The Secrets of Winter

by Nicola Upson

  ‘You can fetch your own lunch, though. I’m not made of festive spirit.’

  Violet nodded and turned back to the table, but not before she’d noticed her colleagues nudging each other. ‘Johnny Soper, what the hell are you playing at?’ she whispered. ‘You’ll get me the sack, and a fine bloody Christmas present that’ll be.’

  ‘You won’t get the sack. You’re entitled to a lunch hour, just like the rest of us.’

  He smiled again, and Violet wondered what he was up to; it was out of character for him to break any sort of rule. ‘All right then, but I can’t be long. What do you want?’

  He knew the menu by heart and didn’t even bother to open it. ‘Sausage and mash, and I’ll have a coffee nut sundae, too. Let’s put the boat out, my treat. It is Christmas.’

  When she came back with a pot of tea, she noticed a present on the table – a small box, carefully wrapped. ‘What is all this about?’ she asked guardedly, taking off her apron and sliding into the seat opposite him. ‘Why are you smiling at me like that?’

  ‘Can’t you guess? I was going to wait until we’d finished eating, but I don’t think I can stand the suspense. Go on – open it now.’

  She did as he asked, surprised by how badly she wanted the present to be what she thought it was. Here, next to the tree, the sweet scent of pine held its own against the stronger aromas of coffee and bacon, and she felt suddenly like a child on Christmas morning. The ring was beautiful: an amethyst – her birthstone – surrounded by eight tiny pearls and set in yellow gold. When she looked up, he was already out of his seat, and she noticed that the other diners were beginning to stare over at their table. ‘Johnny, you’re not going down on one knee …’

  ‘Of course I am. I want to do this properly. Violet Carter, will you marry me?’

  It wasn’t the first proposal the tearoom had seen, and Violet had always felt sorry for the woman put so publicly on the spot, but now she found she didn’t mind. She threw her arms around him, and a cheer went up from her colleagues. ‘Of course I will, you daft bugger. Who else would have you?’ She pulled him back to his seat as the customers began to applaud. ‘You arranged all this behind my back? And they were all in on it? Mrs Ridley as well?’ He nodded. ‘You were taking a risk! What if I’d said no?’

  ‘You wouldn’t do that to me.’

  ‘No, you’re right – I wouldn’t.’ She was going to tell him how much she loved him, how happy his love had made her, but she knew it would embarrass him; in spite of the grand gesture, he wasn’t one for too many words. ‘What on earth will my mum and dad say? That’ll teach them to have five girls. They’ve only just finished paying off Julie’s wedding, and now mine’s on the horizon.’

  ‘Not too far on the horizon, I hope. And your dad couldn’t have been more pleased when I went to see him.’

  ‘I don’t expect he could. He worships the ground you walk on.’

  ‘Which is a damned sight more than my own father did.’ He smiled to take the edge off his words, sorry to have spoilt the moment. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. This is our day, and I want it to be special.’

  ‘It is special, but you’re bound to be thinking about your dad,’ she said, reluctant to let him change the subject so easily. ‘Christmas does that to all of us, and he hasn’t even been gone a year yet.’

  ‘I just wish I’d said more to him. Done more to make him proud of me … but it’s too late now.’

  ‘Don’t take all the blame yourself. It takes two people not to get on.’

  ‘Stupid thing is, I don’t even know why we didn’t. But I shouldn’t have left like that, if only for my mum’s sake.’

  Violet took his hand, wondering how many sons and daughters were tangled up like this in the emotions of the season; regrets were always so much greater at this time of year. ‘Do you want to go home for Christmas?’ she asked, feeling suddenly selfish for the relative happiness of her own family.

  He shook his head. ‘No, we’ve said we’ll spend it with your parents. They’re expecting us.’

  To his credit, he said it without resentment, but perhaps she had assumed too readily that Christmas would be spent at her family table rather than his, and not just because it was so much closer. ‘We can change our minds, if it means that much to you.’

  ‘But you hate my mother.’

