Cast the First Stone: A stunning wartime story

by Angela Arney

  ‘Do you know what real work is? And have you ever wondered how those people managed before the war, when they were too sick to work?’ Liana was incensed. ‘Have you ever known what it’s like to be short of money?’

  ‘Really, Nicholas, anyone would think your wife was a Socialist herself, to hear her talk.’ Clara sniffed, outraged at the mere idea.

  Nicholas smiled politely. ‘I don’t agree with everything the Government is doing but I do agree with its attempts to raise the living standards of the population as a whole.’

  ‘Milking the upper classes to pay for layabouts, you mean,’ said Clara. ‘Taxing those of us with old money out of existence.’

  ‘Most of those with old money, as you put it,’ said Liana icily, ‘have never done a day’s work in their lives. They’d probably drop down dead if they even attempted it!’

  Clara gasped in anger but gave up the unequal argument and left Broadacres thoroughly convinced that Liana must be a rabid Communist! She told Margaret as much just before she left.

  ‘Nonsense.’ Margaret robustly defended her daughter-in-law. ‘The trouble with you, Clara, is that you are not used to people being outspoken. The fact of the matter is, you’ve had your own way for far too long.’

  Clara gasped again. It was outrageous, even the Dowager Countess of Wessex had radical ideas! But she was not convinced neither would she contemplate change. She and her friends determinedly hung on to the disintegrating shreds of their old life and envied the Hamilton-Howards as they moved successfully into the hitherto scorned fields of business and commerce.

  *

  The day after Clara Maltravers’s visit, William emerged from the solitude of his room and joined Nicholas and Margaret in the Grey Room for pre-prandial drinks.

  ‘You’ve heard about the Berlin air lift?’ William was more animated than either Nicholas or Margaret had seen him since he had been invalided out of the Air Force.

  Almost as if on cue, a plane droned overhead, the noise echoing through the open windows, an uncomfortable reminder that Europe was not as peaceful as rural Hampshire. Russia, having annexed half of Europe immediately after the war, had now, in 1948, besieged Berlin, and an air lift of food and other essential items was under way to the American, French and British-held sections of the city. The ugly cold war between East and West had progressed one worrying step further.

  ‘Of course we have,’ said Nicholas, slightly surprised at William’s sudden interest in world events. ‘The newspapers and radio talk about nothing else.’

  ‘They’re desperately short of pilots. I’m off to London tomorrow. I’m volunteering to fly a transport plane.’

  ‘Oh, William!’ Margaret could hardly believe her ears. This was the first time he had shown a willingness to do anything. ‘I’ll be so pleased to have you flying again. But,’ she hesitated, not wanting to dampen his enthusiasm, ‘have you thought how dangerous it might be? The Russians may start shooting down the planes.’

  William laughed; he seemed exhilarated by the very idea. ‘I know, but someone has to do it. I’m willing to take my chance.’

  Margaret rushed over to him and hugged him. ‘You make me very proud,’ she said.

  Liana, entering the room after settling Eleanora for the night, was just in time to witness this unusual event.

  ‘William is volunteering as a pilot for the Berlin air lift,’ explained Nicholas to the mystified Liana.

  Liana was surprised but admired his courage. ‘It will be dangerous. It’s a brave thing to do,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t wait to get up into the air again. Damn the danger. This is the chance I’ve been waiting for.’

  William left Broadacres by the milk train from Winchester the next morning. Margaret and Nicholas were pleased, and Margaret prayed that it meant William was coming out of his depression. Flying would do him good.

  Broadacres was a happier place without William’s brooding melancholy, and everyone, including the estate workers, felt their mood lighten although no-one actually said anything, not in so many words: inbuilt English reserve prevented them from giving voice to such sentiments.

  All apart from Mary Pragnell who spoke her mind as usual. ‘Damn good riddance to he,’ she pronounced loudly in the privacy of her kitchen. ‘I hopes the Russians keep him.’

