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Reaching for the last letter she had typed she put it in the folder, reminded herself that she must be composed when Cecily arrived. She knew that Cecily worried about her, and her father’s problems. But so far she had not come up with a solution. No one she knew had, and she did have a number of good friends in London. Her employer had also turned out to be a true friend who had her best interests at heart.
The moment they met Greta and Cecily had ‘clicked’, as Cecily termed it. They had taken to each other at once and had been on an even keel ever since. Never a cross word, never a step out of place on both their parts.
Cecily often joked about their compatibility, the way they were frequently thinking the same thing at the same time. ‘May babies, that’s why,’ Cecily had said after their first year of working together. They were both born in the first week of May, but Cecily was six years older than Greta.
She loved her job as Cecily Swann’s personal assistant, and even though there was a lot of work, her boss worked just as hard as she did. They found satisfaction in their careers, and sometimes Greta shuddered when she remembered how she almost hadn’t gone for the interview at the shop in the Burlington Arcade. Cold feet, timidity perhaps, or even her lack of experience had got in the way for a while. But in the end she had gathered up her courage and gone to meet the famous designer. And she had got the job. She had started working at Cecily Swann Couture the next day.
Following Cecily’s earlier advice, Greta took her small notebook out of her handbag and picked up a pencil. She would make a list, as Cecily had suggested, writing down everything she had to do to make her house ready for her family.
Yesterday, when she had arrived at Cavendon, Cecily had told her to be positive about the future, reassuring her that her family would make it out of Nazi Germany eventually, that she would have to take them in. Greta wanted to do that, and to cherish them.
Many times in the last few years, Greta had wished her husband, Roy, had still been alive. He would have taken care of this situation in no time at all, made short shrift of it. But he was dead and gone. Five years ago now, and he had been far too young to die.
Bending her head, Greta began to make a list of extra things she would have to buy to make her house in Phene Street more comfortable.
‘Here I am!’ Cecily cried, hurrying into Greta’s office. ‘Sorry I’m late when you’ve got your train to catch.’
‘I’ve plenty of time. Goff said we should leave at four thirty for me to get the six o’clock to King’s Cross.’
‘So we can relax for a moment, and have a chat. I’ll sign my letters and go over my appointments with you. What do I have in London on Monday?’
‘There aren’t too many,’ Greta answered. ‘I kept the day light since you’re leaving for Zurich on Tuesday.’
After signing her letters, Cecily looked across at her assistant and said carefully, ‘Did you manage to get hold of your father?’
‘I did, and he sounded a bit down in the dumps, to be honest.’ Greta was surprised her voice was so steady.
Cecily nodded. ‘Of course he did, he’s troubled and frustrated. But look, I’m going to try to help you solve this. And you know what I’m like when I get my teeth into something.’
Despite her worries, Greta laughed. ‘A dog with a bone.’
‘That’s true,’ Cecily answered. ‘When there’s a problem, I have to solve it – and quickly, before it gets out of hand. I need help with this matter, Greta. I’m sure you realize that. I do have someone I can talk to, who might be able to guide me in the right direction.’
Greta simply nodded. She had total faith in her, knew that if anyone could help it was Cecily – this beautiful and talented woman whom she trusted totally.
Cecily was crossing the grand entrance hall at Cavendon a little later, when she heard the sound of music. Instantly she stopped, stood still for a moment listening intently.
The magical sounds were coming from the yellow drawing room and the piano, a recent addition, was being played by Daphne’s daughter, Annabel. No one else could conjure up such miraculous music on the ivory keys the way she did.
The fourteen-year-old had been playing since her childhood. It was her passion and she was superb. Cecily was forever telling Daphne how gifted she was. And good enough to be a concert pianist one day, she always insisted.
Daphne merely smiled serenely, no doubt because she believed the same thing yet did not want to admit it. The lovely Daphne, to whom Cecily was devoted, was far too refined to push her children forward for accolades. But the five of them were talented and very clever. Alicia wanted to be an actress, Charlie a journalist, and the twins intended to join Hugo in the world of finance.
Continuing across the hall, knowing she was yet again running late for afternoon tea, Cecily headed for the drawing room. She opened the door and stood on the threshold, peering in.
