Something Dangerous (Spoils of Time 02) (58 page)

Luc was late again: it was really too bad, Adele thought, she had cooked dinner for seven o’clock as he had requested, indeed she had got the children to bed early, because Mme André had suggested they might like to go out ‘just for a drink perhaps, or to the cinema,
Carnet de Bal
is at the Odeon, so beautiful, you would enjoy it so much’.

Mme André was very fond of Adele; she worried about her lonely, clearly difficult life. She had observed the mink coat, the visits of her mother, and of her grandmother, bringing the grand old pram; clearly Adele was born to better things.

Moreover she did not particularly like Luc; he had been charm itself when he took on the lease to the apartment, but since then he had scarcely troubled to pass the time of day with her. No doubt he thought she was a silly old woman; but like all concierges, Mme André prided herself on her ability to observe. And she had observed an increasing tendency in Luc to be home later and later at the end of the day, and once or twice, not until midnight or after. There could only be one explanation for such behaviour: she was very much afraid that Mam’selle Adele – as she had heard him address Adele in the early days and so had adopted it herself – she was very much afraid that Mam’selle Adele was being deceived.

Adele on the other hand was not in the least afraid that she was being deceived; for the simple reason that she knew Luc could not possibly afford it. There was no money available for courtship of the most modest kind. He had to support her and their children, and he had to support the demanding and petulant Suzette in her warm and comfortable apartment; any girl looking for more than the occasional
apéritif
was going to be extremely disappointed. If she felt any jealousy, any resentment towards a third party in their partnership, it was of Luc’s work; if he was not at home, then he was to be found at the warm and comfortable offices of Constantine et Fils in the beautiful building on Boulevard Haussmann. That was his mistress, that was where he was unfaithful to her, it was for the warmth and comfort and interesting conversation there that he neglected his
chère famille
. Of that she was quite, quite sure.

Such conviction illustrated more graphically than anything the Englishness of Adele Lytton, and the lack of understanding she still showed of the French philosophy.

‘I must leave,’ said Luc with a sigh, looking at the clock on the bedroom mantelpiece, ‘my dinner is waiting.’

‘Only your dinner? You look tired, Luc.’

‘I am tired. Very tired. It is not easy, working so hard and then, the untidy apartment, the broken nights. I fear Adele is not quite the housekeeper I had hoped.’

She is English. I could have warned you.’

‘You could and you should. But – it is too late now.’

‘Luc! It is never too late. You of all people should know that. Nothing is irreversible.’

‘Not even two children?’

She shrugged. ‘Of course not. Send her home to England, that is what she wants. She will be happier there.’

‘But – I love those children. Very much. They are beautiful, charming, clever.’

Another shrug. ‘Then I cannot help you. It is irreversible.’ She moved her hand down, started to caress him, smiled as she felt the inevitable happen.

‘Suzette—’

‘Here, Luc, let me guide you – yes, yes, that is very, very beautiful – oh now there, yes—’

The dinner would have to wait; he abandoned himself to pleasure. It was extraordinarily good not to have to worry about children waking and crying, to be in this warm and charming apartment – he had forgotten quite how charming it was – without the unmistakable smell of drying napkins in the air.

Finally he said he must leave, sat on the edge of the bed, lit a Gauloise; she put out a hand, took it from his lips, inhaled it and gave it back, returned to caressing his back.

‘You are thin, chéri.’

‘Well – life is difficult. For all of us of course, but particularly for me. Adele doesn’t seem to understand how many sacrifices I have to make for her. Well – I made my own bed, as the English saying goes, and I have to lie on it. But it is not a very comfortable one, I am afraid.’ He sighed, looked down at her, at her naked body, started to caress her breasts. ‘We should have had our own children, Suzette. As you often suggested. I should have been less selfish. It could all have been so different then.’

The day before Kit left Scotland, he had time off; he took Catriona for a walk over the hills at the top of the village. She was quiet, clearly upset; his own mood was more upbeat.

‘You’re excited, aren’t you?’ she said finally, clearly half resentful, and he said almost shamefaced, yes, he was, he couldn’t help it, at last he was going to be able to do what he had been trained to do.

