Sweet Poison (34 page)

‘So people like your brother, the Duke, have sympathy for Nazi Germany because the Fascists claim to be patriots, is that right?’

‘No, but people like my brother think Germany has had a bad deal, particularly from France which, don’t forget, until 1914 was England’s traditional enemy. They’re just confused and they think if they play by the rules and give Germany everything it can legitimately claim as a nation, then it will be satisfied. Unfortunately, men like our friend Friedberg don’t play by any rules.’

Verity thought how grim he looked. Gone was the cheerful, lightweight sprig of nobility and in its place was a man of considerable intellectual quality, as determined in his own way as David Griffiths-Jones.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, smiling. ‘How did we get on to this? I must sound incredibly pompous.’

‘No, not at all. I’m interested. I suppose I was thinking of General Craig. Was he a patriot or a warmonger? Does he deserve justice?’

‘I think he deserves the truth,’ Edward answered. ‘Justice may not be ours to give but he deserves to have his death taken seriously and not just pushed out of sight and out of mind.’

This was so different from David’s view that Verity found herself smiling.

‘That’s better, I have made you laugh,’ said Edward, smiling himself.

‘No, I mean I wasn’t smiling at what you said: just how two people can see the truth so differently.’

‘Me and Griffiths-Jones?’

Again, Verity was taken aback by his acuity. ‘Yes – David. I’m afraid he would think you were sentimental.’

‘Sentimental?’

‘Yes. What is the death of one man, and a militarist at that, when there is a battle for socialism to be fought and won?’

‘I have always thought it was the weakness of your movement that the individual is so despised. It is not English. We believe in the liberty and significance of the individual. It has got nothing to do with the freedom of one class to exploit another for profit, as your friend David would have it. The English believe everyone has the right to their own home and the right to do what they want in their spare time. That doesn’t sound like much but it means the right to be in a pigeon loft or on a cricket field rather than get into uniform after work and march off to a parade ground and shout “all heil” in front of some demagogue. No party rallies, no youth movements – well, the scouts of course, but you know what I mean. We English don’t like coloured shirts, hymns of hate and “spontaneous demonstrations”. That’s why Mr Griffiths-Jones will never live to see his revolution in England. I hope you don’t mind.’

No punctures or engagements with farm wagons delayed their journey and they turned on to the Mersham drive in good time for dinner. Verity shrunk back into her seat, for a minute unable to summon up her usual sang-froid. She knew that, with Edward by her side, she would not be insulted or probably even reproached but there would be something in the Duke’s eyes which would shrivel her up, she was sure. She decided that she would not wait for the stricken-deer looks and would come straight out with the ‘manly’ apology, but it was not to be. As the Duke shook her by the hand at the castle’s front door he said, ‘Welcome, Miss Browne. I want you to know that on our part’ – he looked across at Connie who was standing smiling, one arm in Edward’s – ‘we do not in any way criticize you for writing in the . . . in the newspaper’ – the Duke could not quite bring himself to name it – ‘as you did. As a newspaper reporter you only did your job and you betrayed no secrets.’

‘Thank you, Duke,’ she said with a warm smile which made the Duke smile too. ‘I do owe an apology to the Duchess for pretending to be what I was not.’

Connie kissed Verity on both cheeks and said, ‘It is enough for me to know that Edward counts you as a friend.’

Awkwardness removed, a greater warmth was generated between hosts and guests than if there had been no obstacles to overcome. The Duke said, ‘You know, of course, that Cecil Haycraft and Weaver are also here tonight. I had invited General Craig’s heir, the distant cousin, but Craig’s solicitor, through whom I extended the invitation, has informed me that the man . . . I can’t even remember his name, can you, Connie?’

‘Wilson, Henry Wilson.’

‘Yes, well, Wilson is too busy to stay a night and is going to drive to Mersham and back in the day. Most extraordinary, I call it.’

The Duke was obviously a little put out to have had his invitation refused but also relieved. He had no wish to discuss the General’s death at length with a man who might legitimately argue that the Duke, by allowing his guest to die of cyanide poisoning in his house, had failed in his feudal duty as a host.

‘Is Blanche coming, Connie?’ Edward inquired.

‘No. Apparently Hermione is not very well and she wants to spend most of her day at the hospital.’

Edward said, ‘Oh, I am sorry about that. I hoped she might be on the mend.’

