Dark Palace

by Frank Moorhouse

  Edith realised how much she was now one of them. She saw that she was considered to be part of the Good Gang.

  But she had qualms. ‘I still worry about the legality of this. What does the fidelity oath say?’

  No one could remember the exact wording of the oath. As senior officers, those in the room had sworn it before a meeting of the whole Secretariat. She had sworn it before the Appointments Committee.

  Avenol himself would’ve sworn the oath before the Assembly of the League.

  ‘Ultimately, we are formulating an action not so much against the Secretary-General but in protection of the Covenant,’ Bartou said. ‘You are not a conspirator—you are more in the role of an internal League police officer.’

  She had the impression that Bartou was worried about the legality of it too and was turning it over in his mind as they sat there talking.

  ‘And who appointed us the guardians of the Covenant and the executioners of its enemies?’ She laughed.

  Had she heard the laugh coming from another woman, she would have described it as overloud. It demanded that those listening should join in the laughter.

  And they did.

  ‘Who’s mentioned an execution?’ Lester said wryly.

  They laughed again. The nature of this laughter did not please her. Too self-assured, too pitiless.

  ‘It’s not against the office of Secretary-General—it’s against a man who might be misusing his post and the Covenant,’ Aghnides said, clouding into seriousness.

  Drawing on his pipe, Bartou applied another argument, ‘Meng-tzu preached in his Politics of Royal Ways that the heavens bestow on a king the mandate to provide good government. If he does not govern well the people have the right to rise up and overthrow the government in the name of heaven.’

  ‘As a Rationalist who has no understanding of heaven, I have a little difficulty with that,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘The will of the people could be seen as the will of heaven, perhaps,’ Lester said.

  ‘My larger reservation is, then, whether members at our level of the League of Nations Secretariat represent the people.’

  They all looked at her and seemed to ponder this.

  ‘Thanassis and Auguste are of course in there,’ Lester said. ‘This is not an Anglo-Saxon clique.’

  She looked across at Aghnides. She did not know what to think of him. Apart from the fact that he was with them.

  As for cliques, at times some of her own discarded and suspect patriotic sentiments came scampering out, like dogs pleased to see their former owner.

  ‘And you say I am to do filing?’ she laughed. ‘I’d hoped I was beyond that at my age.’ And by saying that, she saw that she had agreed to play her part in the conspiracy.

  ‘It is a guise, Edith, nothing more,’ Bartou said.

  ‘None of you men would ever lower your rank to do dirty work,’ she said, easing it with a generous smile, relieving them of the need to take her complaint too seriously.

  Bartou smiled. Her protectiveness of her status was familiar ground with them. It was he who replied, ‘Not so, Edith. When an operative is parachuted into hostile territory so as to do espionage—male or female—the operative often adopts a guise, say, as a farm labourer.’

  She nodded, ‘Point taken,’ and stubbed out her cigarette.

  She’d got through the cigarette without coughing and she thought that her putting out of the cigarette was perfectly executed. ‘Somehow this scheme of ours doesn’t have the glamour of being parachuted into hostile territory dressed, say, as a whore.’

  They laughed at her earthiness.

  ‘At least we aren’t sending you to Avenol as a mistress, Edith,’ Bartou said laughing. And then, perhaps sensing that his remark was in bad taste, added, ‘No offence meant.’

  ‘No offence taken, and I thank you for not asking that, gentlemen,’ she said.

  ‘You never know, Edith, you may be invited to La Pelouse,’ Lester said.

  ‘As Mistress Number Two?’ she asked. ‘He may be anti-British but he seems to like his mistresses to be British.’

  They all laughed. Each time they laughed, the coils of conspiracy became tighter.

  ‘What if he unmasks me? What if I’m dismissed?’

  ‘We will reinstate you.’

  ‘What if he dismisses you lot too?’

  They laughed.

  ‘Nice point. He might very well try,’ said Lester. ‘He may very well try.’

  ‘And,’ she said, trying to blow smoke from her second cigarette at the right time for effect, ‘he has the authority to dismiss you all.’

  ‘And then we would all be out of a job—with no diplomatic privilege and surrounded by the German army,’ Aghnides said.

  The discussion dwindled to an end.

  Everything had been agreed, she supposed, without formality.

  Bartou suggested a whisky and called a waiter.

  ‘You’ve taken up smoking?’ Lester said to her.

  ‘It’s supposed to sterilise the mouth.’ She laughed. ‘I liked the look of others smoking. I hope I look as chic.’

  ‘You seem very accomplished at it,’ Lester said.

  ‘Hitler has banned smoking—so there must be good in it,’ she laughed. ‘But I’ll show you some numbers. They’re the case against smoking.’

  She took out her notepad and wrote down ‘3000’.

  She handed the number around.

  ‘That is the number of forest fires in California caused by cigarette butts in the last ten years.’

  She took back the pad and wrote the figure ‘1500’ and again passed it around. ‘That’s the number of fires in homes caused by cigarettes.’

  Finally she wrote, ‘$2.5 million’.

  ‘That’s the value of the automobiles destroyed at the motor show fire in Chicago after a cigarette was dropped near a petrol tank.’

