Innocence To Die For

by Eidinow, John

  ‘Twins.’

  ‘They say I take after our Father, Peter our mother. Perhaps it’s the central European in him that brings you two together.’

  ‘But your brother is my model English gentleman, so to say. Tall, thin, always considerate. Courteous, witty, unemotional, secretly clever. No. Able, I must say. Secretly able. Very able.’

  ‘Very secret.’ Embarrassed, he intervened. They took no notice.

  ‘That’s just his public school and Cambridge camouflage. Underneath the veneer he’s all angst and idealism.’ She laughed uproariously. Peter wondered how long she’d been in the Fitzroy.

  ‘And isn’t his twin an idealist too?’

  ‘Hardly. I was at a convent school.’ Ella giggled at her own joke. ‘Ideals, and ideas, were forbidden territory. Needlework, French, girlish passions, and being prepared for presentation at Court.’

  ‘You were presented at the Court?’

  ‘My cousins were, but somehow … somehow it never came up for me. Anyway I would have refused. And you, Dinah dear, aren’t you an idealist?’

  ‘Idealism can be dangerous. I believe in hard, practical steps, not day-dreaming about what might happen in a perfect world. In Vienna, you see, I assisted on designing apartments for the workers. We said they should live in buildings that would express “socialist modernism in their form and equality of living in their function”. Then one day some idealists came and smashed our windows, threw our desks into the street and burned our plans.’ She drank some red wine then laughed. ‘And so I suppose I can also have angst. Your brother is not alone.’

  Ella looked stunned. ‘I’m sorry. But things are different here. Couldn’t you carry on your work at all?’

  ‘Not possible. I am not complaining. I am fortunate to have this job. You see they look at me and think how good I must be with schmatta – materials and clothing. And I can help support my grandfather.’ She looked into Ella’s eyes. ‘But you are still driving the ambulance?’

  Peter sensed some unease in Ella as she began to talk about how she was now on a reserve panel and carrying out the minimum of training and duty. ‘Of course, that would change if London were attacked. What I’m really doing now is a sequence of drawings showing how Londoners are preparing for air attack. Street scenes by day and night, trenches, shelters, transport, ARP, workmen, and so on.’

  ‘Ella is a compulsive sketcher,’ Peter joined in. ‘Never without sketchbook and pen. She was in a frightful row the other evening when passengers in the tube objected to her drawing them. So she did a quick cartoon of each one and that mollified them.’

  ‘They were in a row, opposite me – I was doing just the grouped heads – wonderful contrasts – and an old man said, “What tricks do you think you’re up to? Are you a spy? I’m going to call the guard.” He was wearing his medals and carrying his gas mask. I should have known.’

  She reached into her bag for a small black pen and a small square pad with a wire spine. ‘Shall I sketch you? Do you mind, Dinah?’

  At the end of the meal, the two women left Peter on his own, Ella leading Dinah away to the Ladies. He had time for another cigarette and a second cognac before they reappeared, laughing and chatting, heads close, thick dark hair to red-brown mop. Ella had lent Dinah her vivid lipstick; it gave her a rich, oriental look. What could have been stiff and awkward had come off so happily. Now he felt both relieved and joyful. They had got on, really got on. But what of Ella herself? Something not quite right with her.

  ****

  Ella was still asleep when he went out the next morning. He left her a note that he’d be in the Coal Hole in the Strand at six, if she could manage it.

  She arrived on time, shaking cold rain off her umbrella, unwinding her long scarf and pulling off her felt hat before sitting down. ‘Not a word before I’ve had a whisky, thank you.’

  He waited impatiently for her to take the first sip. ‘Did you like her?’

  She took another. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Go on. What did you make of her?’

  ‘Lashings of character. Unconventional looks. Not our English rose, of course, but look who’s talking. Very attractive. Enchantingly jolie laide.’ Ella paused to pull on her cigarette and sip her drink. She kept him waiting. ‘Cultivated. In that serious continental way. Should keep your stuffy friends on their toes. Fun with it. But deep. Hidden depths, I’d say. With a certain … I couldn’t quite capture it … awareness?’ She paused again. ‘Can’t see her on one of your shooting parties.’ Her look asked if he’d thought of that.

