The gatehouse was ahead. Leo, unlike Jarrett, slowed down to negotiate the passage.
‘What’s his name?’
‘Dr Árpád Bárándy.’
‘I’ve heard of him,’ said Leo, ‘but I don’t believe I’ve met him. We’re not in the same field. Is he a congenial guest?’
‘Very. Gets on very well with the girls. I think even Mrs Partridge doesn’t mind him, although she’d never admit it. I should mention that, as far as the world knows, and that includes the girls, he’s a classicist, a colleague of Gus’s rather than yours. He’s very well read.’
‘A man of many parts,’ said Leo, bringing the car to a halt. ‘I look forward to making his acquaintance.’
‘He might even be here already,’ said Hugo.
Scene 4
As it happened, Árpád had been and gone, no sooner back at the Castle than swept off to Veryan House by Lady Priscilla’s chauffeur. Freya and Gus had left with him, the latter with a certain hesitation. Lady Priscilla might be his neighbour, and indeed his aunt, but she was a force of nature of a peculiarly English kind, and he had yet to learn the knack of dealing with her. Polly, alone of the family, had managed that, and in very short order too, by dint of simply digging her heels in.
Freya had arranged the visit that morning, which was to say that she’d rung her aunt to see about a horse for Árpád.
‘Yes, I’d heard about him. You must bring him over. No, I won’t hear a word to the contrary. Father in the Horthy regime, you say, I know the type. He’ll be one of us, of course, not that it concerns you. Three o’clock? You don’t know when the Hall will be done with him? Nonsense. I’ll ring Bernard. He’ll agree to anything just to get rid of me. I’ll send Gerald over to the Hall, then up for the two of you. Must dash. Dogs making the most terrific rumpus out there. Don’t know what’s got into them. Bye!’
The phone clicked, and Freya heard Irene’s voice from the exchange. ‘Well, Miss Freya, you’ve got your work cut out with her. My granny was a bit like that. Guess that’s why all my aunts and uncles went off to New Zealand, the further away the better. Pa drew the short straw, must say I think I’d have liked it out there. Bags of space, they say. Cheerio!’
Sir Archibald’s smoke-grey Rolls-Royce purred into the Castle at ten to three, Dr Bárándy already ensconced in the back seat. Freya had to divert Gus towards the back seat as he tried to ride shotgun. ‘No, that’s the way we do it here. Just imagine you’re a senator being handled into a limousine.’
Gerald gave her a grin as he closed the door for her. She sank into the seat, relishing the soft leather and immaculate trim.
Árpád looked at his surroundings with appreciation. ‘I was told, Sir Archibald Veryan is sending a car for you, he is the local MP and known to your Sir Bernard, and I thought, what have I said? Then I talk to Gerald here, who is an Irishman, and it seems this is how you do social calls in the English countryside.’
‘This is how Lady Priscilla does social calls,’ Freya corrected him. ‘Be glad we had a reason to go to her, otherwise she’d have turned up here on her hunter, and you’d have had no warning at all.’
‘This Sir Archibald, I am not to see him, then?’
‘He’s in London, I believe. Is that right, Gerald?’
‘Indeed, Miss Freya. House in session, papers to be read and suchlike. Wouldn’t be the life for me, I can tell you that.’
Freya rather thought it wouldn’t be the life for her either. How tedious to be confronted with piles of documents every day, all presumably to be read, marked, learned and inwardly digested, and all as dull as ditchwater. The German messages she’d handled during her war service at Bletchley, often tedious in themselves, had nevertheless been vital information. She rather doubted that could be said about most of Sir Archibald’s reading matter.
On the other hand, presumably ministers and their civil servants never had to stare at blank sheets of paper for hour after hour. She was meant to be writing now, although her aunt would hardly have accepted that as an excuse.
Veryan House was mellow, reasonably sized, and immaculately kept, a Queen Anne doll’s house surrounded by the gardens which were Lady Priscilla’s pride and joy – indeed, her personal domain ever since she’d taken over their management during the war. Quite a contrast to the Castle, although Freya wouldn’t have exchanged the two for the world. She liked the Castle’s awkward corners and great thick walls.
Lady Priscilla met them by the coach house, wearing wellies and faded tweeds.