‘So am I. But I’d rather stay here with you. I suppose that’s the difference between men and women.’

‘I – suppose it is. I’m sorry – darling.’ He used the endearment almost nervously; he hadn’t said it to her before.

She smiled up at him, clearly moved; she slipped her small hand into his. ‘It’s all right. I understand. It’s natural. Oh, Kit, when shall I see you again?’

‘On my very first leave,’ he said, ignoring details like the vast distance between London and Edinburgh, the cost and time involved in travelling it, ‘and I’ll write to you every day.’

‘Don’t say that,’ she said, ‘you won’t be able to, and then I shall worry more.’

He turned to her, touched by such tender logic.

‘Well – I’ll write whenever I can.’

‘That’s better.’

‘I love you,’ he said simply, looking into her blue eyes. ‘I love you so much. And you’re so beautiful.’

‘I love you too.’

And then suddenly, because he loved her so much, and because parting from her was so suddenly and intensely painful, looking for some way to ease it, he said, ‘I would like us to be – that is, I wonder if—’ and stopped, and she looked up at him and smiled her sweet gentle smile and said, ‘Wonder what, Kit?’

‘You know what I think,’ he said, ‘you know, don’t you?’

And – ‘yes,’ she said, ‘yes, I do know.’

‘And – what do you say?’

‘I say yes. Yes, yes, yes.’

‘So – we’re engaged?’

‘Yes we are. Unofficially of course.’

‘Of course. I haven’t even got you a ring.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll know. I love you, Kit.’

‘I love you, Catriona.’

And so they parted, considering themselves promised to one another for ever, their only exchange of tokens being photographs and letters of love, identically worded and signed by each of them. Kit put his in the pocket of his shirt and told her it would be there always, next to his heart; Catriona, her blue eyes huge and dark with tears, said there would never be anyone else for her as long as she lived.

But as Kit flew south in the morning in a transport aircraft, his thoughts were more of the new life ahead of him than the one he had left behind, however sweet. It was the first of April. The war was about to properly begin.

Britain’s first air raid had not been over London, or even Dover, but the Orkney Islands; a minuscule foretaste of what was to follow; then came Germany’s invasion of Norway and Denmark. The British defence failed miserably and the whole affair was dreadfully bungled. As a result, Chamberlain’s majority in the Commons was reduced to an unmanageable level; within days Churchill had become Prime Minister and first the House of Commons, then the country listened for the first time to the extraordinarily powerful voice that was to drive it through the next five years. Brutal in its honesty, rough in its sincerity, but absolutely inspirational, it promised them ‘nothing but blood, toil, tears and sweat in the quest for victory . . . however long and hard the road may be . . . Come then, let us go forward together, with our united strength.’

Celia, sitting by the wireless in a cold and growing terror, thinking of Giles in France, of Boy, at last preparing to leave, of Jay, waiting impatiently to go and above all of Kit, all of them sucked into this dreadful, fearsome vortex, felt strangely comforted even as she wept.

CHAPTER 27

‘I think, my darling, that after all you should go home to England. You and the little ones. I am growing afraid for you.’

Luc’s eyes as he looked at Adele were tender, liquid with concern; she felt a lump rise in her throat. She had longed for him to say this, to agree to her return; now that it had happened it was – different somehow.

‘Oh Luc, no. I – I couldn’t. Not now. You’re right, this is my home now. And our children’s home.’

‘But – a dangerous one, I am very much afraid. Hitler is on the move now. First Norway, next who knows? I think it is wrong of me to keep you here. Selfish and wrong.’

‘But – you don’t think he’ll invade France? Get to Paris?’

‘God forbid. No, of course not. But – I want you safe. And there may not be so much time.’

Adele sighed; she imagined herself across the Channel, in England, with a longing so intense she could hardly bear it. England: home, safety, family. And then mustered her courage, set herself against it. It would be wrong, wrong to leave Luc, to take her children away from him. They were married in all but name; he was her home, her family now. She had to remember that and be brave.

‘No, Luc. I’m not going. Sorry. You can’t get rid of me that easily.’

It was 9 May 1940.

