Dennis Wheatley - Traitors' Gate

'What does Your Excellency suggest should be my next step?'

'We must consult with certain of my friends. Like yourself, I am only a private individual and have no power to enter into actual negotiations. It would, in fact, be futile for anyone here to do so without having the approval of the Regent. But Admiral Horthy could not fail to be swayed by the opinion of a powerful group of his brother magnates. From frequent conversations I know the views of most of them are similar to my own; but we must get them together so that a committee of them can set about exploring the conditions on which Hungary might enter into a separate peace with the Allies.

The first, of course, would be that the Allies should make a landing and do their utmost to contain the German armoured divisions in France and the Low Countries. Everything else hangs upon your being able to obtain for us a firm understanding from the Allied Governments that they will do that.'

'In that case,' Gregory suggested, 'I think it would be best if I returned and reported to Sir Pellinore right away.'

'No, no; I wish you first to discuss the whole matter with some of my friends.'

'Surely that could come later? An Allied landing on the Continent in sufficient strength to be effective would, I imagine, necessitate drastic changes in Allied strategy. Given that Mr. Churchill and President Roosevelt both favoured it, they would still ask the advice of their Chiefs of Staff, and they in turn would not give an opinion until the question of forces available, and all sorts of other matters, had been thoroughly gone into. The decision is such a momentous one that they could not be expected to take it without prolonged discussion. Therefore, the sooner I set the ball rolling the better, and in the meantime you could be preparing the ground among your friends; so that there would be less delay on this side in the event of my coming back with a favourable answer.'

The Count shook his head. T appreciate your arguments ', but, all the same, I am opposed to your leaving Hungary for another week or so. I consider it important that you should first meet a few of the leading personalities in our Upper House, and talk to them as you have to me.'

Feeling that it would be tactless to oppose the Count's wishes, Gregory agreed. But all his instincts warned him against discussing these highly dangerous matters with a number of people; and, before he was very much older, he had cause to regret bitterly that he had allowed himself to be persuaded.

The Magnates of Hungary

Chapter 7

Barely a moment after it had been settled that Gregory should not yet return with his now promising report to London, the door was opened by a footman. Bowing to Count Zapolya, he uttered a short phrase in Magyar.

Standing up, the Count smiled at Gregory. 'Luncheon is about to be served. My wife and relatives will be most interested to hear news of London, and a firsthand account of the air raids which the Nazis claim caused such devastation.

As Gregory's freedom, and possibly his life, depended upon particulars about himself being kept secret, his host's casualness filled him with alarm. But he took some comfort from the thought that Etienne Tavenier had been in England between his evacuation from Dunkirk and the St. Nazaire raid as he said quickly:

'I will tell them about London with pleasure. However, Your Excellency will recall my mentioning that I entered Hungary on a French passport. I am sure all the members of your family are entirely trustworthy, but I feel that it might spare them grave embarrassment, should they meet me again later outside your family circle, if you introduce me to them now as Commandant Tavenier.'

'Tavenier, eh! Yes, that would be wise,' the Count agreed. Then he led Gregory down a wide corridor, the walls of which were hung with great dark oil paintings of male and female Zapolyas through the centuries, to a large bay windowed room the dominant motif of which was rich yellow brocade. There were nine or ten people in it and Gregory soon found that the pale amber liquid in the glasses most of them were holding was not baratsch, but Dry Martini.

He found, too, that, except for a Bishop and one walrus moustached old gentleman who was a Baron in his own right, they were all either Counts or Countesses, as the Magyars followed a widespread Continental custom that all children took the title of their parents, distinguishing themselves by the use of their Christian names. All of them spoke German, French, English and Italian with almost equal fluency and apparently, as the spirit moved them at the moment; so the conversation was a veritable Babel.

Zapolya's wife, the Countess Dorottya, was plump and grey-haired, but appeared to be still on the right side of fifty, so a good twenty years younger than himself. As she extended a beautifully kept hand to Gregory he remembered just in time not to kiss it, as a chance remark he had heard in the bar of the Zur Krone two nights before had informed him that the Hungarian aristocracy now regarded the custom as bourgeois. That she was the Count's second wife emerged a few minutes later when a tall man with Tartar features, also about fifty, was introduced to him as the Count's eldest son, Count Rudolph.

There was a beautiful black-haired Italian, the Countess Marcella, who was the wife of a much younger son, not present, and a bronze haired Countess Erzsebet, who was a daughter of the house; a handsome young man named Count Istvan, and a hunchback with a clever, amusing face named Count Laszlo. But before Gregory could gather more than a vague idea of their relationships they all went in to lunch.

They were using, as Gregory learned later, the smaller dining room; but it could easily have seated twenty. Standing in it near the far end of the table were a sandy haired young man with thickened glasses, whom Gregory thought looked suspiciously like a German, a mousey looking woman in a white blouse and black skirt, a boy of about nine and a pretty little dark girl of about eleven. The children, Count Sityi and Countess Teresa, belonged to the Countess Marcella, and the grownups were their Austrian tutor and French governess.

Throughout the meal a major-domo stood behind Count Zapolya's chair while elderly footmen handed dishes that had nothing Hungarian about their cooking, but were obviously the productions of an excellent French chef. Nevertheless, it proved a jolly, informal, family party with everyone laughing and talking at once. But for the medley of tongues it might have been a luncheon in one of the stately homes of England for, like the English, and unlike the Germans, Austrians and French, these Magyar aristocrats regarded the fact that they had been born noble as so natural that they made no effort whatever to impress, or to protect their dignity behind a cold, formal manner.

In the role of the French major who had got away from

Dunkirk, Gregory gave an account of wartime life in England, and described the blitz. Most of them knew London well, and while the burning of a large part of the City meant little to them, they pressed him for further details when he spoke of the great raid on the West End.

On that Saturday night he had been dining with friends at Hatchett's when a stick of bombs crashed along Piccadilly and scores more fell in the neighbourhood. An hour or so later, when they left the restaurant, fires along the wide thoroughfare had made it as bright as day from the Circus to the Ritz, and from pavement to roof every window in 'Burtons the Tailors' building was belching great tongues of flame.

Most of the men among Gregory's listeners had pleasant memories of being entertained at the famous clubs in Pall Mall and St. James's Street, so were distressed to hear that many of them had been severely damaged; yet, having no experience of air raids, it was the after effects which struck them most forcibly. No doubt they would have faced the dangers of the blitz with commendable bravery, but they were quite shocked when Gregory told them that, after he had made a tour of the area the following morning to see the worst for himself, owing to the electric and gas mains having been wrecked the Berkeley could provide him only with a cold lunch.