‘She was quite well?’
‘Yes, of course.’ And there would be at last two people listening to this conversation at the telephone exchange, and possibly others, even journalists who had bribed the exchange operator to get a scoop on what the Countess of Shillings might think of any statement yet to be made by His Majesty about Mrs Simpson.
‘She’s probably stopped to feed the ducks,’ said Lily lightly. ‘James, do come here instead. Have you had breakfast? Leave a message for Sophie that you will lunch with us.’
‘I would love to,’ he said equally lightly. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
Sophie was missing. Lily sat, thinking. There were, of course, the proverbial buses that one could fall under, but she could not imagine that fate for Sophie. Nor were there many buses to be found in Mayfair at half-past six in the morning. And if there had been an accident, Green would have seen it, following perhaps only two minutes later. Instead she had assumed that with no cars to be seen, no cry for help in the fog, that Sophie had reached Emily’s safely.
There was only one conclusion. Van Ribbentrop was worried. And Nazis did not hesitate to remove anyone who was in their way.
She realised she had not moved for minutes; also she was cold. She rang for Hereward. ‘Hereward, would you mind having the fire lit in here? And Mr Lorrimer will be joining us for breakfast today.’ She suspected that James, like herself, had eaten nothing yet today. ‘And could you ask Dr Greenman to join us in the breakfast room? We will serve ourselves.’
‘Certainly, Miss Lily.’
But Daniel was already at the door. ‘I heard the telephone.’
‘Sophie has not arrived at Emily’s. Nor has James heard from her.’
‘But she was just going around the corner . . .’
Lily nodded. She saw in Daniel’s face what a life without Sophie might mean. If Sophie was . . .
No, she would not think that. Impossible that Sophie might be dead. She would know if Sophie were dead. Sophie, who was and had been everything to her, and to Nigel too, daughter, wife, lover, friend, confidante. None of those words fitted, and yet Sophie did, nestling totally within her heart.
She discovered she was sitting on the brocade sofa, Daniel’s hand in hers, not just for comfort but because, somehow, they were already family, the strangest family relationship in the world, perhaps, and yet here, now, they belonged with each other . . .
‘Mr Lorrimer is in the breakfast room, Miss Lily.’ Lily crossed the hall, Daniel behind her.
‘James, thank goodness. Have you any idea what has happened?’
‘None. His Majesty arrived at Emily’s, waited, drank a whisky, then left, and not in a good temper. I think “just when I needed her most” was one of his more temperate phrases. Lily, my dear, please, don’t look like that.’
‘I don’t think I could bear living if anything were to happen to Sophie. I . . . I know the life I have had with her in the last eleven years must change. But just knowing Sophie Higgs is in the world, happy . . .’
James took her hand. ‘Lily, stop it. Here, drink some coffee. Half of Scotland Yard is looking for her already. She has not been taken to hospital, nor have any bodies been found that might be hers. I admit my fear was the same as yours. But think about it. If the fascists . . . kill . . . Sophie, a person the king now likes and trusts, might even feel he is falling in love with, he might begin to believe what his intelligence advisors have been telling him. No matter what he says publicly about Mrs Simpson now, he will drop her like a hot potato if she is implicated in Sophie’s death.’
‘Do you really think so?’ Lily allowed herself to sit, to sip the coffee, to try to think. Logic was difficult when it was clouded with love.
‘He genuinely cares for Sophie,’ said James firmly, sitting next to Daniel at the table, ‘but if she just vanishes for a few weeks he will soon feel betrayed. There is no evidence Sophie has been kidnapped. If we tell him she has vanished, he will be worried.’ He waited while Hereward entered with fresh toast then left. ‘It would also be quite possible,’ he added, ‘for the Nazis to fabricate an account that she has been seen in Monte Carlo with a new lover.’
‘So you don’t tell him?’ said Daniel quietly, though Lily saw his hands tremble.
‘If it is at all possible. One can’t lie to one’s king.’