  ‘Did she mention me when you dragged her away?’

  ‘Mention you?’ Ella took out her sketchbook and pen, and began to draw figures at the bar. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Perhaps?’

  ‘Did your name come up?’ Ella paused in her drawing to look mock-thoughtful. ‘Yes. I seem to remember your name did come up.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And …’ She squinted up at the bar and down at her pad twice as she drew. ‘… she obviously quite likes you.’

  ‘Quite likes?’

  ‘Even fond of you, I’d say. Get me another drink.’

  When he returned from the bar, she had put down her pad and was staring into space. ‘All right. She loves you. I guess you’re her first serious love. She says she was always too busy for men and love, but you have unstoppably entered her life. She knows you love her, are in love with her. I told her that she was the first.’

  ‘She told you all that?’

  ‘I asked her, woman to woman. Don’t rush to buy a ring and get a notice ready for The Times. It’s not that simple. She also thinks that you’re not ready: you have yet to discover yourself, what you’re good for.’

  ‘You can’t have asked her if she would marry me?’

  ‘I asked if we were to be sisters-in-law one day. Don’t you want to marry her?’

  ‘There’s more to it than that. I have to think about asking her to leave her people, as Mother said.’

  ‘She didn’t say anything about that. Only something about your discovering yourself and her having her work to do. Then that silly blonde girl came in and spoiled it all with the ladder in her stocking.’

  He was silent.

  ‘She loves you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He went to get them another drink. When he returned, he put his hand on hers, small, strong and firm; the polished nails, as always, neatly trimmed and short. ‘Now, Ella Veronica Louise, I think you’ve something to tell me.’

  She went red and looked away.

  ‘Go on. No time like the present.’

  ‘The fact is …’ She shut her pad and turned to him. ‘The fact is I’m going to Egypt.’

  ‘Egypt.’ He whistled.

  ‘Father has arranged for me to be an official artist attached to GHQ in Cairo.’

  ‘How exciting for you. When do you go?’

  ‘In about ten days.’

  He felt hollow. ‘So soon.’

  ‘With a party of poules de luxe and good time girls.’ She patted his hand. Actually, officers’ wives and typists. If I can get the vaccinations and injections in time. Train to Marseille and then boat to Alexandria.’

  ‘So it’s all arranged?’

  ‘It had to be done without delay. Once confirmed, I would have told you.’

  ‘It’s a bit of a shock. I didn’t even know you’d heard from the old man.’

  ‘I didn’t. Madame passed his message to ring a man in Whitehall. And he asked me to bring my portfolio and then offered me the post. It was all very quick. He particularly liked a dog left guarding a pram outside a shelter.’

  Madame! Why was that woman the family go-between? ‘Another?’ When he came back, he said, ‘There’s one thing you haven’t told me.’

  Ella was silent.

  ‘Why? You’ve all your friends here. You’ve work here. You’re beginning to get recognition here. Why Egypt?’

&nbs
p; ‘I’ve been feeling the need to get away. Everything’s become so familiar and horribly claustrophobic. I want to travel. Changes of scene, fresh horizons, new light, skies, faces. And this is simply the best chance by a long chalk. And there won’t be another for a long time, I guess.’

  Did that ring true? ‘You know I’ll miss you … terribly.’ A failed affair?

  ‘I’ll really miss you too. It does make it easier, knowing you’ve got Dinah. Perhaps she could move in with you once I’ve gone. You can have her stockings hanging over the bath.’

  ‘She has to look after her grandfather.’ He smiled inwardly at the thought of their both coming to the flat. ‘I hope it goes well. One last question? Can I have your sketch of Dinah?’

  ****

  Creevey-Adams – Alexander, as he was between them now – bustled in and suggested walking from chambers down to the Savoy for tea.

  He was fortunate to find Peter still at his desk. Creevey-Adams – Alexander – hadn’t that much for him to do, nothing he couldn’t polish off with a few hours’ hard work. And Rutherglen Stanley had taken him on as part-time reader and editor, a day a week, possibly two, some evenings perhaps, if Peter liked the idea. Pitiful remuneration, but he might find it interesting and better things ahead, Hitler permitting.