She let out a small sigh of relief when she realized she was not the last after all. For once. Aunt Charlotte and the Earl were already there, and so was Lady Gwendolyn. Annabel, of course, was still sitting at the piano, starting a new piece. It was Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’. Obviously Diedre had arrived from London earlier than usual. She sat between Lady Gwen and her son, Robin, who was eleven, and chattering to her, filling her in. As he usually did, he was spending the summer at Cavendon with his cousins.
Her own brood, David, Walter and Venetia, were at the children’s table on the other side of the drawing room. This was an innovation of Charlotte’s, who believed they would enjoy afternoon tea better if they had their own private table. The children had jumped at the idea. There were two empty chairs, obviously for Robin and Annabel.
As she stepped forward, Cecily heard a little shriek of delight. Venetia had spotted her. A small bundle of joy composed of an angelic face, blonde curls and bright blue eyes hurtled towards her, her face wreathed in smiles.
Crouching down, Cecily caught her five-year-old daughter in her arms and hugged her. She whispered, ‘You see, I kept my promise. I’m not the last today.’
Venetia’s blue eyes sparkled with laughter and her face was filling with dimples. She whispered back, ‘Daddy will be last, Mummy. LAST!’
Suppressing her own laughter, Cecily looked at her and shook her head. ‘Maybe not, darling. Where’s Aunt DeLacy? Is she hiding somewhere in the room, do you think?’
Giggling, shaking her head, Venetia whispered, ‘She’ll be the last?’
‘I think so,’ Cecily answered. This was a little game between them. Cecily was generally always the last to arrive for tea, and Miles teased her about it. Her little daughter would protest about his teasing and now Venetia was obviously thrilled to bits that her mother had arrived before her father this afternoon.
Taking hold of Venetia’s hand, Cecily led her into the room, smiling at everyone and greeting them affectionately. Walking over to the children’s table, she kissed her sons, David and Walter, who were grinning at her and nodding their heads. They were also pleased she had made it before Miles; that was very obvious. Cecily was highly amused.
Robin stood up and went to kiss her, then hurried over to the children’s table, followed by Annabel. Cecily bent over and kissed Lady Gwendolyn, and said, ‘How beautiful you look in your purple frock, Great-Aunt. It still suits you.’
‘Thank you, Cecily; I must tell you, it’s several years old. But then you know that.’ Lady Gwendolyn chuckled, went on. ‘I’m very thrifty, and I keep all of the clothes you make for me. It’s a good thing your other clients don’t, or you’d be out of business in no time at all.’
Nodding her agreement, Cecily sat down between Lady Gwen and Diedre. She turned to Diedre, said sotto voce, ‘Can I speak to you later? It’s a work thing.’
Diedre merely nodded her agreement.
Looking across the room at her, the Earl said warmly, ‘Thank you, Ceci, for allowing Greta to do those few letters for me this morning. It was a great help.’
Greta often lent a hand and had a particular rapport with Diedre and Robin, whom she’d helped get through the terrible months after the death of Paul Drummond, Diedre’s husband and Robin’s father.
‘It wasn’t a problem: she was happy to help out.’
Charles Ingham gazed at his daughter-in-law, a loving expression in his eyes. He treated her like one of his own daughters these days, and he admired her tremendously. ‘I feel sorry for Greta. She worries so much about her family, and feels helpless to do anything. Has she heard from her father lately?’
‘As a matter of fact, she spoke to him today. Professor Steinbrenner believes they are stuck in Berlin for the moment.’
The Earl’s face was serious when he began, ‘Things are bad in Europe. And we—’
Charlotte interrupted him swiftly. In a low voice, she murmured, ‘Let’s not discuss Europe and what’s going on … in front of the children.’ She had just noticed that David and Robin were listening intently to their grandfather’s conversation. ‘Little pigs have big ears,’ she finished in a low tone.
Before Charles could make a response, the door flew open and DeLacy came into the room in a rush, looking flushed and out of breath.
‘Hello, everyone!’ she exclaimed, and went immediately to her father and Charlotte, kissing them both. Hurrying across the floor, she went over to Lady Gwendolyn and, sitting down next to her, squeezed her hand, leaned in and kissed her cheek. ‘You asked me for news of Dulcie and James when you phoned me at the gallery the other day. I’m happy to tell you I received a letter from Dulcie this morning—’
‘Sorry, Charlotte, sorry Papa for being late. Couldn’t avoid it. I had to take an important phone call,’ Miles announced, entering the room on the heels of DeLacy.