  She burst out laughing at his directness, and that brought a smile from him, too. ‘Of course I don’t hate your mother! I’ve only met her twice, and one of those was at your dad’s funeral. I just wish she’d stop treating you like a younger version of your father.’ She remembered how alien she had found those visits to his island home in Cornwall, and hoped with all her heart that he would never want to move back; no matter how much she loved him, she knew she couldn’t be happy there, and just for a moment she feared what their marriage might mean. ‘I’ll never be the sort of wife that your mother was – or my mother, come to that,’ she said firmly, as much to herself as to him. ‘We’ve got our own lives, you and me, and we’ll do things our way, but I don’t want you to cut yourself off from your family. Write to her now and tell her we’re coming.’

  He looked at her doubtfully. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t.’

  ‘All right, but I won’t let her know in advance,’ he said, and Violet wondered if he thought she would change her mind. ‘We’ll go over and surprise her.’

  She shrugged. ‘Whatever you think’s best. We’ve got a lot to celebrate this Christmas, you and I. At least we might have if you ever get round to putting this ring on my finger.’

  6

  Archie hesitated outside the Brook Street entrance to Claridge’s. The hotel’s glamour didn’t usually intimidate him, whether he visited for work or for pleasure, but a rendezvous with a Hollywood star was hardly in the line of duty and he had been jittery about it all day, much to the amusement of his colleagues. He pushed through the revolving doors and stood for a moment in the entrance hall, where a chequered marble floor and gracefully sweeping staircase made the space look much bigger than it actually was. Claridge’s gilt mirrors and grand Art Deco arches made it easy to forget that the ground on which he stood had once been the turning circle of a carriage drive, serving nothing but a modest guest house. The foyer was a palace of glass and sparkling lights, and only the fireplace offered some welcome respite from the glacial crispness of the décor.

  There was an enormous Christmas tree at the foot of the stairs, decorated to within an inch of its life, and Archie walked past it to announce himself at the reception desk. ‘I’m here to see Miss Dietrich,’ he added. ‘She’s expecting me.’

  ‘You’re a nice change from her usual visitors, I must say.’ The comment came out before it could be stopped, but it was in such stark contrast to the hotel’s customary discretion that Archie heard a sharp intake of breath from the couple checking in beside him. The clerk flushed as his colleague glared at him, then smiled apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I’ll let Miss Dietrich know that you’re here. Just one moment.’ He went to the telephone and dialled a room number, returning after the briefest of conversations. ‘She’ll see you now, sir. Her other guests are just leaving. I’ll call someone to take you up to her suite.’

  ‘There’s really no need. I’m sure I can find it myself.’

  The receptionist seemed to have learned his lesson. ‘It’s no trouble at all,’ he insisted, sticking politely but firmly to convention. ‘We won’t keep you a moment.’

  Archie waited impatiently, his tetchiness made worse by the final throes of a cold. A bell boy appeared in due course, understandably eager to show someone to the star’s rooms. The lift purred quietly to the fourth floor and he followed his guide down plushly carpeted hallways, noticing that – for all its fashionable elegance – there was something sedate and restrained about this particular hotel which encouraged a reverence more appropriate to a church. The bell boy turned a corner and gestur
ed to the door at the far end of the corridor, which led to an outer lobby. Two men stood guard there, one on either side, and Archie stopped in his tracks, understanding now what the receptionist had meant. Their dark uniforms struck a jarring note in the hotel, the silver eagles and swastikas giving the lie to an otherwise convincing illusion that the world was a place of peaceful civility; in spite of a life that had seen more than its fair share of war, Archie was shaken by their presence. ‘You can leave me here,’ he said, dismissing his chaperone. ‘Thank you.’

  The bell boy took his tip and hurried back to the lift. Archie headed for the suite, and as he approached the inner door opened, giving him his first glimpse of Dietrich. She was dressed entirely in white, and the contrast with her visitors – whether coincidental or carefully staged – could not have been more dramatic. The Nazi she was showing out was taller than his colleagues and his face looked vaguely familiar from the newspapers; he snapped his heels together and kissed the hand that she held out to him, a movement that was simultaneously chivalrous and threatening. Then, after a clipped ‘Heil Hitler’ which met with no response, he strode from the room. His henchmen fell into step, as if joined by an invisible thread, and Archie stood aside to let them pass.