‘Lady Priscilla, this is Dr Árpád Bárándy. My aunt, Lady Priscilla Veryan,’ said Freya.
‘We’ll go to the stables first, the light will be fading soon.’ Her aunt gave Árpád a sweeping glance. ‘He’s not dressed the part, Freya.’
‘You didn’t give him a chance,’ Freya said testily.
‘It is fine,’ said Árpád, looking around curiously. ‘I have not the clothes for every occasion, as you would say.’
‘Some of my late brother’s things might fit you. Unless you’ve thrown them out, Freya?’
‘Nothing of the sort. The moths might have eaten them, but Sonia wanted them in one piece, probably so she could burn the lot.’
‘Your cousin had good reason for feeling as she did,’ said Lady Priscilla. ‘Come on, then.’
Perhaps, Freya thought as they filed through an arched gate to the stables, but not for the unreasoning hatred which would have seen the Castle turned into a luxury hotel, the estate broken up, and the tenants left to the tender mercy of commercial developers. All simply to spite her father’s memory. Whatever his other faults, and they were many, Selchester had been punctilious with respect to his obligations as lord of a great estate.
Lady Priscilla whisked Árpád off ahead, interrogating him at once about his life in Hungary and his level of riding ability. Her voice floated back across the stable yard. ‘. . . I suppose you’ve met that dreadful horse of Freya’s; no question of you riding him. There’s such a thing as too much spirit in a horse.’
‘But Last Hurrah is an interesting horse. A thief would have a hard time with him. I think perhaps I might persuade him, given time, but I am not used to your English saddle, and this would be an invitation to him to play tricks.’
‘We have a Continental saddle ready for you; I had Francis dig one out. My husband is the huntmaster, you see, and we’ve had a fair number of visitors over the years. I already have a horse in mind for you.’
‘Do you think he’ll be all right?’ Gus asked, watching them disappear into the stables.
‘He’s dealt with far worse,’ said Freya. ‘I think she recognises a kindred spirit. They’re as blunt as one another.’
They followed as far as the stable door. It was a comforting and familiar place to Freya, from childhood rides and more recent Christmases. Selchester had kept horses because he was expected to, and the Castle stables had been brisk and well run. Lady Priscilla kept horses because she loved them, and so her stables felt different. Warmer, that was it, even with the chill January wind blowing through the door.
Lady Priscilla’s big hunter Jupiter was in the nearest stall. He was an uneven-tempered horse, one to be wary around, if not to the same degree as Last Hurrah. Árpád regarded him gravely for a moment. To Freya’s surprise Jupiter ambled over, leaned down to whicker gently in Árpád’s ear, and rested there for a moment while the Hungarian stroked his neck.
For a moment, unseen by anyone but Freya, Árpád’s face lost its wary curiosity and became quite still, tranquil almost. He closed his eyes, took a long, slow breath, and then another.
A man without a country, Freya thought, but here for an instant he can be home.
The moment passed. Árpád gave Jupiter a pat and stepped away, the big hunter eyeing him reproachfully.
‘A fine horse,’ he said, letting his eyes wander up and down its flanks. ‘There is some Arab in him, I think?’
‘You know your horses, Dr Bárándy,’ said Lady Priscilla, in a
rather less brusque tone than before. ‘I’ll have to keep my stable door locked.’
Árpád’s eyes twinkled. ‘Hungarians,’ he said, ‘are first-class horse thieves.’
Lady Priscilla had picked out a roan gelding, Pompey, for Árpád to ride. Equipped with some disreputable cast-offs from a former groom, brushing off the proffered riding hat, he trotted off to take a turn around the paddock. The setting sun had dipped below the layer of grey clouds, casting everything in a rather dramatic light. Fit for a painting, Freya thought, or perhaps a chase. Yes, a horseman in the winter dusk. A horseman without a country. But who, and why? And when?
Lady Priscilla, practical as ever, broke through her musings as she came over to Gus, one eye still on the horse and rider. ‘So how long will he be here?’
‘I don’t know,’ Gus said. ‘Sir Bernard thought a week or two.’
‘You just have to stand up to Sir Bernard,’ she said. ‘He’s become far too comfortable, being chief trustee of the Castle these last seven years.’