But I can, thought Lily. For I am not His Majesty’s humble servant. ‘What if David makes a public declaration agreeing with his previous, private statements that he plans to wed Wallis Simpson?’
‘Without Sophie to support him he is almost certainly going to do that. He has little choice — the American papers have been full of it for weeks, and everyone who knows him expects it. The only fly in the ointment has been the Countess of Shillings. Is she an old love or a new love? Will she oust Simpson or won’t she? But without the Countess of Shillings at his side Sophie becomes irrelevant. The king and the American bigamist divorcée is a far bigger story than a romance with a widowed countess. David and Wallis are an impossible romance served to readers on a platter. He must make a choice now: to affirm that he intends to wed Mrs Simpson, or to say that he will not. And without Sophie, refusing to marry Simpson will appear to everyone — the king included — as if he has let parliament and the establishment win. He will not do that — nor will Simpson let him.’
‘Then all this has been for nothing,’ said Daniel flatly. ‘Our lives ripped up, Sophie vanished and possibly in real danger . . .’
Lily glanced at him. How much to tell him? But there was nothing she could tell him. Or rather, days, weeks, years of things to tell him, but nothing that would make a mite of difference now.
‘It isn’t as if David can up and marry Wallis Simpson immediately.’ James was still speaking of his primary concern: king and country. ‘Her divorce won’t be finalised for months. Best to have Hereward say Sophie is not well, nothing serious and, yes, of course she will call him as soon as she can. None of which is a lie.’ James bit his lip. ‘Wherever Sophie is, she will not be well.’
‘She could be anywhere!’ protested Daniel.
‘Not entirely. The ports have been watched and the airports — not for her particularly. But coincidentally, for those who might be taking the contents of the red boxes out of the country.’
‘That just leaves England, Scotland and Wales.’
‘I doubt they’d take her far, or anywhere too isolated. Strangers in isolated areas tend to be noticed by those who live there. Nor would she be kept in London, or any city where if she does escape or even manages to call out she might be heard. Somewhere within a couple of hours’ drive of London, less perhaps, as they would know that the search would begin as soon as we found her missing.’
‘What do you think they are doing to her?’ Daniel’s voice was tight but carefully expressionless.
James looked at him with sympathy but only the attention he could spare from his main focus. ‘Not torture, if that is what you’re thinking. Why should they? She has nothing to tell them except what they already know — that she was enticing the king from Mrs Simpson. I doubt that it matters to them if the plan was hers, or if people like us arranged it. They will assume the latter, in any case, given Sophie’s long association with Lily and friendship with me. What else can she tell them? She has been running a canning business, not designing battleships.’
Daniel’s grip relaxed slightly. Lily forced hers to as well. James told the truth — but not the whole truth. Because if, when, Sophie was released, there had to be a plausible reason for her absence, an assurance that there would never be any public connection between her and any member of the Nazi Party, or even anonymous abductors who might be Nazis. There were many ways her captors might ensure that, and all involved injury of some kind: physical or mental, perhaps blackmail, or a threat to her family. The worst might be yet to come.
‘So we wait?’ asked Daniel. He gestured at the toast, the jams, the bacon, kedgeree, scrambled eggs, the porridge and untouched ham on
the sideboard. ‘We have breakfast as if nothing has happened.’
‘Yes. We act exactly as if nothing has happened. Others will watch anyone connected with the German Embassy. The various authorities will put all available resources into searching for her — or rather for a Mrs Emmeline Trueheart, who has been kidnapped for considerable ransom. And, yes, we wait,’ said James Lorrimer heavily.
Chapter 32
When I chose a life of espionage, influence, whatever phrase you might like to call it, I knew it would involve hardships. But even by then, I knew that facing danger for a cause you believe in is far, far easier than doing nothing.
Miss Lily, 1936
‘All we can do is wait,’ said James again, eight hours later, as he returned to Vaile House to find a distracted Daniel pacing the library floor. He refused tea, coffee or food, but accepted a whisky. Lily had been to the park with Miss Letitia and the children, who’d been told that their mother wasn’t well. Lily now sat, still as a Dresden statuette, on the sofa.
