The Longest Winter (27 page)

‘Sophie, I’m not sure—’

‘No, James, no,’ she said, her forced lightness departing, ‘you have proposed to me, I have accepted, we are firmly engaged and shall be firmly married. Please don’t say we can’t or shouldn’t. We must get married, even if there is a war, and if there is then I should need you
more than ever. James, I was speaking to Carl. He has mentioned to you what we might do, live here for a while, hasn’t he?’

‘Yes, he mentioned it, Sophie.’

‘Darling, that would be very practical, wouldn’t it, and you are sometimes in favour of being practical, aren’t you?’ There was a little desperation about her, the light from the house a pale glow on her face, the jewels like fireflies in her hair. ‘We could be married very quietly, I should not mind a bit, and we could live here with the family until it was all over and go to England then. James, do you think that a good idea? It isn’t what we planned, but we should be married and that would be rather nice, wouldn’t it?’

‘Sophie, my sweet,’ he said. She put herself against him, he held her and felt her shivers. ‘I must say things. Listen very carefully. You know, don’t you, that Austria is determined to go to war with Serbia.’

‘No. Oh, yes. But that has nothing to do with you and me.’ She lifted her face and the apprehension was in her eyes. ‘James, you are not saying, are you, that you will join our army and go to war yourself?’

‘Please listen,’ he said gently. ‘When Austria goes to war with Serbia, Russia will go to war with Austria. Germany will fight in support of Austria. France will fight in support of Russia. Then the whole of Europe will go up in flames. Don’t you read your newspapers, Sophie?’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘yes, but not politics, not wars. Politics and wars are the enemies of civilization,
the enemies of people. James, what are you trying to tell me?’

‘Sophie.’ He drew her close. She was a brilliance in the warm night but her body was cold. ‘Sophie, my sweet, I’m trying to tell you I may have to go home.’

‘Home? To Edinburgh? To Warwickshire?’

‘We live in Warwickshire because my father’s main works are there. I may be forced to return there. Do you understand, Sophie?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘no.’ She wondered if he knew what he was doing to her.

‘I think if you spoke to your father he’d explain all the implications to you, I think he knows precisely what they might amount to. If I go—’

‘You mean to run away? From me? You would let our war make you do that to me?’ Sophie thought she would go out of her mind at such cruelty.

‘I shouldn’t go to get away from you, Sophie. But Austria might not want me here.’

She stared up into his dark, sombre eyes and the summer night suddenly became icy cold. Like a shaft of freezing light the truth pierced her.

‘Never,’ she gasped, ‘never! You couldn’t! You would never dare to jilt me like that. If the emperor chooses to quarrel with Serbia, what is that to do with others, with Russia or Germany? Or with your country? Oh, but yes, if there’s a war England would hate to be left out, she’ll interfere as she always does and drag Scotland in with her. She’ll do the least fighting and get the most
spoils. Well, the emperor can manage without you or your England or your Scotland—’

‘Dear heaven, Sophie,’ he said desperately, ‘don’t you see? If France goes to war against Germany and Austria, Britain won’t fight France, if she fights at all.’

That was the truth that had pierced her, the truth she had tried to reject with her anguished rejoinder. The appalling implication of what it meant engulfed her in pain.

‘You’d go to war against us?’ Shivering from head to foot, Sophie could hardly get the words out. ‘You’d shoot at me?’

‘For God’s sake—’

‘Only men could and would think in such terms! And you are worse than all of them, yes, worse, worse!’ She was crying in her pain. ‘You wished me to listen and I am listening, and you are talking about killing people who have been your friends, you are talking about going to war against me! Carl is as good as dead already, because what chance would he have against you? Oh, yes, you’ll be heroic again, won’t you? They’ll decorate you for bombarding Vienna, killing my family and destroying me, because that is what you will do if you leave me and go to war against me.’

‘Sophie, Sophie.’ James understood her anguish. He shared it.

‘Will you do that, will you?’ She had torn herself from him, she stood icy and trembling, her head up, her eyes wetly glittering.

