Ken Follett - Fall of Giants

“I’m sorry to hear that you think that way. Many do not.”

“The truth is not arrived at by majority vote.” Again she heard a note of asperity in his voice. He was used to being heard uncritically, especially by women.

Dr. Greenward’s nurse brought in tea on a tray and poured. Otto remained silent until she left. Then he said: “We may go to war in the next few weeks. If we do not fight over Serbia, there will be some other casus belli. Sooner or later, Britain and Germany must do battle for mastery of Europe.”

“I’m sorry you feel so pessimistic.”

“Many others think the same.”

“But the truth is not arrived at by majority vote.”

Otto looked annoyed. He evidently expected her to sit and listen to his pomposity in silence. He did not like to be mocked. He said angrily: “You should pay attention to me. I’m telling you something that affects you. Most Germans regard Britain as their enemy. If Walter were to marry an Englishwoman, think of the consequences.”

“I have, of course. Walter and I have talked at length about this.”

“First, he would suffer my disapproval. I could not welcome an English daughter-in-law into my family.”

“Walter feels that your love for your son would help you get over your revulsion for me, in the end. Is there really no chance of that?”

“Second,” he said, ignoring her question, “he would be regarded as disloyal to the kaiser. Men of his own class would no longer be his friends. He and his wife would not be received in the best houses.”

Maud was becoming angry. “I find that hard to credit. Surely not all Germans are so narrow-minded?”

He appeared not to notice her rudeness. “Third, and finally, Walter’s career is with the foreign ministry. He will distinguish himself. I sent him to schools and universities in different countries. He speaks perfect English and passable Russian. Despite his immature idealistic views, he is well thought of by his superiors, and the kaiser has spoken kindly to him more than once. He could be foreign minister one day.”

“He’s brilliant,” Maud said.

“But if he marries you, his career is over.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, shocked.

“My dear young lady, is it not obvious? A man who is married to one of the enemy cannot be trusted.”

“We have talked about this. His loyalty would naturally lie with Germany. I love him enough to accept that.”

“He might be too concerned about his wife’s family to give total loyalty to his own country. Even if he ruthlessly ignored the connection, men would still ask the question.”

“You’re exaggerating,” she said, but she was beginning to lose confidence.

“He certainly could not work in any area that required secrecy. Men would not speak of confidential matters in his presence. He would be finished.”

“He doesn’t have to be in military intelligence. He can switch to other areas of diplomacy.”

“All diplomacy requires secrecy. And then there is my own position.”

Maud was surprised by this. She and Walter had not considered Otto’s career.

“I am a close confidant of the kaiser’s. Would he continue to place absolute trust in me if my son were married to an enemy alien?”

“He ought to.”

“He would, perhaps, if I took firm, positive action, and disowned my son.”

Maud gasped. “You would not do that.”

Otto raised his voice. “I would be obliged to!”

She shook her head. “You would have a choice,” she said desperately. “A man always has a choice.”

“I will not sacrifice everything I have earned-my position, my career, the respect of my countrymen-for a girl,” he said contemptuously.

Maud felt as if she had been slapped.

Otto went on: “But Walter will, of course.”

“What are you saying?”

“If Walter were to marry you he would lose his family, his country, and his career. But he will do it. He has declared his love for you without fully thinking through the consequences, and sooner or later he will understand what a catastrophic mistake he has made. But he undoubtedly considers himself unofficially engaged to you, and he will not back out of a commitment. He is too much of a gentleman. ‘Go ahead, disown me,’ he will say to me. He would consider himself a coward otherwise.”

“That’s true,” Maud said. She felt bewildered. This horrible old man saw the truth more clearly than she did.

Otto went on: “So you must break off the engagement.”

She felt stabbed. “No!”

“It is the only way to save him. You must give him up.”

Maud opened her mouth to object again, but Otto was right, and she could not think of anything to say.

Otto leaned forward and spoke with pressing intensity. “Will you break with him?”

Tears ran down Maud’s face. She knew what she had to do. She could not ruin Walter’s life, even out of love. “Yes,” she sobbed. Her dignity was gone, and she did not care; the pain was too much. “Yes, I will break with him.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

Otto stood up. “Thank you for your courtesy in listening to me.” He bowed. “I bid you good afternoon.” He went out.

Maud buried her face in her hands.

There was a cheval glass in Ethel’s new bedroom at Tŷ Gwyn. It was old, the woodwork cracked and the glass misted, but she could see herself full-length. She considered it a great luxury.

She looked at herself in her underwear. She seemed to have become more voluptuous since falling in love. She had put on a little weight around her waist and hips, and her breasts seemed fuller, perhaps because Fitz stroked and squeezed them so much. When she thought about him her nipples hurt.

Fitz had arrived that morning, with Princess Bea and Lady Maud, and had whispered that he would meet her in the Gardenia Suite after lunch. Ethel had put Maud in the Pink Room, making up an excuse about repairs to the floorboards in Maud’s usual apartment.

Now Ethel had come to her room to wash and put on clean underwear. She loved preparing herself for him like this, anticipating how he would touch her body and kiss her mouth, hearing in advance the way he would groan with desire and pleasure, thinking of the smell of his skin and the voluptuous texture of his clothes.

She opened a drawer to take out fresh stockings, and her eye fell on a pile of clean strips of white cotton, the rags she used when menstruating. It occurred to her that she had not washed them since she had moved into this room. Suddenly there was a tiny seed of pure dread in her mind. She sat down heavily on the narrow bed. It was now the middle of July. Mrs. Jevons had left at the beginning of May. That was ten weeks ago. In that time Ethel should have used the rags not once but twice. “Oh, no,” she said aloud. “Oh, please, no!”

She forced herself to think calmly and worked it out again. The king’s visit had taken place in January. Ethel had been made housekeeper immediately afterward, but Mrs. Jevons had been too ill to move then. Fitz had gone to Russia in February, and had come back in March, which was when they had first made love properly. In April Mrs. Jevons had rallied, and Fitz’s man of business, Albert Solman, had come down from London to explain her pension to her. She had left at the beginning of May, and that was when Ethel had moved into this room and put that frightening little pile of white cotton strips into the drawer. It was ten weeks ago. Ethel could not make the arithmetic come out any differently.

How many times had they met in the Gardenia Suite? At least eight. Each time, Fitz withdrew before the end, but sometimes he left it a bit late, and she felt the first of his spasms while he was still inside her. She had been deliriously happy to be with him that way, and in her ecstasy she had closed her eyes to the risk. Now she had been caught.