Роберт Харрис - Munich

‘... and therefore with considerable regret I fear I cannot, in good conscience, support the Prime Minister on this particular matter. I would feel great difficulty in sending the telegram as drafted by Sir Horace. To tell the Czechs to hand over their territory at once, under the threat of force, would amount in my opinion to complete capitulation.’

He paused to take a sip of water. There was a perceptible tightening in the atmosphere around the table. The Holy Fox had broken cover! A couple of Ministers actually leaned in to make sure they were hearing correctly.

‘I quite understand,’ Halifax went on, ‘that if we don’t send Sir Horace’s telegram, the consequences may be grievous for many millions of people, including our own. It may make war certain. But we simply cannot urge the Czechs to do what we believe to be wrong. Nor do I think the House of Commons will accept it. Finally — and this to me is the crux of the matter — we cannot offer the Czechs any firm guarantee that the German Army will content themselves with stopping at the borders of the Sudetenland and will not go on to occupy the entire country.’

All eyes turned to Chamberlain. In profile, the bushy grey eyebrows and moustache seemed to bristle; the hawk’s-beak nose tilted up in defiance. He did not like to be contradicted. Legat wondered if he might lose his temper. It was not something he had witnessed. On the rare occasions it did occur, it was said to be spectacular. Instead the Prime Minister said coldly, ‘The Foreign Secretary has just given us powerful and perhaps even convincing arguments against my proposal, although it does seem to me to be the last real chance we have.’ He looked around at the faces of his ministers. ‘But if that is the general view of colleagues...’ He left an expectant pause, like an auctioneer hoping for a final bid. Nobody spoke. ‘If that is the general view,’ he repeated, and now his voice was harsh in defeat, ‘I am prepared to leave it at that.’ He looked at Horace Wilson. ‘The telegram will not be sent.’

A collective shifting in seats and adjustment of papers ensued — the sound of peaceable men girding themselves reluctantly for war. The Prime Minister’s voice cut through the murmur. He was not done yet.

‘Before we proceed further, I should inform the Cabinet that I have just received a reply from Herr Hitler. I believe it might be useful if I were to read it to you now.’

Several of his more sycophantic ministers — Maugham, the Lord Chancellor; ‘Shakes’ Morrison of Agriculture — said, ‘Yes,’ and, ‘Absolutely.’

The Prime Minister picked up the telegram. ‘“ Dear Mr Chamberlain, I have in the course of conversations once more informed Sir Horace Wilson, who brought me your letter of the twenty-sixth of September, of my final attitude... ”’

It was disconcerting to hear Hitler’s demands coming out of Chamberlain’s mouth. It made them sound quite reasonable. After all, why should the Czech Government object to the immediate occupation of territory which they had already conceded in principle should be transferred to Germany? ‘“ This represents no more than a security measure which is intended to guarantee a quick and smooth achievement of the final settlement. ”’ When they complained about the loss of their border fortifications, surely the world could see they were only stalling for time? ‘“ If one were to wait for the entry into force of the final settlement in which Czechoslovakia had completed new fortifications in the territory that remained to her, it would doubtless take months and years. ”’ And so it went on. It was almost as if Hitler had been given a seat at the Cabinet table to make his case. At the end, the Prime Minister took off his spectacles. ‘Well, that is obviously very carefully drafted and will require more time to analyse, but it doesn’t leave me entirely without hope.’

Duff Cooper, the First Lord of the Admiralty, piped up at once. ‘On the contrary, Prime Minister, he hasn’t conceded a single point!’ He was a raffish figure who always exuded, even in mid-morning, a vague late-night whiff of whisky and cigars and the perfume of other men’s wives. His face was flushed. Legat couldn’t tell whether it was anger or if he had been drinking.

‘That may be true,’ said Halifax, ‘but it’s noticeable he hasn’t entirely slammed the door, either. He does conclude by inviting the Prime Minister to continue his efforts for peace.’

‘Yes, but only in the most lukewarm manner: “ I leave it to you to decide if it’s worth carrying on. ” He obviously doesn’t mean it for a moment. He’s just trying to shift the blame for his aggression on to the Czechs.’

‘Well, that is not without significance in itself. It suggests that even Hitler feels he can’t entirely ignore world opinion. It may give you something to work on, Prime Minister.’

Now see how the Holy Fox doubles his tracks, thought Legat — one minute for war and the next for peace...

Chamberlain said, ‘Thank you, Foreign Secretary.’ His tone was chilly; clearly he had not forgiven him. ‘You all know my convictions. I intend to go on working for peace until the last possible moment.’ He glanced over his shoulder at the clock. ‘Time is drawing on. I need to prepare my statement to Parliament tomorrow. Obviously I shall have to go further than I did in my broadcast this evening. The House will need to be informed of our warning to Hitler this morning. I suggest we agree collectively on the form of words I should use.’ He caught Legat’s eye and beckoned him over. In a quiet voice he said, ‘Would you be so good as to find me a copy of Hitler’s speech from last night? Bring it to me after Cabinet.’

The only version of Hitler’s speech that Legat could lay his hands on was the one published in that morning’s Times . He sat at his desk with his own copy and smoothed the pages flat with his palms. Already it seemed an age since he was sitting reading it in the Ritz, waiting for Pamela to arrive. He suddenly remembered he had promised to call her in the country. He eyed the telephone. It was probably too late now. The children would both be in bed, and doubtless Pamela would have drunk one cocktail too many and had a row with her parents. The awfulness of the day overwhelmed him: the abandoned lunch, the workmen in Green Park, the barrage balloons rising over the Thames, the gas masks for his children, the car pulling away from the kerb in North Street... And tomorrow would be worse. Tomorrow the Germans would mobilise and he would be questioned by the Secret Intelligence Service. He would not be able to deflect them as easily as he had Cadogan. They would have his file.

He heard voices. It sounded as though the Cabinet meeting was over. He stood and crossed to the door. The Ministers were emerging into the corridor. Normally after Cabinet there was some laughter, a little back-slapping, even an occasional argument. There was none of that tonight. Apart from a couple of hushed conversations, most of the politicians put their heads down and hurried out of Number 10 alone. He watched the tall solitary figure of Halifax put on his bowler hat and collect his umbrella from the stand. Through the open door came the now-familiar cold white flickering and shouted questions.

Legat waited until he judged the Prime Minister must be alone, then entered the Cabinet Room. It was deserted. The litter and the overwhelming smell of stale tobacco smoke reminded him of a railway station waiting room. To his right, the door to Cleverly’s office was half-open. He could hear the Secretary to the Cabinet and the Principal Private Secretary conferring. To his left, the door to Horace Wilson’s room was closed. He knocked and heard Wilson call out for him to come in.