  ‘Master William is not so bad.’ Wally was more tolerant than his wife.

  She snorted derisively. ‘I has my own thoughts on that!’

  Liana wondered but had no idea what Nicholas and Margaret really thought about William. Their thoughts were their own private domain and she would not have dreamed of asking. Personal privacy was an English characteristic which met with her thorough approval. Still plagued with her own guilty thoughts, it was a relief never to be pestered by curious questions concerning her past. She appreciated the privacy. All the same, she was curious about William and often wondered what it was about him that put both Nicholas and his mother on the defensive, always making excuses for him no matter how difficult he was. Sometimes she caught a glance of something that passed between them but could never put a name to it. Was it apprehension? Fear? She could never be sure.

  But there was no mistaking their dismay when they heard that William had been rejected by the authorities for flying duties. The dismay was unanimous. The whole estate fell into gloom.

  ‘He’ll be very difficult when he returns,’ said Margaret unhappily.

  A superfluous statement if ever there was one, thought Liana. Everybody on the estate, from the newest herdsman to Wally Pragnell, knew it; Liana knew it; Nicholas knew it. William would be more than difficult.

  I wonder how difficult, worried Nicholas; but he did not discuss it with Liana. How could he? How could he even begin to discuss something he had not succeeded in finding the courage to face himself? Nicholas did not understand William or the dark corner of the world he inhabited and he did not want to. Whenever he thought of William, guilt slapped him in the face. The pain was almost physical. It was wrong to wish someone dead, wrong to wish that William had been killed when his plane had been shot down. But Nicholas did wish it. It was against God’s law, against his own instinct, but still he wished it. Life would have been much simpler if William had been killed.

  He was sure his mother felt the same, and sharing their guilty thoughts might have eased the burden but she rarely ventured any opinion on William, never even talked about him unless it could not be avoided. But words were unnecessary – the expression on her face told Nicholas all he needed to know, and he often wanted to weep. She blamed herself for William’s behaviour. Nicholas longed to comfort his mother, throw his arms around her and say it’s not your fault, not your failure, but he could not. The undemonstrative habits of a lifetime were too ingrained in both of them. Unused to revealing their innermost thoughts, they were helpless. Neither knew how to unlock the gate to the truth.

  William returned to Broadacres and, as expected, was moody, hostile, belligerent and more unpredictable than ever. Most worrying of all were the bills which suddenly started flooding into Liana’s office. For Liana, the final straw came when four arrived on one day.

  She took the accounts with her into dinner that evening. Hating what she was about to do – disrupt the peace of their evening meal – but determined to confront William in front of Nicholas and Margaret, she spread out the four pieces of paper on the table before her.

  ‘Four unpaid bills,’ she said, ‘for clothes, food, wine and a walking stick.’

  ‘Pay them,’ said William, a sneering challenge in his voice. ‘There’s not much point in bringing them here, into dinner. Unless, of course, you intend transferring your office to the dining room.’

  ‘Totalling nearly one thousand pounds,’ said Liana, ignoring William’s interruption. ‘The estate has already paid out one hundred and seventy pounds this month on another bill from Fortnum & Mason.’

  ‘That was when William was up in London being interviewed,’ said Margaret hastily, her g
aunt face taking on a pallid hue. Oh dear, it wasn’t wise of Liana to oppose William like this.

  ‘All right. But these four latest bills are all since he has been living at Broadacres.’ Liana turned back to William. ‘You eat and drink here. Why do you need to buy extras such as quails’ eggs and champagne?’

  ‘Because there are never any bloody quails’ eggs on the menu. Only Meg’s good old country cooking. And I happen to like quails’ eggs and champagne. Do you object?’

  ‘At these prices, yes,’ said Liana. ‘We are trying to put money aside to renovate the house. How can we do that if you fritter it all away?’