‘How can I answer such a question as that? If
I go back home it will be because events make it impossible for me to stay. Sophie, do you really imagine—’

‘You have said enough.’ She spoke through shivering teeth. She felt herself already destroyed. ‘I will say goodbye now, then. I have been very stupid, I have behaved like an infatuated girl. But I thought you loved me. You are like most men, aren’t you? They love war better than any woman. I would have gone with you anywhere, I would have loved you, I would not have given you up for a thousand wars. I would not do that now. You are an iron hero, an iron Mars, a destroyer. I know now why you waited that day for Ferenac. You preferred war with him to riding back to Ilidze with me. Yes, I have been very stupid. I wish only one kindness from you now, and that is that you spare me the pain of seeing you again, whatever happens, whether there is a war or not.’

‘Sophie,’ he said, bitterly sad, ‘you are wrong. I understand what makes you say these things. But you are wrong. Listen to me a little more.’

‘No. No. No!’ She turned, she ran. She entered the house in a rush and looked as if she could not see, as if the night had blinded her. She was white and she was so cold.

‘Sophie, darling.’ Her mother came smiling. The smile slipped as she saw Sophie’s face and tragic eyes.

‘I’m going up to bed,’ said Sophie in a strange, wild voice, ‘I’ve said goodbye to James. Please ask the others to forgive me.’

James took his departure a little later in an atmosphere strained and uncomfortable. He said nothing of his quarrel with Sophie. He was simply unable to. He and Major Moeller left together. They did not call a cab. They walked. It was not so late and Vienna was still dancing, still strung with gold and yellow lamps.

‘Bear up, James,’ said the major, concerned at his friend’s silence, ‘I know what’s on your mind. It’s on mine too. But it can’t come to that. Damn it, there must be a few, wise men able to argue the hotheads out of it. It’s unacceptable, the thought of friends going to war in this day and age. We’ve progressed since it was considered an honour to cut each other’s heads off. My dear boy, don’t think of idiots, think of men of wisdom. And think of Sophie. Never knew a more attractive girl, or a more entertaining one. Fine family. Splendid people. Some schnapps at my place, eh? Do, my dear James, Sophie’s worth drinking to, what? Damn all fools, my boy, I’d like to see you and Sophie left in peace to enjoy life, and it is enjoyable if idiots can be taught not to interfere.’

‘Let’s try your schnapps,’ said James, ‘nobody’s likely to interfere with that.’

They had their schnapps. The major had it because he liked drinking with James. James had it because of Sophie, because it was only the schnapps which helped blur the memory of her anguished eyes and bitter voice.

They parted at the major’s door in the early hours, when Vienna was brooding on its way to
grey dawn. James was a little foggy but still upright.

‘Something’s not quite steady around here,’ murmured the major with confidential bonhomie, ‘damn place moving about, I think. But we’ll both get home on our feet, eh?’

‘You are home,’ said James, painful reality taking second place for the moment to alcoholic melancholy.

‘Eh? So I am, so I am. Fortunate, that. Always lucky with the spin of the coin, you know. Always lucky in the friends I’ve had. Never got on with politicians. Think more of you than any of them. Don’t forget that. God in heaven, James, they’re trying to pull the carpet from under our feet. You know what I mean?’

‘Yes,’ said James, ‘I do know.’

They shook hands very solemnly.

The Serbian reply to the ultimatum conveyed total surrender. But such unconditional compliance was quite unwelcome to Count Berchtold, who wished Austria to launch the war from a platform of high and unmitigated dudgeon. Serbia’s failure to reject the ultimatum changed that to a platform of plain opportunity. The assassination had provided the opportunity and Count Berchtold was not going to be circumvented. It was not unreasonable to assert that Serbia would default on her promise of full reparations, and Austria, therefore, must act in anticipation of this.

Accordingly Franz Josef signed the declaration of war on behalf of the Austro-Hungarian empire, and the empire commenced hostilities by dropping bombs on Belgrade.

Russia, traditional protector of the Slav peoples, followed by declaring war on Austria. Germany, resolutely behind Austria at the beginning of the crisis, now ended a period of second thoughts and went to war against Russia. France, as Russia’s ally, declared against Germany and began her
overtures to bring Britain in on her side. The Germans began to advance on France through Belgium. The simmering pot erupted.

Baroness von Korvacs, emotionally loyal to the emperor, whatever course he took, and just as emotionally disturbed by all it meant, was called to the telephone at a moment when Carl had just received his mobilization orders. James was on the line. The baroness knew by now all the horrifying possibilities of escalation. British nationals were leaving Vienna as quickly as they could.