‘I rather imagined he was counting on my naïveté as an American,’ said Gus candidly. ‘He knows I don’t have the foggiest idea how things really work here. Besides, I’m glad to have Árpád here. It’s good to be able to talk classics again.’
Lady Priscilla’s expression suggested she knew perfectly well what Árpád’s real line of work was, but she was careful not to feed crumbs to the Selchester gossip machine.
‘That’s as may be,’ she said, ‘but we can’t go letting officials push us around. They do plenty of that as it is. I imagine he promised you a favour in return. Make sure you collect on it, and soon. He’ll think twice before he imposes on you again. And Freya, tell Hugo to watch his step. There are people in London not best pleased with his involvement in my late brother’s affairs.’
‘I’ll pass it on,’ said Freya neutrally, not entirely sure whether it was advice or warning.
‘Now, Pompey. I’ll have Francis bring him over in the morning, you don’t want Dr Bárándy to feel he’s imposing on my hospitality every time he wants to ride. Have Ben put him at the far end of the stable-block, and that piebald brute of yours will have to like it or lump it.’
Scene 5
Supper was a cheerful affair, even in the grand dining room. Everyone except Mrs Partridge rather missed taking it in the kitchen, but she was adamant. With an earl in residence, meals should be taken properly. They’d managed to chisel out a few exceptions, such as when only two or three of them were there.
Georgia preferred the kitchen, or failing that, something rather more gothic. ‘Can’t we sit at opposite ends of the table like they do in movies? Send one another messages by a cadaverous butler?’
‘We don’t have a cadaverous butler,’ said Freya firmly. ‘And before you ask, no, Gus isn’t going to hire one.’
Gus had arranged with Mrs Partridge that her niece Pam would join the staff full-time, but that was as far as things had gone. Freya sensed Gus was uneasy with the very idea of servants, but sooner or later he’d need to come to terms with the sheer size of Selchester Castle, never mind the seven-year backlog of maintenance which had built up following his father’s disappearance.
Árpád and Father Leo, as guests, were on either side of Gus at the end of the table. There were almost enough of them to have a more traditional placement, men and women alternating, which would have been Mrs Partridge’s preference. Polly, however, helping to lay the table, had objected.
‘Father will just end up talking about Latin poetry with Árpád bácsi, and Freya or Georgia or I will be stuck in the middle not following a word.’
‘Your father is a very thoughtful host,’ said Mrs Partridge. ‘Be careful with those plates now.’
‘Yes, he is, and he’ll be all attentive to his guest, which means talking about things which interest him, and that means Roman stuff. Probably quoting Latin until it comes out of his ears, too, just like he always did at home,’ Polly added with a scowl.
Freya, coming into the dining room just at that moment, gave Mrs Partridge a tiny nod. It was true, Gus was a courteous host, and had done his best with some difficult dinners over Christmas. It was also true that he’d spent most of his life in universities, sitting down to dinner with fellow classics professors.
There had been a faintly awkward moment when they returned. It had been clear Árpád had recognised Leo, which was hardly consonant with his cover as a classicist. Both men had the wit to cover it quickly, but Freya was fairly sure Georgia had noticed something was up. Thankfully Mrs Partridge had been out of the room at the time. Who knew how far her discretion would stretch?
There wasn’t as much Latin as Polly had feared. Árpád wanted to know how things were in America, whether the country he had known in the thirties had survived the war, what had happened to this or that prominent person. They talked about the Fourth of July, and compared notes on their respective visits to Boston museums.
‘Why did you go back to Hungary?’ Georgia asked.
‘I doubt Dr Bárándy wants to talk about that,’ said Hugo.
‘No, no,’ said Árpád, ‘it is a fair question. I went back because I had not seen my home or my family for seven years, and because I hoped that things would be better. There was an election in Hungary after the war, you see, a proper election, and the Communists did not win. You have a proverb in England, one swallow does not make a summer – is that how it goes?’
Hugo nodded.
‘I thought perhaps it might, so I went home. America is a great country, full of energy, but it is not home, not my own soil. I wanted to see the house where I was born, to ride across the plains in the summer, to swim in Lake Balaton. To hear my own language all around me, to smoke Hungarian tobacco, to taste proper paprika again. When you are in exile, it is the little things which remind you, the tastes and smells which are not the same.’