  Nicholas reached across and picked up the bills, hoping to defuse the atmosphere. ‘The champagne bill is a bit steep, old man,’ he said after a moment’s pause. ‘Try and keep the drinking down a bit.’ Liana fumed. Why didn’t he support her? Then he looked at another bill. ‘Three hundred quid for a walking stick! I say, now that is a bit much.’

  ‘It’s a very special walking stick.’

  ‘So it ought to be at that price. What is it? Solid silver?’

  ‘It has a silver knob on top, monogrammed, of course.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have got a cheaper one, dear? A wooden one?’ suggested Margaret but her voice tailed away as William turned on her.

  ‘I didn’t want a cheaper one. I wanted the one I bought.’ His eyes flashed venom, and Margaret hastily looked down at her plate, crumbling her bread roll between nervous fingers as if her life depended on it.

  Nicholas gathered up the bills and stuffed them in his pocket. ‘Of course, the estate will honour them,’ he said, ‘but next month, William, please try and keep inside your allowance.’

  ‘I’ll try. But I’m not guaranteeing anything,’ said William sullenly.

  Liana was furious. God, how I loathe him, she thought. He’s doing it on purpose. He has no intention of staying within his allowance. He doesn’t care about anything or anybody. Why can’t they see it? William was capable of wrecking all her carefully laid plans for the future of Broadacres. She looked at Nicholas and Margaret. You might be willing to put up with him, she thought, but I am not. He has to go.

  *

  Aware of Liana leaving their warm bed, Nicholas struggled to consciousness. Smiling sleepily he slid over to her side, revelling in the warmth and lingering perfume of her body. ‘A creature of habit, darling,’ he said. ‘That’s what you are.’

  She laughed soundlessly. ‘I know.’

  It was true. Liana’s early morning routine never varied. Before going down to the nursery to give Eleanora her good-morning kiss, she always walked across to the window and looked out – a still moment in the busyness of her life when she drank in the beauty of the scene, imprinting it for the rest of the day on her mind.

  Leaning on the window sill, today Liana’s eye was drawn to the misty outline of the copper beechwood on the distant skyline. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? The answer to the problem of William was staring her in the face. The new Woodland Unit. Of course, it was the perfect solution. William could be put in sole charge. No chance then of his complaining of being ordered about by others; he could make the decisions and give the orders.

  She did not allow herself to think of what might happen if he made the wrong decisions; time enough to consider that when it happened. Inarguably it was the consummate solution. The office was a converted cottage on the edge of the beech forest. With his headquarters there, it would ensure he was out of the house all day, an immediate advantage in itself. And she would make certain there was no liquor available. A secret smile curved her full lips as she weighed and counter-weighed the various hypotheses.

  Of course, there was always the possibility that William might be very good, enjoy it and work well; in which case the problem of finding a suitable manager and keeping William out of trouble would be solved. Or he might try but not be good, which would pose a fresh dilemma, one which would need to be handled very delicately. Alternatively he might hate it so much that he would leave Broadacres of his own accord. Then no-one would be to blame, for he would have made the decision himself. As far as Liana was concerned, that would indeed be the perfect solution and the one she was gambling on. William in his present frame of mind was unlikely to make a success of anything. But, of course, Nicholas and Lady Margaret need never know what was in her mind; to all intents and purposes she would be extending an olive branch and trying to help poor William.

  However, Liana knew it was essential that it should be Nicholas who approached William. If he ever suspected it was her idea, William would dismiss the whole thing without a moment’s consideration. Yes, Nicholas must persuade him. He could take him over to the office in the cottage today.

  Having made the decision, Liana immediately put all thoughts of William out of her mind. Even William, disruptive as he was, could not be allowed to mar the final moments of her morning pleasure: watching the early morning sun edging its way across dew-sparkling grass. How beautiful Broadacres was.

