Michael Ridpath - Shadows of War

‘Who is that?’

‘Veronica.’

‘Veronica! As in “Mrs de Lancey” Veronica?’

‘I think they are the same age — Polly is a lot younger than her husband. They came out together.’

‘Came out?’

‘Met the king. When they were eighteen. They were debutantes.’ Conrad saw Anneliese’s expression and laughed. ‘Don’t look so disapproving.’

‘Why not? Your ex-wife sounds like an awful woman. You told me all about her. You have such dreadful taste in women, Conrad.’

‘Veronica’s not so bad,’ said Conrad. ‘At least not now we are divorced. Are you jealous?’

‘Don’t be absurd,’ said Anneliese. But she looked guilty.

Conrad realized that she was jealous. ‘How are you feeling these days?’ he asked. ‘You seem, I don’t know, better.’

‘I feel a bit better. My New York plan fell through; usual story, we couldn’t get the right papers. My father still hasn’t got a job. But I am doing something useful at the hospital. And maybe time does heal after all. I never heard back from Wilfrid Israel or Captain Foley about working for the British government, but doing this for you has definitely helped.’

‘I think it’s important,’ said Conrad.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Conrad didn’t want Anneliese to go, and he sensed she didn’t want to leave. ‘By the way, I don’t have dreadful choice in women,’ he said. ‘I chose you.’

‘My point precisely. That was a waste of time.’

‘Don’t be silly, Anneliese. The weeks I spent with you in Berlin were the best in my life.’

A warm smile crept across Anneliese’s lips and she lowered her eyes.

The café was small and the tables were crammed together. Anneliese and Conrad were squeezed close to each other so that their knees were almost touching.

Conrad leaned over and kissed her.

For a moment she stiffened and he thought she was going to push him away, but then she relaxed.

‘Conrad, I’m shocked,’ she said as they broke apart. ‘An English gentleman like you in a public place like this!’

‘This is wartime,’ Conrad said. ‘People do this kind of thing all the time.’

‘You’re telling me. When I go to the hospital in the middle of the night the streets are teeming with prostitutes. It’s worse than Berlin before the Nazis! You English have become sex-obsessed.’

‘Sorry,’ said Conrad with mock sincerity. He took out a scrap of paper and scribbled something on it. ‘I’m having dinner with my father this evening, but I’m not staying at Kensington Square tonight. Mama is in Somerset and I can’t face Father alone all weekend. This is my hotel. It’s in Bloomsbury.’

Anneliese took the piece of paper.

‘Are you going to the hospital now?’ Conrad asked.

Anneliese nodded.

‘What time do you finish?’

‘It’s not too bad tonight. I’ll probably get away about two.’

‘Come and see me then. We can discuss politics. Art. Music. Like we used to.’

‘I remember what we used to do.’

Conrad shrugged and smiled.

‘At your hotel?’

‘Yes.’

‘At two in the morning! They won’t let me in.’

‘Of course they will. A respectable nurse like you.’

Anneliese glanced at the piece of paper and then at Conrad. ‘You have spent far too long up in Scotland with no female company.’

‘That’s definitely true.’

Anneliese folded the paper and put it in her bag. ‘No, I won’t come and see you in your hotel, Conrad. But I will write and tell you how I get on with Constance, and we can talk again next time you get leave. Now I must go to work.’

Conrad watched her go. Oh, well. It had been worth a try.

Pall Mall, London

It was several months since Conrad had last seen his father, and Lord Oakford was looking well, certainly much better than he had in the immediate aftermath of Millie’s death. Since Conrad wasn’t staying at Kensington Square, they were dining at his father’s club. In the bar they had discussed the shambles of Conrad’s unit’s manoeuvres around Britain and the North Sea during the Norwegian campaign. Oakford seemed despondent about Norway and the conduct of the war in general.

Conrad was surprised how well they were getting on; perhaps he should have stayed at Kensington Square after all.

They went through to a corner of the crowded dining room, and as their soup came, Conrad broached the subject of Lord Copthorne.

‘Yes, it was a tragedy,’ said Oakford. ‘Hundreds of people have died on the roads in the blackout. Things should get better with these longer days, thank God.’

‘Did you know him well?’

‘Not very well, no,’ said Oakford. ‘Only through Henry Alston — they were good friends. Nice enough chap, but his political views were a bit simplistic, I thought. I went to his funeral. Very sad.’

‘Do you know his wife, Polly?’

‘No. Met her for the first time at the funeral. She’s quite a bit younger than him. Far too young to be a widow; but with the war there will be many more like her. Why do you ask?’

‘I understand that she thinks Alston might have run him down.’

Oakford spluttered into his soup. ‘Now that is absolutely ridiculous! Who told you that?’

‘Apparently her husband and Alston had some kind of disagreement.’

‘That doesn’t mean Henry ran him down.’ Oakford laughed; the idea seemed genuinely absurd to him. ‘As I said, poor Freddie’s political views were a bit simplistic for my taste, and probably for Henry’s as well. He had that ignorant anti-Semitism that so irritates me. I don’t have to tell you about that. If they did have a bust-up it might have been over Freddie’s extremism.’

‘Veronica and I are seeing Polly Copthorne tomorrow,’ Conrad said. ‘Veronica is an old friend of hers.’ Conrad had just telephoned Veronica, and although he hadn’t told her why he wanted to see Polly, she had agreed to introduce him. She had sounded enthusiastic, in fact.

‘To ask her if Alston killed Freddie?’ Oakford said.

‘To ask her why she thinks he might have done.’

‘Waste of time,’ said Oakford. ‘Complete waste of time. And I didn’t realize you still saw Veronica.’

‘I don’t,’ said Conrad simply.

Conrad was pretty sure that his father didn’t know anything useful about Lord Copthorne’s death, and so he let it drop. ‘Can you imagine Henry Alston as Prime Minister one day?’

Oakford thought. ‘Yes, perhaps one day. Maybe after the war. As you know I have a high regard for him: he’s brilliant.’

‘But not sooner?’

‘He has only been an MP for five years. If Chamberlain falls, which is becoming more of a possibility every day now Norway is such a disaster, then I wouldn’t be surprised if Alston found himself in the Cabinet.’

‘And you?’ asked Conrad. It hadn’t occurred to him before that his father might return to government.

‘I would serve if asked,’ said Oakford. ‘It would depend who was PM. It would be a good opportunity to make my views about peace known.’

‘Does Henry Alston know the Duke of Windsor?’ Conrad asked.

‘Hold on a moment, Conrad,’ said Oakford, frowning. ‘Are you trying to create some conspiracy here? I thought Van warned you off all that.’

‘He did, it’s true,’ Conrad admitted.

‘Then why do you ask me these things?’

‘I wonder if in some way they are connected to Millie’s death.’

‘That’s outrageous!’ said Lord Oakford, his eyes alight. ‘Don’t pull Millie into your paranoid fantasies. Yes, Alston and I both met the Duke of Windsor when he came to London in February. And yes, we did talk about ways of bringing this war to an end. Which is a perfectly honourable goal. And I resent your implication that it isn’t!’