  Peter had jumped at the offer: it could easily fit in with his legal work. ‘I’m very pleased you’ve thought of me, but curious to know why I came to mind.’

  ‘It was at a meeting of the “small world club”. Your crony Aubrey is a cousin of my wife’s. We were dining and I told them about squashing my hat and the rest of that evening, you know, being socked by Fräulein Altschuler and pulled off the ropes by you.’

  ‘Chum, I think, rather than crony. No shrinking violet, Dinah.’

  ‘Aubrey said you and he were pals from school, and we went on from there.’ He could have the attic at Stanley’s offices off the Strand, in a side street running down to the river. ‘Think of it as your sanctum sanctorum. I’ll leave stuff on the desk for you.’

  ****

  At the Savoy, Alexander insisted on a table by a pillar and ordered tea for three, then was on his feet, smiling, beckoning.

  Following his look, Peter saw Miriam crossing the lounge towards them. She carried herself with a solid, business-like air: green trilby hat, Aquascutum mackintosh, and a bulging leather briefcase that she put down carefully between sturdy walking shoes. She had a rebuke ready for Peter. ‘When we didn’t hear from you over the last Tea Rooms get-together, I thought you’d given up on us. We value your support.’

  ‘I left you a note in chambers.’ Alexander jumped in, with a placatory smile at Miriam.

  ‘I’m afraid I was just on my way to The Hague. To see my mother.’

  ‘A great friend of Count Ciano,’ Alexander added through a full mouth.

  Miriam smiled and nodded. ‘All is forgiven. Perhaps your mother could act as an intermediary between ourselves and the Italian government. Signor Mussolini seems our best hope for a negotiated settlement. There’s so little time.’

  ‘There’s still Goering and the generals. I’m told Goering doesn’t want war and might move with the generals against Hitler given the right terms. His emissaries are in contact through the Hague embassy with the FO.’ Creevey-Adams sat back as a waiter came with fresh tea and poured a cup for Miriam.

  She waited until he’d gone, then picked up sharply. ‘The terms are there for the asking. A free hand in western Poland, the status quo in Europe, and we have the empire guaranteed. And the fleet. What we need is public pressure on Chamberlain to show willing on talks.’ She looked at Peter. ‘With the public feeling profoundly let down over all the war preparations, Chamberlain could be the most popular prime minister in history if he pulled off the settlement. His supporters know if we’re plunged into real war, it will mean one of two outcomes: defeat or socialist revolution. But the prime minister does need backing against the Churchillite warmongers.’

  Alexander chipped in. ‘We could probably get the Germans to promise to ease up on Poland. Enough to show something for our going to war.’

  Peter found his voice. ‘Could we get them to ease up on the Jews?’

  ‘That’s a shrewd point.’ Miriam glanced round, then sat forward and lowered her voice. ‘Indeed, Chamberlain might feel he has to have something for the financiers behind his party and for Hore-Belisha. None of us likes seeing the unnecessary harassment of the Jews. Still, the plain fact is we haven’t gone to war for the Jews. And if Reichsminister Goering replaces Herr Hitler, as well he might for agreeing a settlement, perhaps the Jewish situation could change. Goering was a Great War officer. However, when our freedom, the constitution, and the empire are at stake, I don’t think people would reject a settlement for the sake of Poland or the Jews.’

  ‘People might think we could fight and win.’ Peter had her attention. ‘The Americans are unofficially on our side. And with the French we could knock Hitler for six.’

  ‘Another likely point for the warmongers. If anyone does think that, they have to be disabused—or saved from their folly. Our contacts in the military say it will be between two and three years before we’re ready for war. We have almost no transport, no heavy guns—and no tanks. You know how your father was ignored by the military dunderheads. We’re already losing capital ships to U-boats. The French are rotted with socialism. Their generals will jump at a chance for peace. It’s up to clear-sighted people to save Britain from this folly.’

  Peter’s dislike of Miriam’s views was matched by his recognition of the force and simplicity with which she spoke. Formidable. Formidable and frightening.