‘But we have to do something!’
‘I told you, we are doing all we can, which is a considerable amount.’
‘But you still haven’t found her!’
‘Daniel, she has been missing for possibly nine hours —’
‘I should never have let her come to England.’
Lily met his eyes.
Daniel stopped pacing. ‘You’re right,’ he said, answering her unspoken words. ‘If I had forbidden it, Sophie would most definitely have come.’
Lily managed a smile. ‘If you had been the kind of man to forbid it, Sophie would not love you as deeply as she does, and certainly would not have agreed to marry you.’
‘We can’t just sit here.’ Daniel paced again. ‘Have you questioned the prinzessin?’
‘No.’
‘Why not? She is the obvious person to be able to find out.’
‘Because Sophie has only been gone nine hours. If the prinzessin begins asking questions now, they will know she is working for James . . . unless she is not working for James, in which case asking her will do no good whatsoever.’
‘Ask her not to begin questioning till tomorrow.’
‘Daniel, sit down,’ said Lily gently.
‘Are you afraid I’ll wear a hole in your rug?’
‘No, I am afraid you will wear a hole in your heart,’ said Lily. ‘We will ask Hannelore tomorrow. She can then quite reasonably say she was to have luncheon or some other meeting with Sophie today, but that Sophie didn’t appear and has been missing all night, and that she is worried.’ She looked at her small jewelled wristwatch. ‘It’s time for the children’s tea. Go and eat with them.’ With luck he might even eat some brown bread and butter. And the children — their children — needed normality. It would be good for Daniel to force himself to at least pretend it, for their sakes.
Daniel bit his lip. ‘Very well. I don’t want Rose and Danny worried too. But the rest of the household — they must know Sophie is missing. What if one of them mentions it to the press?’
‘They won’t,’ said Lily.
‘How can you be so sure?’
Lily found she was smiling, a true smile, not one manufactured for reassurance. ‘Every servant in this house is from the Shillings estate, from families that have been there for more generations than any of us wish to count. Loyalty is in their bones.’
‘Loyalty to you? To the Earl or Countess of Shillings?’
‘Loyalty to the community of Shillings and, yes, that includes the Countess of Shillings. Shillings is still isolated from the world, despite the wireless, and the war. My father would have lost that loyalty perhaps, had he lived longer. But it is still there. No one from this house will speak to the press.’
‘Not even Miss Letitia? She came from Oxford.’
‘Miss Letitia is Green’s youngest sister’s niece by marriage. The estate paid for her university degree. Miss Letitia merely worked in Oxford, but had no hesitation in leaving a minor academic post at a women’s college to become governess to the Earl of Shillings and his sister.’
‘I didn’t think worlds like that still existed, except perhaps in the Amazonian jungle.’ Daniel attempted a return smile.
‘Life at Shillings offers advantages possibly not found in the Amazon, though possibly those who live in the Amazon might not agree. Go and see the children, Daniel.’
Lily waited till he had left the room then turned to James. ‘What is the king doing?’
‘He’s with Simpson again,’ said James wearily. ‘According to Winston she’s had the sense not to ask him about Sophie, or accuse him in any way. They are both totally focused on today’s newspapers. But David has once again told Baldwin he is going to marry Simpson.’ He cast Lily a sharp look. ‘There is a new development though. Simpson says she can’t take the abuse any longer. She’s going to France to Herman and Katherine Rogers’s place.’
Lily looked startled. ‘Herman Rogers is one of her lovers!’
James shrugged. ‘Either his wife doesn’t know, or doesn’t care. David, of course, wouldn’t believe it even if he walked in on them. But Lord Brownlow, the king’s lord in waiting, is going with her. He’s going to try to get Simpson to renounce him — or at least publicly renounce any plan to marry him.’
‘Could he succeed?’