‘It’s not a problem, Miles,’ the Earl said.
‘You’re forgiven,’ Charlotte added, her voice warm and welcoming. He had always been a favourite of hers.
‘You’re late, you’re late, you’re late,’ sang a chorus of young voices, all sounding very gleeful indeed.
Venetia began to giggle, and so did Cecily, and just at that moment the door opened and Hanson strode in, looking purposeful.
Focusing on Lord Mowbray, he asked, ‘Shall we serve tea, my lord?’
‘Yes, please do so, Hanson. Now that everyone has arrived.’
Inclining his head, Hanson turned on his heel, beckoned Gordon Lane, the under butler, to come in with the largest tea trolley, filled with a silver tea service, cups, saucers and plates. Gordon was followed by two of the maids, also pushing trolleys laden with tea sandwiches, scones, strawberry jam and Cornish cream. There was a cream cake and a variety of delectable pastries.
Cups were filled, plates of sandwiches were passed around, and once again afternoon tea was served in the same way it had been for years. It was a ritual everyone enjoyed. Once the staff had moved the trolleys to the back of the yellow drawing room, and everyone had settled, Lady Gwendolyn spoke out. ‘Now come along, DeLacy, do give us the news from Hollywood USA.’
‘I will indeed,’ DeLacy answered, putting her cup in its saucer. ‘Dulcie and James are well, as are the twins, Rosalind and Juliet, and little Henry. In fact, the children are flourishing. James is halfway through his new movie and enjoying working at Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. However, Dulcie and James want to come back to England.’ DeLacy paused and gave Great-Aunt Gwendolyn a pointed look. Her eyes went to her father, Charlotte and her sister Diedre.
Lady Gwendolyn said, ‘I believe we know the reason. A true-blue Englishman like James must feel it’s his duty to be on these shores at this particular and dangerous moment in history. And, knowing Dulcie, I’m quite certain she feels exactly the same way.’
‘Oh, no question about that,’ Charles said, then glancing at Charlotte he asked, ‘Don’t you agree?’
‘I do indeed. And you know that Dulcie’s an Englishwoman down to her toes.’
Miles, jumping into the conversation, exclaimed, ‘I suppose they’ll leave California when he finishes the picture.’
‘Hopefully, yes,’ DeLacy answered her brother. ‘However, according to Dulcie, there might be a problem. James has a big contract with MGM. Apparently Louis B. Mayer, who runs the company, is a great fan of his; signing James was a coup for him. Dulcie thinks he might not want to release James from the contract.’
‘Because he has other films to make, I suspect,’ Diedre asserted. ‘A signed contract is very binding, as you well know. Not only that, James is a big money-earner for MGM. Of course they won’t want to let him go.’
Cecily interjected, ‘But everything’s negotiable. I’m sure there is a way around the problem, should one develop.’ Glancing at DeLacy, she smiled at her dearest friend. ‘What about Felix and Constance? I thought they were in America at the moment, DeLacy.’
‘Yes, in New York. They’ll be going out to Los Angeles next week. Dulcie’s praying Felix will be able to handle Mr Louis B. Mayer.’
Staring at DeLacy curiously, Miles asked, ‘Why do you refer to him by his full name? It sounds so odd.’
DeLacy laughed. ‘It does, doesn’t it? But that’s how Dulcie refers to him in her letters, and I guess I just picked up on it, repeated her words.’
‘I am perfectly certain Felix Lambert is quite a crafty fox, and Constance as well,’ Diedre said. ‘That’s why James trusts them to represent him. Leave it to them. They’ll come up with something. After all, they are professionals. I’ve discovered it’s always a good idea to leave it to the pros.’
Cecily nodded. ‘I couldn’t agree more. And, from my experience with him, Felix is bound to pull something out of the hat.’
DeLacy nodded. She then addressed her father. ‘You’ll be very pleased to know Dulcie is thrilled with the way I’ve been running her art gallery. Especially since we’ve been making huge profits, and especially this year. It should make you happy as well, Papa. You’ll be getting quite a large cheque from the gallery for the Cavendon Restoration Fund.’