‘Mummy? You’ve heard the news? Of course you have, what a stupid question. Hitler’s invaded Holland. And Belgium and Luxembourg. Oh, my God. It’s begun, it’s really begun. Boy was right.’

‘When is he going?’

‘Oh – any day now. I expect this will clinch it. Dear God, I wish Dell was here.’

‘No more than I do.’

‘We should get the children down to Ashingham, don’t you think? The girls, I mean.’

‘Yes, I do. Any day now it could become very dangerous.’

‘So – what are you going to do now?’

‘Now?’ Celia’s tone made it very clear she thought the question absurd. ‘I’m going to Lyttons. Obviously.’

It had got her through the last war, she thought, as she climbed the stairs to her beloved office; it would get her through this one. Here, within these walls, she could hide from reality, hide from her fears, tell herself that books, catalogues, bookshops, book tokens, were what mattered. As indeed they did; wars ended, life went on. You could not ease yourself into a vacuum, tell yourself that the only thing that mattered was the war. It didn’t. It really really didn’t. Even when your youngest child was about to launch himself into the skies, into battle, in a plane that offered as little protection from the enemy and enemy fire as a motor bike. It wasn’t the only thing . . .

Her phone rang.

‘Celia?’

‘Yes. Hallo, Sebastian.’

‘You must be very worried.’

‘Aren’t you?’

‘Of course. Of course I’m worried. I just wanted to—’

‘Wanted to what?’ she said, irritable with her fear.

‘Wanted to tell you I was here. Thinking of you. And of Kit. Holding your hand. Notionally.’

‘You might have to come and do it literally,’ she said.

It was 10 May.

‘My darling! You’re not still here.’

It was Cedric, looking dazzling, sitting near the fountains in the Place St-Sulpice in white flannels and white shirt, blond curls grown longer, accompanied by an equally beautiful, equally blond youth, at least ten years his junior, Adele thought. He always had liked younger men.

‘Of course I’m still here,’ she said, putting the brake on the pram, throwing herself into his arms, ‘How lovely to see you.’

‘And you. As beautiful as ever. This is Philippe. Philippe Lelong. Immensely talented photographer.’

Philippe Lelong bowed rather coolly at Adele; jealous, she thought, how extraordinary these pansies were, as if Cedric could possibly be harbouring any lustful emotions towards her.

‘We could have done with you today, darling. We’ve been working for
Style
. We needed six perambulators, and six miniature poodles to put in them. Not easy. You would have dealt with it in a trice.’

Not a trice, thought Adele, a pang of longing for her old life clutching at her, but she would have found them.

‘It sounds wonderful. What fun.’

‘It wasn’t, it was quite dreadful. Again, it would have been fun with you. Anyway, absolutely my last job for
Style
. Or indeed anyone else in Paris. I’m bolting home, like a frightened bunny, and not in the least ashamed of it. I’ve been trying to persuade Philippe to come too, but he says I’m being foolish, that the dangers are hugely exaggerated.’

‘Of course they are,’ said Adele, ‘I wouldn’t dream of leaving. The Germans will never reach Paris.’

‘I wish I had your confidence. I hope you’re right. But I’m playing safe.’

‘Is English
Style
still running its letter from Paris?’ asked Adele, hungry for such frivolous news, ‘I never see it these days.’

‘It most certainly is. Philippe has been contributing to it, haven’t you
mon ami
? He’s their most valued contributor at the moment, so wonderfully good at gossip. Why don’t your offer your services for that at least, my darling, they’d love it.’

‘I’m afraid the only gossip I have is what I pick up in the children’s playground at the Luxembourg Gardens,’ said Adele. ‘Not what they want. Oh, Cedric it’s so nice to see you. Are you really worried about the situation here?’

‘Of course I am, darling.’ He sounded stern, almost cross. ‘So would you be, if you had any sense at all.’

‘Well maybe I haven’t. Noni, not too near the road, my angel.’

‘What an exquisite little creature,’ said Philippe Lelong suddenly, ‘may I take a couple of photographs of her?’

‘Well of course. Here, now? Noni, you wouldn’t mind that would you, darling? This gentleman wants to take your picture.’

Noni smiled at him, her rather slow, solemn smile. ‘No.’