  Marlene looked at him and smiled. ‘Christmas greetings from the Führer,’ she said. ‘They have been waiting downstairs for hours. I only saw them because my daughter said no one should be left in the lobby at Christmas time, not even a Nazi.’ Her smile faded, and she looked intently at Archie. ‘She has no idea how much I hate them.’

  ‘What did they want?’

  ‘The same thing they always want. My triumphant return to the homeland. Sadly, you arrived before I could give them my answer. Sadly for them, but not for me.’ The smile came again, but this time it was more genuine. ‘Come in, Mr Penrose. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.’

  A butler appeared from a side room to take his coat, and Archie followed his host through to the main suite. The sitting room smelt of cigarette smoke and perfume, something heavy and floral, and was spacious enough to contain everything that a guest could need with several extravagances that most would never use: a grand piano stood over by the windows, and a self-contained recess was dominated by a carved oak desk, whose size most boardroom executives would struggle to justify. French doors led out to a balcony, and the Mayfair rooftops were softly silhouetted in the dusk. In the corner of the room there was a Christmas tree, simply decorated like those of his own childhood; the snowman perched on top brought back a memory that he couldn’t quite place. Perhaps it was the company, but the apartment had the feel of a stage set, reminding Archie that luxury on such a scale was always a theatre of sorts, and he wondered why one of the richest women in the world would want to trade this in for a draughty Cornish castle.

  ‘My visitors are just one of the reasons I’ll be glad to get away,’ Marlene said, answering his unspoken question. ‘Please, Mr Penrose – take a seat.’ She gestured to a sofa and Archie sat down, surprised to find it more comfortable than it looked. The actress pressed a service bell in the wall and the butler returned immediately. ‘Pour us some champagne, darling, would you?’ She turned to Archie. ‘Unless you’d prefer something else? Whisky? A martini?’

  Her voice was so familiar from the screen that he had to remind himself he was no longer a passive observer in the conversation. ‘Whisky would be lovely,’ he said, trying in vain to suppress a sneeze. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You are not well?’

  ‘I’m fine. It’s just the end of a cold.’

  ‘William, bring Mr Penrose some of the chicken soup that Maria liked so much when she was here.’

  ‘No, really,’ Archie protested. ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘Nonsense, I insist. You will feel better before you know it. Go now, William. Leave the drinks to me.’

  The butler was ushered from the room, and Marlene busied herself at the bar. She ignored the Dom Pérignon that sat on ice and poured two large whiskies instead, talking all the time about her daughter and what a fuss the hotel had made of her. Archie was struck by how English her accent was. Without asking, she added lemon to his drink and disappeared into another room, returning seconds later with a jar of honey. ‘Do you have children, Mr Penrose?’

  ‘Yes, a daughter. She’s twenty-one now.’

  ‘Ah, they grow up so fast. I bet you can scarcely fathom where your little girl went.’

  Before he could explain that he hadn’t been part of Phyllis’s childhood, the butler returned with a bowl of steaming soup and some bread. Archie stood to take the tray while the actress fussed round him, plumping the cushions on the sofa; her attentions were so unexpected that he began to think he must be running a fever which threatened his grip on reality. When she was satisfied that he was comfortable and had sat down next to him, he noticed that the lighting in the room had been carefully arranged to emphasise her beauty as it was seen on the screen – the hollow cheeks, the full lips and thinly pencilled eyebrows. ‘It was so good of you to offer to be my escort for Christmas.’

  Archie couldn’t help but smile. ‘It really doesn’t feel like a favour,’ he said, ‘but I can’t imagine your visitors would be very pleased by your plans for the holiday? Donating so generously to a charity for Jewish refugees is a courageous thing to do when the Gestapo are standing outside your door.’

  ‘By courageous you mean foolhardy.’