‘Baroness,’ said James hesitantly, ‘forgive me for worrying you, but I must leave and almost at once. May I come and say goodbye?’

‘Yes, I understand, James. Come and see us, please waste no time. The worst has not happened yet, though, has it? I pray it will not. James, whether or not Sophie will see you I don’t know. She is terribly unhappy.’

‘I’ll come now,’ said James, ‘thank you, Baroness.’

The baroness found Sophie in the morning room, gazing out of the window at the traffic. The Salesianergasse was far busier than usual. Carriages and cabs, automobiles and people were moving with an air of urgency and excitement. Vienna was not depressed by the declaration of war, it was gripped by the same patriotic fervour as other European capitals. On many vehicles fluttering flags were mounted, and on many fair heads ladies had pinned their most colourful hats.

Sophie, still unable to believe James and his country could be so perfidious as to side with Russia and France, was numb, frozen and suffering. When told that James was coming to say goodbye she looked at her mother in pale-faced incredulity.

‘Here? He’s coming here? You’d let him into the house when he intends to betray us, desert us?’

‘Oh, Sophie, I know how tragic this is for you, but that is unfair and unkind,’ said the baroness. The tragedy was that Sophie was so intensely in love, so shatteringly robbed of love. She was affected in every fibre of her being, so obviously paralysed by the fact that James was putting his patriotic duty before his regard for her, before all his promises to her. To Sophie that meant he did not love her enough or want her enough. That, to Sophie, was the most unbearable wound of all, as the baroness was aware. But James could hardly be blamed for the decisions of politicians, nor could he be held responsible for consequences that would turn friends into enemies. He would be as unhappy about that as they were. ‘Sophie, James is helpless. He can’t stop this madness any more than we can. Can we stop Austria and Russia going to war? Can James stop his country joining in? Don’t blame him for the blindness of statesmen in London.’

‘I don’t,’ said Sophie tonelessly. She put her hands to her face, pressed her pale cheeks. ‘I only know that when I most need him he is failing me. If he had any real feeling for us, for me, he
would stay. I know it would need courage to do that, I know he’d be interned, but I prayed he would stand up and say he owed us too much to desert us. Instead he’s going back to that hateful country of his, which means he’s willing to fight against us.’

‘Sophie, my dear,’ said the baroness sadly, ‘one is privileged in having friends, one doesn’t demand that friends should consider themselves in debt to us. James has a duty to his country. He has to go back, you must see that.’

‘I see that he feels he should,’ said Sophie, ‘what I can’t see is why he feels he must. Mama, I never want to be in love again. Nor do I want to see James again.’

‘That isn’t true, is it?’ The baroness was gentle, compassionate. ‘Sophie, he’s coming to say goodbye to us. That in itself under these circumstances takes a lot of courage. He’ll be very unhappy. So you must see him. If his country does go to war it may be your last chance to.’

‘Mama, I can’t.’ Sophie’s eyes, dark from sleeplessness, put her mother in pain. ‘Please don’t insist. I think I would only say bitter things. I’d like to spare everyone that, I’d like to even spare James that.’

‘Darling, I shan’t make you, I shan’t force you. I’ll only say that if you don’t see him you may later feel even unhappier than you do now.’

Sophie went silently up to her room. Carl, uncompromisingly on the side of his sister and knowing that the exodus of British nationals could only mean one thing, felt in all conscience
that he would rather be absent too. But the baroness would not allow a second defaulter. So when James arrived Carl put in an appearance that was stiffly civil and extremely brief.

‘You are going, I believe?’

‘I’m afraid—’

‘You need not explain. It was good of you to call. You’ll excuse me? I have just received my orders to report. Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye, Carl,’ said James. He added, with the faintest of smiles, ‘Thank you for Vienna. And the Benz.’

Carl clicked his heels, inclined his head and left.

Anne was close to tears. Preposterous rumours had suddenly become dreadful facts, and sheer inability to understand why made it so hard to know what to say to James. He was in difficulties himself. Anne, torn between love of her country and inalienable affection for the man who had saved her and Sophie from Avriarches, could not conceal her misery. The words she and James exchanged were awkward and inadequate, and neither mentioned what was uppermost in their minds. That Britain might enter the war against Austria and Germany. The baroness, looking on, wanted to weep.