‘So did the doctors, Blanche told me,’ Connie said. ‘However, she seems unable to shake off the effects of the drugs. She was given a massive overdose, you know. Apparently, her kidneys – or is it her liver? I don’t know – are unable to cope. If you hadn’t found her when you did, Edward, she would certainly be dead.’

‘And the Bishop’s wife – Honoria?’ said Edward, wanting to change the subject.

‘She has a host of duties in the diocese this weekend so she begged to be excused. The Bishop has to go straight back home after the inquest, but I do hope you both won’t rush away.’

‘I’m afraid I will have to go after the inquest,’ said Verity, taking a deep breath. She was about to be rather cowardly and make an announcement which Edward might not like in front of his brother and sister-in-law so he could not make too much of a fuss. She had meant to tell him in the car but somehow there had not been time. ‘I am going to Spain on Saturday and I have to pack and so on.’

‘How exciting,’ Connie exclaimed. ‘On holiday?’

‘Not quite, though as I have never been before I certainly intend doing some sight-seeing.’

‘So why are you going?’ demanded Edward, trying not to sound annoyed.

‘Well,’ Verity swallowed, ‘you remember Lord Weaver offered me that job on the
New Gazette
?’

‘Yes, which you had no hesitation in turning down.’

‘Quite, but I had second thoughts.’

‘Second thoughts!’

‘Yes. I spoke to Lord Weaver on the telephone today and asked him if I could report from Spain. There are some very interesting political developments going on there,’ she gabbled. ‘There is a real chance of a socialist government being elected and –’

‘Is David Griffiths-Jones anything to do with this?’ interjected Edward icily.

‘Not really – well, I mean he is coming too, but we will be quite separate.’

Connie, seeing that Edward was about to upbraid Verity, hurriedly said, ‘Well, that sounds most exciting, Verity. I do congratulate you. Will your name be on the reports or will they be – what is it? – “from a correspondent”?’

‘No, Lord Weaver has been very kind and has offered me a by-line.’

‘A by-line?’ said the Duke, puzzled.

‘She means she will be credited as the author, which is a great compliment,’ Connie explained.

‘It is, and there is also going to be a note attached that I am a member of the Communist Party. I don’t want to pretend I am something I am not again,’ she said, looking at Connie. ‘There will be other reports from Spain from other reporters. I am not going to try and be neutral as if I were on the wireless.’

‘I see,’ said Edward, who had now calmed down. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before? Why this rush?’

‘I’m telling you now,’ Verity came back strongly. ‘It has only just been decided.’

‘Decided by whom?’ Edward demanded.

‘Ned, don’t be a bully,’ Connie said. ‘Why should she tell you? Anyway, Verity says it has only just been arranged.’

‘Yes, Duchess –’

‘Oh Verity, please call me Connie, everyone does!’

‘Thank you, Connie. Yes, it has only just been arranged. In fact I am hoping, if you don’t mind, Duke, to have a word about it with Lord Weaver to confirm details – that sort of thing.’

‘Of course,’ said the Duke, who was almost as surprised as Edward. He did not quite feel he wanted Verity to call him by his first name yet but he wanted to be friendly. He liked most young people and he thought this pretty, enterprising girl was delightful if only . . . if only she were not a Communist. It all seemed a lot of rot to him; she would make the perfect wife for Edward, he thought longingly. He wanted an intelligent, active girl who would stand up to him – not one of those milk-and-water creatures he saw in the
Tatler
draped in their mother’s pearls.

‘What about the
Daily Worker
?’ said Edward nastily. ‘Are you dropping your old employer?’

‘No,’ said Verity. ‘Lord Weaver said I can still send my stuff to them – a different market, he says.’

‘I should say it is,’ guffawed the Duke. ‘Anyway, don’t let’s stand around in the hall. Come into the garden and have some tea. You must be thirsty.’ The Duke always considered the journey from London to Mersham as being comparable with Livingstone’s most perilous African explorations.

Sitting under the great copper beech in deck chairs, sipping tea from Crown Derby porcelain so delicate as to be almost translucent seemed to Verity as near heaven as was possible on this earth. True, the lawn was browning after a month without rain and the river beside her chair ran thin and shallow, but the feeling of being outside the real world, afloat on a sea of tranquillity, left her feeling uncharacteristically lethargic. She had got it off her chest that she was going away with David Griffiths-Jones and though, she told herself, it had nothing to do with Edward, she had been nervous about what he would say. Now the tension had gone and though she realized he was hurt, she felt there was nothing else she could do. She had made some sort of choice – the nature of which she was unable to define but she sensed it was more significant than merely deciding to go to Spain on an adventurous holiday.