‘Mown grass,’ said Hugo.
‘Ah yes, I had a colleague at Princeton who told me this. You have a green and verdant country, not baked dry by the sun. For me, the smell of summer is more dusty, more heavy.’
‘So what happened?’ Georgia asked, wanting to hear the end of the story.
Árpád shrugged. ‘What always happens. The Russians did not like what they had, so they changed it, bit by bit, first this restriction, then that. They made life difficult for the elected politicians, pushed them out, replaced them with their own. They are always a step ahead, with tanks and guns. I hoped until I could hope no more, this is not the Hungarian way. We are used to tragedies, to uprisings suppressed, to lands taken away. I fear I had become too American.’
Hugo said, ‘Do you think this new man will change anything?’ There had been a change of regime in Budapest recently, in the wake of Stalin’s death. The Service was watching closely, had probably asked him this question a dozen times.
‘Nagy Imre is Moscow’s man too, whether he wants to be or not. If they do not like him, they will squash him, thus.’ He slapped the flat of his hand on the table, making everyone jump. ‘I shall not see Hungary again. I must be an American now, just as you, Lord Selchester, and your daughters, you must be British. But it is a pleasure to be here, and to spend time in a country so ashamed of its spies that it puts them in quiet country towns where they wear tweeds and pretend they are mathematicians. This is a good thing, take it from me.’
The shrill sound of the telephone sounded from Grace Hall.
‘Bet it’s Jarrett,’ said Georgia, ‘wondering why you’re not in your office with your nose to the grindstone.’
It wasn’t.
Pam popped her head around the door. ‘Phone for you, Mr Hawksworth, the younger one that is. Someone called Valerie.’
‘Tell her we’re at supper. I’ll ring her back.’
‘She said she wouldn’t take no for an answer, she’s just going out.’
‘If you’ll forgive me,’ said Hugo, putting his napkin on the table, ‘I shan’t be long.’
In Grace Hal
l, he paused a moment before picking up the telephone.
‘I knew you’d be there,’ said Valerie. ‘You haven’t called me since last week.’
‘I’ve had a lot on my plate,’ said Hugo testily. ‘You may have seen something about it in the papers.’
‘Oh, you’re mixed up in that, are you? Thought you might be. Running around at the beck and call of that dreadful Jarrett fellow, I dare say, no life for a grown man. Interviewing scientists, too, what a bore. I was stuck next to some cousin of Reggie’s at dinner last night, Cambridge professor of this or that. Honestly, you’ve never met a more tedious man. He spoke in a monotone, spent half the meal adjusting his knife and fork. I told Reggie if he ever did that to me again, I’d tell that ghastly puritanical aunt of his how much he’d like a visit from her. And he had the nerve to tell me it was my turn to put up with the man.’
Why was it, Hugo wondered, that Valerie’s personality became so much less attractive on the phone? He made some polite noises, but Valerie cut him off.
‘Can’t linger. Reggie’s got me a ticket to Tosca as a peace offering. Lady Escley has loaned him her box while she’s off taking the waters. Listen. On Saturday I shall be down in your neck of the woods. Serena Hampton-Bishop had her first over Christmas, and it’s the christening. They live just outside some place called Yarnley. I’ve added you to the guest list, no, but me no buts – there’s someone you’re going to meet. I haven’t seen you in two months, and you spent Christmas down in the sticks when you could have been up here having a much more interesting time. I shall be on the ten-thirty at Yarnley, make sure you’re there. Wear something respectable, and don’t even think of bringing that sister of yours. Taxi’s here, darling, see you on Saturday.’
She hung up. Hugo grimaced at the phone and followed suit.
Pam, who had been lingering in the passageway for a good eavesdrop, slipped along to the kitchen. ‘Who’s Valerie?’ she asked Mrs Partridge.
‘Mr Hawksworth’s girlfriend.’
Pam’s eyes lit up. ‘I didn’t know he had one. What’s she like?’
‘I can’t tell you that, she’s never dignified us with her presence. Lives in London. Very glamorous, so I hear, always going to nightclubs.’
A Matter of Loyalty Page 12