‘
Bon
. Then let us have her over here, against the fountains. Smile, little one, that’s the way – and again here, now—’

‘I will send you a copy,’ he said, when he had finished, ‘Cedric will give me your address.’

‘Of course. I live just along there, actually.’ She pointed down the street. ‘See on the left, big black door. But yes, Cedric has the proper address. Thank you so much. Now I must go. Cedric, give my love to everyone, and could you tell Venetia I’m perfectly all right, and don’t, whatever you do, say you think it’s dangerous. They all fuss so. So silly.’

‘So sensible, in my view. But no, I shall be terribly bright and breezy about it all. Have you time for an aperitif, my darling?’

‘Very sadly no,’ said Adele, ‘much as I’d adore it. Goodbye, darling Cedric. It was so lovely to see you, and to meet you, Philippe. I shall look forward to seeing the pictures of Noni. I’m sure they’ll be divine.’

‘They certainly will,’ said Cedric, ‘
au revoir, mon ange
. Look after yourself.’

‘I will,’ said Adele. She kissed him again, and felt horribly sad as she watched them walk off together across the street.

‘I – thought I’d like to buy you dinner,’ said Boy. ‘I’m off tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow! Oh, God. Where to—’

‘Somewhere in the north of Scotland. I’ve volunteered for some commando type training. Can’t tell you any more than that.’

‘And what – what exactly will you be doing?’

‘I don’t know – exactly. Might even see some action quite soon. There’s talk of raids on Norway. Needless to say, that is absolutely confidential information.’

‘Of course.’

‘It sounds pretty exciting, doesn’t it?’

‘I suppose so,’ she said fretfully. ‘Oh Boy, I’m so frightened. For the children and Giles and Kit. And Adele of course, so terribly frightened for her, I wish she was home—’

‘What about me? Aren’t you frightened for me?’

‘Yes,’ she said and was surprised by how much, ‘yes, and for you.’

They had dinner at the Savoy; it was exceptionally busy, everyone dressed beautifully, Venetia was wearing a new beaded black dress – ‘Probably the last new dress for a long time,’ she said when Boy admired it, ‘English, of course, Hartnell, one must be patriotic, mustn’t one?’

‘Oh one must,’ he said very seriously. He smiled at her, looked round the room. Everyone was chattering, greeting friends, dancing: no one who had not known would have dreamed there was a war on.

But Boy was quiet, slightly distracted; they danced a couple of times, then he said, ‘Can we sit down?’

‘Of course.’ She looked at him, across the table, so immaculate as always in his dinner jacket, so unusually serious. ‘So – how do you feel?’ she said.

‘Oh – bit odd, really. Excited, in a way; relieved it’s actually starting, that I finally can get a crack at the whip—’

‘And – scared?’ she said gently. ‘Aren’t you scared at all?’

‘Oh – a bit,’ he said, smiling at her, ‘yes, of course. Only a fool would be otherwise. I might not come back, I might come back wounded, I might not conduct myself as I would like—’

‘Of course you will,’ said Venetia, ‘you always do. I’ve never known anyone as in control of themselves as you are – with the possible exception of Mummy.’

‘I’m not sure I like that. I hadn’t seen myself as being terribly like your mother.’

‘I didn’t say you were like her. I said you were self-controlled like her. She’s terribly brave too,’ she added. ‘Probably the bravest person I know. Sebastian often says that.’

‘Indeed? Well, he should know.’

‘Why do you say that?’ she said, intrigued, looking at him; but his face became an immediate blank.

‘No reason; champagne talking.’

‘Liar.’

‘Well, that I certainly am. As you know.’

‘Yes. I suppose I do.’ She pushed her fork round her plate; somehow she wasn’t hungry.

‘I’d like you to be out of London really,’ he said.

‘Oh, Boy, I can’t. We can’t all desert the sinking ship. I’ve sent all the children away, half the servants, and anyway, I’ve got a job to do. I want to do that, it’s become important to me.’

‘You’re quite – brave too, I think,’ he said, looking at her. ‘It was one of the things I always – admired about you.’

‘Me? Don’t be silly. What did I ever do that was brave?’

‘All sorts of things. Stood up to your mother for a start. Insisted on marrying me. Big mistake as it turned out.’