Looking round her, it seemed sad that all this had to go. The socialist revolution was inevitable and, more to the point, it was desirable, but even so . . . She stirred herself as a swan paddled past looking cross to find the level of the water so low. She wanted to be lying in a punt trailing her fingers in the cool water, and who was the shadow above her with the pole in his strong, manly arms? Edward or David – it was hard to see . . .

Edward gazed at Verity half asleep on the canvas chair. She looked so cool in her white linen suit. She had taken off her jacket which had fallen unheeded on to the grass and had even kicked off her blue and white shoes to Connie’s evident amusement. Her long white arm hung beside her so that her fingers touched the grass and her eyes were closed. He was able to stare at her in repose for the first time and he followed the long curve of her neck down to her small, neat breasts and then onwards along slim legs visible below her pleated skirt.

‘You like her,’ Connie said in his ear and Edward suddenly realized his brother and sister-in-law had been observing him with amusement. He blushed despite himself.

‘Oh, I don’t know, Connie. She’s certainly not interested in me. She’s in love with Comrade David,’ he said with heavy sarcasm.

‘Not one of your favourite people, I would guess,’ said Connie smiling.

‘No. He looks like one of those young men in West End plays who come in through the French windows and say “Who’s for tennis?”, but his sole
raison d
’
être
is the “socialist revolution” which, from what I can make out, means stringing up people like me on lamp-posts and turning places like this’ – he waved towards the castle – ‘into the Communist equivalent of YMCAs.’

Verity woke up with a start, apologized for dropping off to sleep and started to struggle to her feet. ‘It’s so restful here,’ she said.

‘Well, sit there a bit longer and enjoy the last of the sun,’ said Connie. ‘I have noticed, now we are into September, when the sun goes it gets cold quite quickly. I think both you and Ned are very tired. You’ve been rushing around London finding dead bodies and goodness knows what. You need to take it easy for a bit, Ned, and it will probably do Verity a lot of good to see the back of you for a bit. A change of scene, as Mother used to say, is better than a tonic.’

‘And have you found out anything about the General’s death, Ned?’ asked the Duke.

‘Not really,’ said Edward, raising his hands in apology. ‘We’ve got a few theories but I thought we might wait until later on, after dinner perhaps, before we air them. Somehow it all seems too peaceful here to talk about death and all that sort of thing, don’t you know.’

Connie saw that he was trying to appear light-hearted but that he was actually quite depressed.

‘Yes, that’s a good idea,’ she said. ‘What time is it now?’ She looked at her husband who put on his glasses and consulted his hunter with considerable ceremony.

‘Six o’clock, m’dear.’

‘Lord Weaver and Cecil Haycraft will be here any minute and I must think about dressing. Dinner at eight, Verity – you’re in the same room as you were before. Would you like to borrow my maid?’

‘Oh, no, thank you, Connie,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t brought anything very smart to wear. I hope that doesn’t matter.’

‘No, my dear,’ said the Duke. ‘Ned, I am coming down in a smoking jacket. I told Weaver and the Bishop that it was all going to be informal. It doesn’t seem right somehow to dress up as if this was some ordinary dinner-party instead of . . . well, you know what I mean – with the inquest tomorrow.’

Lying in her bath later, Verity heard tyres crunching on the gravel and guessed that the Bishop and her future employer, Lord Weaver, had arrived. In the short time that had passed since the fatal dinner at which the old man had been poisoned, a lot seemed to have happened. She had grown up, she considered. When she had taken Edward off his haywain and used him as a passport into Mersham Castle, she had been a girl – her political convictions, sincerely enough held, had not been a burden to her as they were now but as natural as the air she breathed. Now, everything was much more complicated. The aristocracy she was pledged to do away with were not the superannuated dinosaurs she had imagined them to be. Her comrades in the Party were more ruthless and their judgments less straightforward than she had assumed. In short, the world was an altogether more dangerous place than she had thought in her innocence. She was by no means daunted; she felt herself to be on the edge of her
real
life. As the Bible said, she had until now thought and understood as a child; henceforth she would see the world clearly, as it really was, even if she did not like what she saw. She was going to be a good journalist – she knew that – and it looked as though there was going to be a lot to report in Spain and elsewhere in Europe during the next few years.