Barbara Bradford - The Cavendon Luck

‘You always make my clothes look so much better,’ Cecily exclaimed, her face filled with smiles.

Diedre laughed. ‘Thank you for the lovely compliment, but it is the dress, you know that. And it’s become my favourite.’ Diedre sat down in a chair, and said, ‘You sounded anxious earlier. So let’s talk. What’s wrong?’ Like Great-Aunt Gwendolyn, Diedre got straight to the point.

‘Greta’s family is Jewish. They need to get out of Germany. I would like to help her if I can. But I need advice. Your advice, actually.’

When she heard these words, Diedre stiffened in the chair. She shook her head vehemently. ‘That’s a tough one. Hard. And there’s no advice I can give you, Ceci.’

‘Her father, stepmother and their two children don’t have the proper travel documents apparently. They’re at their wits’ end,’ Cecily said, and fell silent when she became aware of the look of dismay on Diedre’s face, the fear in her eyes.

Diedre, who was acutely observant, understood people, knew what made them tick, was aware Cecily was being genuine and sincere about wanting to help Greta. Yet she was unaware how hard a task that would be. Not wishing to be too quickly dismissive, Diedre now said, ‘You told me a bit about Greta, when she first came to work for you. Please fill me in again. I’ve forgotten most of what you told me.’

‘Greta is German by birth, like her father. But her mother, who died when she was a child, was English. Her name was Antonia Nolan. After her mother’s untimely death, her father sent her to live with her grandmother, Catherine Nolan, who’s still alive, by the way, and lives in Hampstead. It was she who brought Greta up.’

‘Now it’s all coming back to me,’ Diedre murmured. ‘She went to Oxford, didn’t she?’

‘Yes, following in her father’s footsteps. Eventually, her father remarried, but Greta stayed on in London, preferring her life here.’

Diedre nodded. ‘And I remember something else. Greta married an Englishman, an architect.’

‘That’s right, Roy Chalmers. Sadly he died of leukaemia about five years ago now.’

‘Just out of curiosity, is Greta a British citizen? It occurs to me that with an English mother and an English husband, she must have become one. Didn’t she?’

‘Yes, and she has a British passport.’

‘I’m glad to hear it, and that passport is important here, a necessity in wartime. It won’t help her family in any way, but I’m relieved to know she can’t be interned, anything like that.’

‘She could be if she were a German? Is that what you’re saying, Diedre?’

‘I am.’

‘Well, she’s all right, protected by her English nationality. Still, she has been talking about going to Berlin to check up on her father, assess the situation,’ Cecily murmured.

‘She mustn’t go! No, no, that’s dangerous.’

‘Perhaps I could go instead. What do you think?’

‘Absolutely not. I won’t let you. There’s something else … her father might well be under scrutiny. He’s a famous man, could easily be on a list of troublemakers, so called. Being watched and not knowing it.’

‘She’ll be very upset if that’s true,’ Ceci exclaimed.

‘Don’t tell her what I said. She must not know. And she certainly cannot go to Berlin.’ Diedre sounded stern as she continued. ‘Look, I’m sorry to be negative, but the situation in Berlin is worse than you can possibly know, or even imagine. It’s dangerous – full of thugs, foreigners and Nazis, a sinister city. No one is safe.’

Cecily nodded. ‘I understand. And I do make a point of listening to you. You’re the one who knows what’s going on there better than anyone else I know.’

‘A few months ago a new rule was made. Jews were forced to go and have their passports stamped with the letter “J” for Jew.’ Diedre said this quietly.

Cecily gaped at her, aghast. ‘What a hideous rule!’

‘Yes it is. Everything they do is hideous. No, horrific .’ Diedre leaned forward, coming closer to her sister-in-law, went on in a lower voice, ‘Hitler was made Chancellor of Germany in January of 1933, and only seven months later he built the first concentration camp. It’s called Dachau.’

‘Jews are interned in the camp. Is that its purpose?’

‘That’s right, it is. And so are others … Catholics, and dissident politicians, and anyone who doesn’t agree with the Nazi credo. Anti-Semitism is rife. Hatreds fester. Violence is paramount. And people are arrested for no reason at all.’ Diedre gave Cecily a long hard stare. ‘Hitler became a virtual dictator in January of 1933 and he means to swallow up as much of Central Europe as he can.’

‘Why? Power? Does he want to rule the world?’

‘Yes. But he also wants land, the blessed space , to breed his perfect race of Aryans. Lebensraum … that’s what he calls it … this dream of land, on which to create a master race.’

Cecily was pale, and her eyes were fastened on Diedre. ‘I don’t frighten easily, but what you’re telling me does make me worried,’ Cecily confided softly.

‘Worry if you want, Cecily, but don’t be afraid. We must all be brave and strong. And we must make sure not to have our necks under the German jackboot. That would be disastrous.’

Diedre paused. ‘Look, Ceci, please don’t repeat any of this to the family. I shouldn’t really have told you. I trust in your confidentiality and your loyalty to me.’

‘You know you can trust me. But could I tell Miles?’

‘Yes, you can. However, he must be discreet as well. No chitchatting with Charlotte and Papa. You must insist on that.’

‘I will.’ There was a slight hesitation before Cecily went on, ‘Yours is an office job, isn’t it? I mean, you’re not out there, are you? Out there doing … things ?’

‘No, I’m not. I’m … well, let’s say I’m in management. Nevertheless, I have my own rules and I do not forget them.’

‘What are they? Can you tell me, Diedre?’

‘ Believe no one. Tell no one. Remember everything. Walk alone .’

Instinctively Harry Swann knew that something was wrong. Pauline had not been herself since his arrival at four o’clock, ostensibly for tea. They did actually have tea in her elegant drawing room. But it was swift. She was anxious always to retreat to her bedroom for several hours of intimacy and extraordinary passion.

Now, as he lay next to her in bed, their sexual appetite for each other sated, he tried to figure out why she had been so strange. Not remote, not distant, as she often was, rather she had been distracted. Or perhaps ‘preoccupied’ was a better word. Certainly he had picked up on it the moment he had entered her house and when she had greeted him coolly in the entrance foyer.

Even when they first began to make love, she had been less fervent than usual; but once he had begun to arouse her in the way she liked, she had become more focused. She was a voluptuous woman, extremely erotic and sensuous, eager for sex, hungry for it, and she oozed feminine lust. Her craving for him was enormous and endless; she gave herself willingly to him, did anything he wanted. It had been this way since the beginning of their affair and they never failed to give each other enormous sexual pleasure.

They had done that this afternoon but, instead of lingering in his arms, touching him, stroking him, murmuring loving words, she had moved on to her side at once, her back to him.

Puzzled and slightly hurt, he finally spoke. ‘What’s wrong, darling? You’ve turned away from me, and you’re very silent. Usually you’re full of love for me … after we’ve devoured each other. And we certainly did that a short while ago.’