‘Well—’

‘And then you had all those babies.’

‘All women have babies.’

‘Yes, and a lot of them make a frightful fuss, I’m told. Not a squeak out of you, by all accounts. And then you were always amazing out hunting—’

‘Boy, when did you last see me hunting?’

‘It may be a while ago. But I’ve never forgotten, certainly not the first time I saw you. At Ashingham, you’ve probably forgotten, you took one most incredible fence on that little horse of your mother’s – what was she called?’

‘Oh – must have been Butterfly. She did fly too.’

‘Yes, that’s right. I just watched you, open-mouthed, practically came off myself—’

‘You never said—’

‘Didn’t I? Probably too overcome. Anyway, life rather overtook us after that, didn’t it? All those babies, my bad behaviour—’

‘Oh dear,’ said Venetia. She brushed her hand across her eyes.

‘What? What is it?’

‘Oh – I don’t know. So much time gone, so many mistakes – and now—’

‘I—’ He stopped, staring into his glass.

‘What, Boy? What is it?’

‘Oh – nothing.’

She was intrigued; she had never seen him nervous, at a loss for words. ‘There must be something.’

‘No – well, that is—’ He took a deep breath, as if he was about to do something rather reckless, then began to talk, speaking very fast. ‘There is something. Something I wanted to say. I don’t know if you’ll believe me. Or if this is what – what you want to hear. But I decided I couldn’t go away maybe for – well, for a long time – without telling you that I still – still love you. It was important to me, Venetia. That’s all.’

‘Oh,’ she said. She stared at him; she felt very surprised, shocked even. ‘Oh, I see.’

‘I know I’ve given you an awful time. I’m very ashamed of it. I wanted to say that too.’

Rage hit Venetia: hot, violent rage. It was so easy, so horribly easy for him. Behave badly all their married life, from the very beginning: and then suddenly, because it suited him, because he was going away, tell her he loved her. Just like that And that he was ashamed of himself. As if it could negate all the wrong, that easily, that quickly. She stared at him, feeling her face flush.

‘Look—’ he said, ‘I can see I’ve upset you. It was a bit crass, I should have gone off quietly, I suppose. I mean I certainly didn’t expect you to suddenly throw yourself into my arms, say you forgive me.’

‘No,’ she said, still staring at him, ‘no, I should hope not.’

It all ran before her then, like a bad film, the endless absences, once even on the night Elspeth had been born, the suspicions, was it
her
, what about
her
, the easy lies, the denials, the horrible discovery of Abigail Clarence, the pain of it all rushing at her again, fresh, most vividly recalled, hurting so much she caught her breath.

There was silence; finally he stood up.

‘I’m sorry. Bad idea. This whole thing. If you want to go home, I’ll quite understand.’

‘I – yes, I think perhaps I would. I really can’t cope with this, Boy, I’m afraid.’

‘Of course not. I’m sorry. So sorry.’

He was pale, more shaken than she had ever known him, except perhaps on the day when she confronted him with his affair with Abigail. She left quickly, he saw her to the door, into a taxi; as it pulled away from the Savoy courtyard, she looked back and saw him standing in the doorway staring after her, just discernible in the darkness.

When she got home, she went into her sitting room, and lit a cigarette; gradually her anger eased and she felt dreadfully unhappy instead. Unhappy and hurt, newly, freshly hurt. She looked at one of the few photographs that she had kept of herself and Boy, not on their wedding day, those had all been put away but at Henry’s christening, taken by Adele, both of them laughing, looking at one another and Henry’s small, sleeping face between them. They looked so happy: but had they been? And what was happiness anyway? She wasn’t sure any more, it had become a shadowy commodity for her, confused by disappointment and failure, she didn’t know where she might find it, or indeed where it had ever been. Lost in her childhood probably, her happy, easy childhood with Adele, when life had been simply a matter for them both of enjoying each day and getting what they wanted out of it. Sometimes she found it still: playing with the children, working at Lyttons, even round the big table at Cheyne Walk or last Christmas at Ashingham, when they were all together. Happy memories; was that what happiness actually was, never now, only then, in the past where you could pick your time, say then, yes, that was it, that was safe.