  They all laughed.

  ‘An American on the ship coming back from New York showed me the figures. What I liked was his method—the writing down of the numbers and so forth.’

  ‘Most people don’t put out their cigarettes properly,’ Aghnides said.

  ‘To do it elegantly is a real skill,’ she told them, even though nearly all of them were experienced smokers. ‘The same American on the ship showed me how to do it. Like so …’ She showed them her way of stubbing and twisting the cigarette butt.

  ‘Talking of America—I have only recently heard the story of the flag, Edith. You must tell us the whole story.’ Lester had an amused look.

  ‘Some other time,’ she said, blushing. ‘Some other time.’

  The conversation returned to war strategy and the discussion of military tactics.

  When she returned to the apartment that night, she looked up the fidelity oath.

  ‘I solemnly undertake in all loyalty, discretion and conscience the functions that have been entrusted to me as (rank of official) of the League of Nations to discharge my functions and to regulate my conduct with the interests of the League alone in view and not to seek or receive instructions from any Government or other authority external to the Secretariat of the League of Nations.’

  ‘I solemnly undertake …’

  She did that.

  ‘… in all loyalty …’

  She did that.

  ‘… and discretion …’

  Was she exercising discretion now? To what extent and with what meaning was she exercising discretion?

  ‘… and conscience …’

  Perhaps she was now exercising discretion and conscience by entering into a conspiracy against Avenol. But there was no way that was the intended meaning of the oath.

  Leave that.

  ‘… the functions that have been entrusted to me as an official of the League of Nations …’

  Her functions were so self-defining and self-inventing that she wondered whether being another set of ears and eyes in the office of the Secretary-General could very well be one of her functions as a League off
icial. Or as Bartou had said, was she some sort of internal police officer for the League?

  Leave that.

  ‘… to regulate my conduct with the interests of the League alone in view …’

  Of that she was sure. She had always done that.

  ‘… not to seek or receive instructions from any Government or other authority external to the Secretariat of the League of Nations …’

  She was not seeking or receiving instructions from any authority external to the League.

  She recalled how that clause had caused a kerfuffle in the United States and Italy. In the US it was said by the opponents of the League that the fidelity oath required a renunciation of loyalty to one’s own country—the Hearst newspapers had called it the Traitor’s Oath, the work of a super-government which sought to rule the US and all other nations and which made a mockery of patriotism.

  The US State Department had ruled that it was not an oath of allegiance and therefore did not conflict with the American oath of allegiance. The Americans who worked in the Secretariat had been permitted to stay on.

  Those from whom she was taking a lead, and perhaps instructions, were not in any way external to the League.

  In her heart, then, she felt that she was not being disloyal to the Covenant.

  Still, still, still—there were questions of propriety.

  It then occurred to her that if she were to play the part of being dumped by the English camp and thrown into the French camp, as it were, then Ambrose would have to somehow be seen to be against her.

  She heard the key in the door. Ambrose came in. Bowler hat, umbrella, Burberry raincoat.

  Each day he went to work dressed as an English public servant, to work below his talents, in the darkest, smallest office in Geneva.

  He came over and kissed her.

  He went to the drinks table.

  ‘Drink?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  He flopped down. ‘Wretched day. I see more gun emplacements and sandbagging. The Swiss must be convinced the Germans are coming.’

  ‘Darling, I think it’s time for you to leave.’

  ‘Leave—flee the enemy? Think not.’

  ‘Leave the apartment.’

  ‘Why so?’

  He brought over the drinks.

  He was unflappable, of course.

  She knew, however, how to flap him if she wanted to flap him. He did look at her quizzically.

  He had his hello-what’s-going-on look.

  ‘Not seriously. It’s part of a small conspiracy. I told you I was having a strange meeting today—l’échange des vues. It was, of course, much more than that. They’d been talking among themselves before I arrived. The upshot is that I’m to go to Avenol’s office. As a watchdog.’

  That was a better word for it. Less damning.

  ‘Watchdog?’

  ‘Watchdog.’

  ‘Who wants to put you there as a watchdog?’

  ‘Lester, Aghnides, Bartou.’

  Ambrose stared at her, taking it in.

  He whistled. ‘I see.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s a coup.’

  ‘Not quite. Not yet.’

  ‘Tread carefully. Avenol is not stupid.’

  ‘He’s lazy. And blind to the things happening around him.’

  ‘He could bite back.’

  ‘I’m not doing this without misgivings. I’m frightened.’

  ‘It’s a time to be frightened. You are to insinuate yourself into his office?’

  ‘Something like that. And as part of it, you’re to go to stay at an hotel. Or with Bernard. For the time. To create an impression of rift.’

  ‘Rift?’

  ‘Rift between me and the British camp. In Avenol’s eyes.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Do you think I should go along with this?’

  Ambrose sipped his drink and thought. ‘In these times—yes. But you’ll be at serious risk. If he finds out what you’re doing you’re finished for good. Gone. Everything you have devoted yourself to, worked for—gone.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘When am I to move out?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet.’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘I am not sure of that either. A month or so. All will be known by then. In the meantime you’re part of the plot and you’re to seem to be furious with me for my pro-Avenol stand.’