James crossed to the window, as if he might see Sophie — or even the goddess of wisdom holding a flaming sword and a solution to everything in the yellow fog. ‘He might. Simpson has realised she can’t be queen, and the last thing she wants — or von Ribbentrop or Hitler want — is for David to abdicate. Once he has abdicated they lose their most vital link with government workings. But for all his talk, David has no intention of abdicating either. Give up his power and position? At some subconscious level, at least, he knows he would be little without it.’
He turned to Lily. ‘That would be the worst scenario of all. The king giving up all thought of abdication, but keeping Simpson as his mistress, confidante, advisor and dictator.’
No, thought Lily. The worst scenario of all was that Sophie could be perpetually imprisoned as a hostage to stop James interfering with von Ribbentrop’s plans. James would always — always — put his country first.
‘Please, dear God,’ she prayed, ‘let Sophie be safe.’
Chapter 33
The human brain must always focus on the danger at hand, the sabre-toothed tiger behind us, the panther on a branch above. But if you can, please remember that there is beauty in the world, even in the hardest times, the smile of a child, the endless magnitude of stars.
Miss Lily, 1915
SOMEWHERE IN ENGLAND
She woke to darkness and a headache that split her skull, so that it was several moments before she realised that her eyes were indeed open, and that there was indeed no light.
She felt around her: pillows under her head, a narrow bed, with sheets and a single blanket. She fumbled for the light switch on the bedside table, and found neither lamp on the table nor even a candle. She investigated the other side of the bed and found only a blank wall that felt dusty and faintly damp against her fingers.
No bell to pull for the servants. ‘Hello!’ she called, and waited. The sound seemed to echo, but perhaps that was just her headache. ‘Hello! Would someone attend me, please!’
Yes, that was an echo, but no other sound, except a vague scrabbling in what was perhaps the other end of the room. Rats, she thought, but at least the sound seemed far away — and the rats were probably more scared of her voice than she was of them. She had however seen too many injured men with limbs nibbled by rats to feel entirely comfortable sharing a small space with them.
She called ‘Hello!’ a third time, waited for footsteps, the sound of a door opening, anything at all to show others were near. After ten minutes perhaps — impossible to see her watch — she tried calling ‘Help!’ instead. A shout at first and then, at last, a scream.
Silence, even from the rats.
She lay back, feeling the headache seep away. She realised she was desperately thirsty, but not hungry, though her shaking hands might be either hunger or the effects of whatever drug Dolphie had given her.
Dolphie.
She lay back, hoping to settle the remnants of her headache.
Item one: she had been kidnapped. One did not drug a woman to invite her to tea.
Item two: she had been kidnapped by Nazis to protect the interests of Wallis Simpson.
Item three: she must have been successfully leading David back to some degree of political sanity for Dolphie and whoever he was working with to risk kidnapping her.
Item four: Hannelore. She could not bear to think that Hannelore had done this — had invited her to her home simply to . . .
No. Remove item four. The apartment she had gone to was Hannelore’s. The note had been in Hannelore’s hand. But she had not seen Hannelore, nor . . . She tried to think. No, there had been no date at the top, not even an address. The note need not have been written today.
Hannelore might be complicit in this, the scheme carefully arranged so that she might still be seen as innocent, away at the seaside perhaps. She might be only partially complicit, leaving because she had been asked to leave, writing a note but leaving it undated and not specific and asking nothing more about it. But if that were the case, and if she were acting as an agent for James, surely she would have told him?
Item four then was that Hannelore might or might not be a willing part of the trap. Which was no use at all except that if Hannelore was part of this, then probably — possibly — Sophie would eventually be safe. For whatever, whoever Hannelore was, she was her friend.
Item five: how had Dolphie managed to get her past the doorman? No, item five could wait.
Item six: where was she? And how could she escape?
She sat up cautiously and found she was still wearing her shoes, and — thank goodness — her undergarments seemed not to have been disarrayed. Shoes meant she could walk or even run in reasonable safety. She placed them on the floor and found it was flagged, the paving cemented together. She would need to be careful not to trip.
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