emotional voice, ‘I can’t bear the thought of losing you. I love you, and I want you with me always. Leave Peter. You don’t love him, you love me. He has no feelings for you. How can you bear to be locked in a marriage that is all sham and deceit? Have the courage to be honest. Come away with me!’
‘Where could we go?’ she gasped.
‘I have been offered a position in America, in Baltimore – someone I met in Edinburgh. We could start new lives there, lives where we could be together.’ Mercy was shaken by the enormity of the suggestion, even though, secretly, it was something she had dreamed about. ‘Peter would never agree to a divorce!’ she exclaimed.
‘Then we will simply live together.’
‘And the children! What would happen about my children?’
‘Perhaps your husband would let them come with us. You are always saying what a reasonable fellow he is.’
‘No!’ cried Mercy. ‘He would never allow it.’
‘Perhaps not at first, but in time… I know it is a hard decision, but you do want to be with me, don’t you?’
‘Oh yes!’
‘Then promise me you will think about it. I ask nothing more at this moment. Only that you will consider coming to America with me. I would prefer it to be as my wife, but if not, then as my love and my life.’
‘I’ll think about it.’ She found she was shaking, and he pulled her closer so that she rested her head against his chest. ‘It sounds so wonderful. If only there weren’t such difficulties… I’ll think about it, I promise!’
In the following days she thought of little else. The decision tormented her night and day. But for John and William it would have been easy, she would have gone with Gunther at once… Or would she? Her marriage vows still tied her to Peter, the ghosts of what had once existed between them. The knots were tied far tighter than she had realized. Yet she loved Gunther!
The tumult in Mercy’s head was not helped by the news in the papers. Each day it grew increasingly grim. Mercy read about it avidly now, trying to grasp what was happening, but all she could really understand was that the chaos that now reigned in Europe was increasing her dilemma.
‘Can you not give me a decision yet?’ Gunther asked. ‘I have been patient. If we are going I feel we should leave soon, swiftly and with no regrets.’
How could she have no regrets? Mercy felt as though she were being torn into little pieces. That night, she tossed and turned in her bed, too tormented to sleep. Finally she rose and went into the night nursery. In the glow of the night-light she looked down on John, slumbering so peacefully in his small bed, a tattered woolly rabbit clutched in his hand. Then she turned to William in his cot. Restless as ever, he had kicked off his covers, and gently she replaced them. Then she knew there had never been any dilemma, she had only thought there was. She could never leave her children, not even for Gunther.
A movement behind her made her start, until she realized it was Peter standing there beside her.
‘Two minds with but a single thought,’ he whispered.
‘I just came to see if they were all right,’ she whispered back.
Peter seemed to think this perfectly reasonable, even though the boys’ nanny was only in the next room.
‘Grand little chaps, aren’t they?’ he said. Mercy nodded, unable to speak. Together they left the nursery, closing the door quietly behind them.
‘Grand little chaps,’ repeated Peter, i hope all this war nonsense comes to nothing, for their sakes.’
Again she could only nod.
‘I’m afraid it will come, though. The war, I mean,’ he went on. ‘Mercy, I must tell you… I’ve been trying to tell you all day… If war comes – or maybe that should be when war comes – I’ve decided to join the Army. In fact, I’ve as good as signed up already.’
‘Peter!’ She stared at him aghast.
‘I felt I had to.’ He gave an apologetic grin. ‘Just thought I’d let you know. It needn’t affect you. Mother can cope with the boys, she’s not nearly as frail as she pretends. You go ahead with your own plans.’
Mercy felt the colour drain from her face. He knew! He knew about her and Gunther, and about the terrible decision that had been tearing her apart. She looked into his eyes,
expecting to see accusation. There was none. Instead he looked sad. She drew in her breath sharply.
‘There’s no need to trouble your mother,’ she said, keeping her voice carefully under control. ‘I’ll be here to look after the boys. Yes, and her too, if need be.’
‘Good,’ said Peter. ‘I wasn’t sure.’
He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, the first intimate gesture he had offered her in months.
‘Good,’ he said again.
They stood staring at one another, not certain what to do or what to say. Then finally they went their separate ways to their own rooms.
Mercy telephoned Gunther next morning to give her decision; she did not feel strong enough to tell him face to face.
‘It is as I expected,’ he said, and he sounded unhappy.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Yes, so am I.’
‘What— what will you do now? Go to America?’
‘No, I will go back to Germany. There is a special train on Saturday for the German hotel workers in the area. I will be on that.’
‘Do— do you want me to come and see you off?’ The tears were running down her face.
‘No, I think not. I am not sure I could bear it. We will say our goodbyes now, like this. You know I will always remember you… Goodbye, my love…’
Mercy tried to reply, but her sobs choked out the words. At last she heard a click as he hung up. Gunther had gone!
Chapter Fifteen
War was declared on the fourth of August. On a day in high summer Britain and Germany became deadly enemies.
For Mercy it had the unreal horror of a nightmare. Appalled, she listened to people referring to ‘dirty Huns’, and the threats, half jocular, half serious, of what our troops were going to do to them once they met up. Gunther was a Hun! A short time ago he had been respected and admired. Now, because of some incomprehensible international tangle he was the object of hatred and scorn. To Mercy the pain of her divided loyalties was almost unbearable, the more so because she had to keep it to herself.
Peter did not wait. He joined the Army immediately.
‘You don’t have to go!’ she protested.
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