  ‘How curious.’

  ‘ “I do desire we may be better strangers”.’

  He smiled, ‘How well put—an elegant quotation for a nasty situation. I don’t recognise the quotation. Shakespeare?’

  ‘As You Like It.’

  ‘Very good, Edith.’

  ‘Thank you, dear.’

  ‘Don’t fancy moving.’

  ‘You’ll be a free man again.’

  ‘Maybe free is not the way I wish to be.’

  ‘You don’t have to go. If you wish not to go. I am not yet truly committed to the plot.’

  ‘These are times of manoeuvres and stratagems. I think we have to act. It’s good to see someone doing so.’

  ‘Yes. It’s time to act.’

  Jeanne’s Response

  In the new Palais dining room, now virtually empty of the ever smaller lunch crowd—although she’d noted that the lunch crowd, what was left of it, was staying longer and drinking more—she sat with Jeanne, hiding her new conspiratorial role under a pile of endless chatter.

  Jeanne broke into the chatter. ‘What is going on, Edith?’

  Edith stopped her babbling and looked up from her fiddling with a cigarette case.

  Jeanne looked at her searchingly. ‘You haven’t been dismissed by Bartou—I simply don’t believe it.’

  She smiled tiredly. ‘I can’t say just yet. Something is going on. I have to keep it to myself for now.’

  After much discussion with Ambrose, her decision had been to tell Jeanne but not just yet. Salus populi suprema lex—security before principle.

  ‘Edith, the world is falling apart—this is no time to hold things back from me. From a friend.’

  ‘I have to. For reasons which I cannot explain. Sorry, Jeanne.’

  After a silence, they both stood up to leave.

  Jeanne was far from happy.

  Fortunately as they walked back to their offices they were joined by a couple of other lunch stragglers which precluded any more irritable interrogation by Jeanne.

  Edith sat there in her office. Around her were the boxes into which she was packing her personal things, her dictionaries, and some private files ready to move to Avenol’s office suite.

  She knew she was now involved in multiple betrayal—the trust of her position as an officer of the League and probably the betrayal of her friendship with Jeanne and betrayal of some of the others in the wider circle.

  Many were asking her searching questions about what had happened between her and Bartou. Some were hurt that she was throwing in her lot with Avenol.

  She was being, at the least, misleading, but more brutally, she was now lying to a number of people.

  And when it came down to it, she worried about why she was not trusting Jeanne.

  In a crumbling, threatening world she found that she increasingly asked not only ‘Who is my enemy? Who is my friend?’ but more, who of one’s friends could be relied upon in a crisis? Why could she not rely on Jeanne? Why was she placing her allegiance to the conspiracy on a higher order than her friendship with Jeanne? Hadn’t she herself been the victim of all this sort of thing with Ambrose and his spying in the old days? She’d been excluded from his secret life by him—presumably by something he saw back then as being of a higher order than their friendship. She, in turn, had squashed her friendship with him in the interests of her higher order—the League.

  She had never been able to resolve this eruption in their friendship. Or was there no strict ethical rule about all this? Lovers above friends? Friends above loyalty to a set of beliefs or to a cause
? Group allegiances above patriotism? Country above cause?

  Was the highest allegiance to those around one who shared an abiding belief? To be like a communist? Noel Field had said to her one drunken night—talking, she thought, about himself, but generalising it all about some of the Reds they knew in his circle, ‘To say the truth and not to say the truth, to be helpful and unhelpful, to keep a promise and break a promise, to go into danger and to avoid danger, to be known and to be unknown. He who fights for communism has, of all the virtues, only one: that he fights for communism.’

  Could she substitute the League for communism as her higher allegiance?

  And then, one rarely knew the reliability of friendship. Did one’s friend hold you in the same esteem that you held them?

  Or did the friend also have hidden allegiances which would out-rank the friendship in a crisis? Religion, for example?

  She liked Ambrose’s formula about having Rotten Friends. But would the Rotten Friend formula permit one to continue a friendship with someone who became a Nazi?

  Maybe in life there were only slippery rules and tricky judgements. Or decisions with equally unpalatable possible outcomes.

  Should one be guided by what one would prefer at the end of the day when all outcomes had eventuated, even if you were there in the ruins of life?

  To have lost a dear friend and to have lost the League? Or to have kept a friend and lost the League?

  Jeanne was no pal of Avenol but having been told of the conspiracy, Jeanne would then have to make her own odious moral judgements about the League, about her Secretariat oath, and maybe about her loyalty to France, to a French colleague, despite all their high talk of being above nationality.

  That last was the uncertain part.

  What would she, Edith, do if the Secretary-General who was behaving dangerously were Australian? Certainly not support him—but would she conspire against him? Outside their own country, isolated in a foreign country, would she feel some protectiveness towards him?

  She supposed she would.

  Jeanne was not always rational in her judgement of people or in her placing of trust. She used too many superstitions and intuitions—the colour of a person’s eyes, their astrological sign and so on. In fact, Edith sometimes wondered how it was they had remained friends.