Barbara Bradford - The Cavendon Luck

‘Harry Swann,’ he answered, smiling at her, taken with her girlishness, her friendly manner. She had a pretty face covered with freckles and hazel eyes. He thought she was about twelve years old, and he had no idea who she was. He wondered why she was on Cavendon land.

Giving him a surprised stare, Phoebe cried excitedly, ‘Are you one of the famous Swanns of Cavendon? You’re not related to Cecily Swann, the Fashion Queen of the World, are you?’

Chuckling at this description of Cecily, he answered, ‘She’s my sister.’

‘Oh gosh! Oh wow! Oh my goodness me! What an honour to meet you, Mr Swann.’

Harry was amused by her undisguised enthusiasm. He said, ‘And so you are Phoebe Bellamy. Nice to meet you, and I’m truly sorry it was in such an unfortunate way. Now, where does Miss Phoebe Bellamy live? It must be somewhere close.’

‘It is, Mr Swann. I’m staying with my uncle, Commander Jollion.’

‘I know him well, and his son, Noel, who must be your cousin.’

‘He is. We’re all staying with Uncle Edgar for the whole summer.’

Harry got up off the grass and offered Phoebe his hand, pulling her to her feet. ‘Let’s see how well you can walk, and let’s hope all is in order. If nothing’s hurting I shall drive you back to Burnside Manor.’

Together Harry and Phoebe crossed the road to the car. He eyed her carefully as they walked and saw that she seemed perfectly normal.

They both stopped when they came to the broken bicycle. Looking down at it, Phoebe said, ‘Oh gosh! What shall I do with the bike?’

‘I’ll put it on the grass verge over there,’ Harry replied. Picking it up, he did so. ‘I’ll send someone for it tomorrow morning. Perhaps we can repair it for you. We have a workshop.’

‘Oh, how nice of you. Thank you, Mr Swann. I’m so sorry I’m causing you so much trouble. Listen, I’m fine. I can walk back to Mowbray.’

‘No, you’re not going to do that. I shall drive you to the manor and explain to Commander Jollion exactly what happened.’

‘That’s not really necessary, the telling part,’ Phoebe protested, sounding alarmed.

‘I shall take the blame,’ Harry insisted. ‘Now, please get into the car, Phoebe.’

Diedre had not slept well. She had spent a restless night, her mind working overtime, so many thoughts spinning around in her head.

For once she had not been worrying about her father and his health. For the last few weekends he had been almost like his old self: much more vigorous, in good form, with his humour restored. She was aware that she shouldn’t ever worry about him. Charlotte loved him and looked after him with great care and diligence. They all owed her a lot.

It had been the favour for Cecily that had occupied her thoughts most of the night – and Greta Chalmers; in particular Greta’s predicament.

With her years of experience in British Intelligence, Diedre knew there were many different ways to get visas and travel documents, and other means by which to extract people from Germany. The problem with the Steinbrenners was that hideous ‘J’ for Jew stamped on their passports. Four brand-new passports would be difficult to obtain. It was the same with visas and travel documents. Four were just too many; even two would be hard to come by. Acquiring one might be impossible, in fact.

She had two contacts who might be able to help. The one she had asked several favours from was the most powerful. He was in the High Command of the Third Reich, and she knew he would do anything for her, if it was at all possible. Yet she was reluctant to ask him. They had been friends for several years; she admired and respected him as a dear friend. She did not want to go to him yet again. And so soon.

Sitting up in bed, blinking in the pale dawn light coming in through the draperies, Diedre bunched the pillows up behind her head, lay back and concentrated on her other contact.

The second one she had to dismiss immediately as well, because he was linked to her first contact. He was also in a powerful position in the High Command, and might easily bring his superior down if caught. She dismissed him as well. Also, he would be more useful in other areas.

It struck her that her own man in Berlin was the best to use. He was young but thought fast on his feet, and had a lot of experience. Also she could telephone him with a degree of impunity.

That was one of her main considerations these days. She had known for several years that telephones were monitored in Germany, and especially foreign phone calls. Undoubtedly the British Embassy in Berlin was not immune; she believed the Gestapo listened in, but she and her man there had their own language, which would be Double Dutch to anyone else.

Glancing at the clock, she saw it was almost six. The household was still sleeping. Jumping out of bed, Diedre went into her bathroom, washed her hands and face, brushed her teeth and combed her hair. Back in her bedroom, she slipped on a silk dressing gown, stepped into her slippers and went downstairs.

Silence reigned. No one was moving about, nothing stirred. No sound except for the ticking of the hall clock. It was just a little too early for Hanson, the footmen, and the maids. But in half an hour the housekeeper would be on duty, and they would all be bustling around preparing for breakfast, and Cook would be in the kitchen, getting an early start.

It was cool and quiet in the library. Diedre sat down at her father’s desk, and leaned back in his big leather chair, thinking for a few minutes. His desk calendar was right in front of her. She stared at it. Oh God, it’s Saturday , she muttered under her breath. Saturday the thirtieth of July . Damn, she thought, then, making a swift decision, she picked up the receiver and dialled the overseas operator and gave her the number in Berlin she wanted.

‘Hallo?’ a man’s voice answered gruffly on the fourth ring.

‘Is Toby Jung still staying there?’

‘Is this his Daffy Dilly?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘What a pleasure to hear your voice, Daffy. What’s up?’

‘I left a suitcase with you the last time I visited, Toby. I wondered if you knew anyone who might be coming this way and would bring it for me. I’d pay them.’

‘I’ll ask around. What else is new?’

‘Not a lot. How is it in Berlin? I have a friend who might be visiting; she’s asked me about the weather.’

‘Hot as hell. Not a breath of fresh air. The city stinks. We’re all sweating. We need a good wind blowing through.’

‘Weather changes all the time, Toby.’

‘I know that, angel face. About the suitcase. Is it heavy?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Could one person carry it?’

‘I don’t think so. It needs another person, maybe two more. But they have porters at railway stations, you know, and I’ll provide the gratuities.’

‘I’ll see what I can do. Where are you right now?’

‘Looking at the heather.’

‘For how long?’

‘Two days. Why?’

‘Just needed to know. I’ll get back to you. Next week. At the old place? Will you be there?’

‘I will. Thanks, Toby.’

‘Big kiss, angel face,’ he said and hung up.

Diedre put the receiver back in the cradle and leaned back in the chair. If someone had been listening in, they wouldn’t have understood much. But Toby now knew she wanted to get people out. They always spoke in their own code. His message to her had been about conditions in Berlin, relayed through comments about the weather. All she had to do now was wait and see what he could do, if anything.

Hearing her name being called, Cecily turned her head to the left and saw her brother waving to her. He was walking down the stable block, wearing his riding clothes. He always did on Saturdays because he rode around the estate checking everything out on the Ingham land.