  ‘We didn’t ask you here just to have Miriam make her brilliant speeches at you.’ Alexander intervened with a pat on Peter’s knee. ‘Let’s get ourselves a drink and we can explain how, if you’re willing, you might be able to help us – and your country – just now. Nothing at all underhand.’ He smiled. ‘The only danger is to your waist measurement.’

  While the waiter cleared the tea things and brought cocktails, Miriam reached into her briefcase and pulled out a heavy red folder, closed with a brass lock. ‘This is the record. If you could keep it in chambers for us, as I mentioned?’ She passed it to Alexander, then turned to Peter and to ask if he had seen the latest Fernandel film. ‘I only have to look at him to start laughing. That wonderful smile – 32 teeth and all in the front – and that wonderful twinkle.’ Gin-and-It was her drink. ‘Chin-chin.’

  She looked at Peter. ‘Forgive me if I come too directly to the point, but this is no time to shilly-shally. Now, we need – it is really urgent – to create a tide of pro-settlement opinion, a tide that will swell up in the Cabinet room. Put it another way, change the weather. Alexander has told me how well connected – family and friends – you are. I gather you have a foothold in publishing too. And, of course, you’re known as your father’s son. What we’re hoping is that you might become one of a small group ready to support, or if the need arises argue, our case – no more than that – with people of influence. When the opportunity presents itself or can be created. Lunches, dinners, cocktail parties, that sort of thing. Unobtrusively. Never looking like a political campaign—that’s the secret.’

  ‘Argument based on the realities and what’s best for the country we all love and hope to see prosper,’ said Alexander. ‘Democratic argument. Playing a part in our country’s destiny. With men of influence. And women.’

  ‘This is true patriotism: what’s best for the future of Britain and its Empire. That’s the point,’ Miriam went on. ‘I think you’ll be surprised how many of our backers you’re already acquainted with. If you’re happy to play a part, could you please start at once. There simply is no time to wait. Of course, I don’t want to rush you. But if you’re willing, you could make a real difference.’

  ‘I think you’re generously overestimating me.’ What a remarkable woman. What strength. What a pity she wasn’t running the MoI. With the correct pro-war
views. ‘I’ll certainly consider what you’ve asked.’ It couldn’t come to anything of course. On the other hand, wouldn’t it be interesting to observe such a campaign in action, see who was involved?

  ‘Much obliged to you for bearing with us,’ said Alexander. ‘I told Miriam we could count on you.’

  Miriam nodded. ‘We do. More importantly, so does your country. We’d plan to meet from time to time – of course discreetly – to review how the work is going. Now, if you’re anxious to get away, Alexander and I have some other tedious arrangements to go over.’

  Peter stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette and said he did need to get back to chambers. ‘Thank you for tea, Alexander. And Miriam, thank you for so much food for thought.’

  Miriam stood to say goodbye. ‘Our thanks to you. This is our moment in history. Be active. Be strong. To advance is vital.’ Her light blue eyes looked directly into his. Her handshake was firm and measured. She held the moment and then broke contact and sat down.

  As he turned away, wondering on whom she might have been modelling herself, Creevey-Adams called him back. ‘Could you very kindly take the folder to chambers for me? I don’t think I’ll be returning tonight.’

  Crossing the hotel entrance on to the Strand, he met Helen, the secretary, hastening in.

  ‘Miriam and Alexander are still sitting through there,’ he said.

  ‘A helpful discussion, I hope.’

  ‘Oh, yes, thank you. How very clear Miriam is. And persuasive.’

  Relieved to be back in chambers, he found Creevey-Adams’s desk locked and put the folder into his own for the night.

  ****

  Since Rutherglen’s editing offer, he’d been expecting Aubrey to get in touch. And here he was, on the phone: ‘Long time no see. No wonder. Dark horse. Mysterious girlfriend, something of an oriental, I hear. Care to drop in for a snifter …?’

  ‘With pleasure. One evening Dinah’s busy. She’s a working oriental, you know.’

  ‘Ah, Dinah is it, you dark horse.’

  ‘Chuck it, Aubrey. You know all about her from Rutherglen. By the way, many thanks for pointing him my way.’