  ‘In my experience, they’re often hard to tell apart.’

  ‘They will not criticise me while they still think they have a chance of persuading me to return. Anyway, they are always keen to assure me that there is no anti-Semitism in Germany.’

  ‘What happened last month makes that a very hard position to maintain.’

  ‘You would think so, wouldn’t you, and yet Hitler made a speech the following day without mentioning it once.’

  Her voice was understandably bitter. The events were still recent, but Archie knew that he would never forget the shocking newspaper accounts of the way in which synagogues and Jewish businesses throughout Nazi Germany had been ransacked and destroyed in the course of a single night, dubbed ‘Kristallnacht’ after the shards of broken glass that littered the streets. Nearly a hundred Jews had been murdered and thousands more taken away, sparking outrage around the world. ‘It must sadden you to know what’s happening in your country,’ he said.

  The actress shrugged, deflecting the observation, and Archie realised what an understatement it had been. ‘Helping people is the decent thing to do, and it is the time of year for goodwill. I love Christmas, don’t you? We always start it early because Maria’s birthday is in December. She’s just fourteen. What do you think of our tree? We decorated it together when she was here with me last week. We went shopping. There’s nowhere quite like London for shopping. Maria had such a happy time. Is the soup good?’

  Despite his earlier protestations, a hot meal was just what Archie needed and he nodded. ‘Yes, very good. You’re not taking Maria to Cornwall with you?’ he asked, intrigued by this woman who could stand up to the Nazis one minute, then fuss like a mother hen around a policeman she had only just met.

  ‘No, she’s spending the rest of the holidays with her father in Paris. She left this morning.’

  ‘You’ll miss her.’

  ‘Of course, but she will be safer there, away from me.’

  He looked more closely at her, and saw for the first time the tiredness that make-up disguised so well. ‘Are you worried that the Nazis will use her to get to you?’

  ‘Not the Nazis, no – they wouldn’t risk it. As I said, we are playing a game of cat and mouse. They want me too badly but I cannot afford to upset them. I need my German papers to be in order if I’m to get my American citizenship. As long as I behave, they wouldn’t dare touch Maria. But others, perhaps; others who always seem to know where I am.’ She hesitated, and Archie waited to see if she would confide in him. ‘I get so many letters, but some of them lately have
been a little … well, obsessive.’

  ‘Anonymous, I presume?’ She nodded. ‘Can I see them?’

  ‘I always destroy them. I didn’t want Maria to find them and be frightened, not after last time.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There were some kidnap threats a few years ago, when we were in California. It was just after the Lindbergh baby had been taken. You remember how hysterical everyone was?’

  And with good reason, Archie thought. The son of the famous aviator had been abducted from his home in New Jersey, and although his parents had paid a huge ransom demand, the toddler’s body was found by a truck driver a couple of months later, dumped near the side of a road. ‘I don’t remember any publicity surrounding your daughter,’ he said.

  ‘We kept it quiet and nothing came of it. One day the letters just stopped.’

  ‘No one was ever caught?’

  ‘No. These are different, though. The others were just about money.’

  ‘And these are targeted at you, not your daughter? And sent to you here?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Have you told the police?’

  ‘No. There’s nothing actually threatening about them. It’s hard to put my finger on it, but something isn’t right. He knows too much about me.’

  ‘Or she.’

  ‘Where I’m concerned, it’s usually a “he”.’ She finished her drink and lit a cigarette. ‘I’m probably being too sensitive. It’s no secret that I’m here, so why shouldn’t I get letters?’ That was true, Archie thought, although he had a feeling that she was keeping something back; someone in her position would know the difference by now between an over-zealous fan and a real threat, and she was clearly unsettled. She shrugged again, and smiled. ‘So you can understand why a castle surrounded by the sea has its attractions, and Miss St Aubyn strikes me as a very gracious host. She said in her letter that you know St Michael’s Mount?’

  ‘I grew up nearby, yes.’

  ‘You must tell me all about it on the way. What time will your car be here in the morning?’