  Nicholas lay and watched her. Why is she still an enigma to me, he wondered. Will I ever understand what goes on behind that beautiful face? And what was the nameless spectre which always slid into his consciousness whenever he tried to analyse Liana? In spite of her extraordinary beauty the uneasiness he felt was not the fear of losing her to another man. That did not worry him at all. Other men could lust after Liana but she was not in the slightest bit interested.

  Not that she was unaware of her sensuality and the effect it had on men; quite the contrary, she knew, and exploited it. Nicholas had watched with amusement as she had used it with devastating effect on men when driving home a business deal. Enchanted and bewitched by her dark smiling eyes which could be sensual, beguiling, innocent or vulnerable, whatever she chose, and unused to dealing with a woman in the essentially male-dominated world of business, they would agree to all her demands, usually to find later in the cold light of day that they had made quite outrageous concessions the like of which they would never have contemplated in normal circumstances. But then it was generally agreed dealing with the Countess of Wessex hardly came under the heading of normal circumstances.

  ‘Your wife is like a beautiful butterfly,’ one man told Nicholas. ‘She flutters before you, so fragile and delicate. It is only later that one finds the wings you thought were merely brushing against you are made of sprung steel and she has wrapped them around so tightly that there is no escape!’

  ‘A good description,’ agreed Nicholas.

  ‘How the hell do you control a woman like that?’

  Nicholas was honest ‘I don’t, and I’d be a fool to try. I love her just the way she is. Even if I don’t always understand her.’

  ‘And you’re happy?’ The man was curious.

  ‘Yes.’

  But that was not quite the truth. Nicholas was happy, but the nameless spectre was ever-present. And clouding an otherwise perfect relationship was the painful knowledge that she never gave him her whole self. Part of her spirit was firmly anchored elsewhere; but Nicholas had no way of knowing where or why.

  Liana stopped daydreaming and ruthlessly switched her mind back to the present. Swinging round to face Nicholas she said, ‘About the new Woodland Unit.’

  Nicholas caught his breath in a silent sigh of exasperation. Liana and work! Sometimes he fancied she was like a robot, parcelling her life up into watertight compartments: time to look at the view; time to kiss Eleanora; time for business which was always the major part of her life; and today it seemed her mind was clicking into business gear even earlier than usual.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘We need to get it going. With the Government’s building programme well under way, we need to start making furniture now, in order to get our foot on the ladder first. Once we’ve established a secure home market, it will give us a base from which we can export to Europe. And I’ve had a good idea. William can run it. It will give him something to do, give him a purpose in life, occupy
his mind and give him less time to waste money.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Liana. Can’t you think of anything besides money!’

  Liana bit her lip, annoyed at herself for not gauging Nicholas’s mood more accurately. I mustn’t rush him, she thought, because he has got to persuade William for me.

  ‘But, darling. I was only thinking of William. How to make his life better.’ She slid back into bed beside him and ran her hands slowly across his flat stomach. ‘Don’t be cross with me,’ she whispered, brushing her lips against his chest.

  ‘Don’t try and seduce me. You won’t get round me like that.’

  ‘Oh, Nicholas! How can a wife seduce her own husband?’

  ‘You can, and you damn well know it.’

  Nicholas drew her into his arms. He’d think about William later. Much later.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Christ, William, you can’t live for ever on the backs of other people.’

  This was not going to be easy. William had agreed to walk with him to the Woodland Unit office and talk over the proposal. Although walk was hardly the correct word – prowl would be a better description, thought Nicholas. William made him edgy.

  ‘Why not?’ William’s voice was flat, uninterested.

  ‘You know damn well why not. It’s not fair. We all work and pull our weight. Mother does, I do, and Liana . . .’

  ‘Screw Liana.’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody crude.’

  ‘Why not? Screw, screw, screw. That’s how she gets her way, Italian whore! She’s screwed you all right, right into the ground.’ William was angry but his voice had an oddly lifeless quality. Surprised, Nicholas realized it was completely devoid of emotion. Anyone else would have shouted those words.