‘I am delighted, DeLacy. Well done, darling,’ her father said.
‘I say, that’s great news, old thing,’ Miles exclaimed. Rising, he went over to his sister, leaned over and hugged her. ‘And it’s true, you have been doing a fabulous job.’
DeLacy smiled up at him. ‘Thanks to you. You’re the one who has trained me how to run a business. And so has Ceci.’
Miles half smiled, and went over to the children’s table. Before he could say a word, a little chant started. ‘Late, late, late. Late, late, late.’
He ruffled Walter’s hair, who was the leader of this choir. ‘You’re all little rascals. Very naughty boys, don’t you know?’
‘Am I a naughty girl?’ Venetia asked, staring at her father, her eyes dancing.
Walking around the table, standing next to her chair, he said softly, ‘I suppose you are. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you, Venetia.’ He smoothed his hand over her white-blonde hair. ‘And you are definitely my favourite daughter.’
‘Oh Daddy, don’t be silly. There’s only me.’
‘I sometimes feel there are quite a few of you lurking around.’
FIVE (#ulink_f26fd58e-1b8b-53e2-b5b4-adb7464670d3)
The arrangement they had made was to meet in the conservatory just before dinner, but Diedre was not there when Cecily arrived. Walking across the terracotta floor, she went over to the French doors, stood looking out at the moors rolling towards the North Sea, admiring the view. It was familiar, but never failed to please her.
Twilight had descended and the sky was already growing darker. It was a deeper blue and the far horizon was streaked with a mixture of colours: lavender and apricot, and a deep pink bleeding into red.
Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight, red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning. These words ran through her head as she remembered how often her mother had said them to her when she was a child.
Turning away from the window, Cecily strolled over to the desk, ran one hand across the mellow old wood, and lovingly so. How often she had stood here, talking to Daphne, who had made it her desk, having commandeered it when she was seventeen and facing terrible problems in her young life.
The conservatory had soon become Daphne’s private place, her haven. None of the family ever used it, and so she had taken it for herself.
From here she had planned her marriage to Hugo, a joyful event, and later it had become her command post.
After a moment longer, lingering near the desk, she walked across to a wicker chair, part of a grouping, and sat down. Her thoughts turned to Diedre. Cecily knew that the best person to talk to about Greta’s family and their predicament was Diedre. In 1914 she had gone to work at the War Office and had remained there after the Great War had ended. Only when she became engaged to Paul Drummond did she resign.
Cecily knew how grief-stricken she had been when Paul had unexpectedly, and very suddenly, died; she had helped her as best she could through that devastating first year of widowhood. One day, quite unexpectedly, Diedre had confided she was returning to her old position at the War Office. She had explained that work would ease her grief and loneliness. Also, she had explained, there was going to be a war, a very bad war, and she would be needed.
Although Diedre had never discussed her job at the War Office, Cecily was quite positive she worked in Intelligence, and Miles agreed with her. Therefore, if anyone knew how to extract someone from a foreign country, she was sure it was Diedre.
Cecily’s thoughts now turned to Greta. She had grown very attached to her and cared about her, worried about her wellbeing. Her assistant was extremely sincere, had enormous integrity, and was a hard worker; certainly Cecily had grown to depend on her. She had great insight into people, especially those who were meaningful to her; Cecily knew how much Greta was suffering because of the situation that existed in Berlin.
Greta’s father was a well-known professor of philosophy. He had studied Greats at Oxford years ago, and become an expert on Plato. In fact, he ranked as one of the greatest professors in his field. Greta adored him. She was fond of her stepmother, Heddy. As for her two half-siblings, Kurt and Elise, they were almost like her own children, and she worried about them constantly. Cecily hated to see her suffer and was mortified that she herself could do nothing to help. Leaning back in the wicker chair, Cecily closed her eyes, her mind whirling.
The sharp click of high heels on stone brought Cecily up sharply in her chair. Diedre strode into the conservatory, looking elegant in a navy-blue silk dress, which Cecily had made for her.
It was cut on the cross and made Diedre look taller and even svelter than ever. But then, Diedre had long been known for her chic fashion sense, spending much of her time in London.
‘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.’
