The Sword of Fate (10 page)

This argument was all very well in its way, but it did not seem to me to have the least bearing upon the point at issue. Nobody blamed the Dutch Army for having surrendered after four days’ fighting, and I saw no reason why anybody should blame the Belgian Army for surrendering when they had fought very gallantly for far longer. But what had this to do with the personal act of King Leopold?

It might be argued that, as the commander of his army, he could not leave it; but all monarchs are technically commanders of their armed forces, and it is transparently clear that at certain times of crisis they have a much higher duty to their nation as a whole than to any portion of it.

The King of Norway and the Queen of Holland had already given splendid examples of that high duty. When their armed forces had been defeated by the treachery and superior strength of the enemy, these monarchs had not remained behind so that they could be forced to co-operate with Hitler and thus assist him by setting their people an example of complaisance. Instead, they had refused all dealings with the enemy and in their persons transferred the free and defiant spirits of their peoples to the country of their ally, with the intention of continuing to honour their alliance and carry on the struggle.

King Leopold was within a few hours of London. When it became necessary for his army to surrender he could quite easily have taken a ship or ’plane to England for the purpose of becoming the focal point of a continued resistance by Free Belgians all over the world. But he did nothing of the kind. He surrendered his person to the enemy.

To me the issue appeared to be a perfectly clear one, but whatever the rights of the Belgian surrender and the withdrawal of the British Army from the Continent, the fact remained that the French were now in an extraordinarily precarious situation and that we were no longer in any state to send them material assistance.

The blackness of the picture was relieved only by our confidence in Weygand’s brilliance and the knowledge that, with Churchill now firmly established in the saddle, at long last Britain had a war leader worthy of her.

At a quarter to eight the crowd began to thin, and although I had hardly had a chance to exchange a word with Daphnis I felt that the time was rapidly approaching when decency would compel me to take my leave. From my point of view it had been a most disappointing party, but in this I judged too hastily. Old Diamopholus came up to me, still with the naval captain, the only other Britisher in the room, beside him and said:

“You will stay to dinner, I hope, Mr. Day? At these informal affairs we always expect our friends to stay on unless they already are engaged to dine somewhere else.”

I accepted with alacrity, and from then on, for me at least, the whole atmosphere of the party improved enormously. There were not more than twenty people remaining, and it appeared that they were all staying on to dine. That, and perhaps the number of drinks we had had as well, lent a more intimate and carefree tone to the gathering, and when after another half-hour of steady drinking we all moved into a huge dining-room I found that Daphnis very skilfully contrived temporarily to get rid of two Greeks who had been dancing attendance on her so that she could sit beside me.

With the family, having counted heads, I found that twenty-five of us sat down to table, but from the number of servants it was obvious that the Diamopholi were used to that sort of thing, and the full six-course dinner which followed was in every way worthy of the merchant prince whose guests we were.

After dinner more than half the party collected in the lounge to play baccarat. The rich Greeks are great gamblers, and Daphnis told me that her stepfather played almost every night, going out to his friends whenever they did not have parties there. Two tables of bridge were made up in the drawing-room. I managed to escape being roped in but was resigning myself to having to spend the evening at the baccarat table, instead of talking to Daphnis, when she said in her mother’s hearing:

“Are you quite sure that you wouldn’t rather play than look at my stamp collection, Mr. Day?”

“No, honestly,” I assured her with sudden fervour. “I’m a terribly keen philatelist—have been for years, and I can play cards any time.”

“All right then,” she said. “Let’s go into the library. I keep them there.”

I followed her from the lounge, where they were still checking out great piles of counters, into a comfortable library at the back of the house. As we entered it I made to close the door after me, but she shook her head and whispered: “Better not. If anyone comes along and finds us shut up in here it will look suspicious.”

I saw the sense of that in this Victorian household, although I groaned inwardly because I wanted so desperately to kiss her, but she motioned me to a sofa along the wall immediately behind the door, and no sooner had we sat down on it than she was in my arms.

Long before I was willing for her to do so she wriggled free and whispered with a little laugh:

“Stop, now; stop! I must get out the stamps so that we can be looking at them if anyone comes in.” From a cupboard below one of the big bookcases she produced two bulky volumes, but as soon as she sat down again I firmly took them from her and grasped her hands.

“Listen, Daphnis,” I said. “I want to get this engagement business straight. You’re not in love with this fellow Paolo, are you?”

She shook her head. “No. My mother and his arranged the marriage three months ago. He’s clever and interesting. He will give me a good establishment, and I like him as a friend. But I don’t love him.”

“Does he love you?”

“Yes. He saw me at a dance and at once got his mother, with whom he lives here in Alex, to approach mine.”

“Well, I’m afraid he’s going to be unlucky,” I told her firmly. “You’re not going to marry him. You’re going to marry me.”

“But—but wouldn’t you mind marrying a foreigner?” she said with a little gasp. “And I’m a member of the Greek Church, you know.”

“Darling,” I laughed, “I don’t mind in the slightest!”

“But—but I hardly know you,” she murmured.

I laughed again. “You know what my kisses feel like, and although I’m not as rich as your stepfather, I’ve got quite enough money to keep you in every comfort. Surely that’s enough?”

“But your family. They might object and it would be terrible to enter a family where one was not welcome.”

“That needn’t worry you. I’m an orphan. Both my parents are dead and I have no near relatives at all. I don’t even want to take you away from your own family and friends. After the war we’d travel, of course, and see lots of interesting places; but I’d be quite happy to make our home in Alexandria.”

“Would you—really?” her eyes were wide and bright. “Perhaps—oh, I don’t know, you must give me time to think.”

“You don’t need time,” I insisted gently. “Either you love me or you don’t. If you do let me speak to your mother and stepfather tonight; then you can write to Paolo and tell him that your engagement to him is off, so that he gets it first thing in the morning.”

“
Dio mio!
” she exclaimed. “I had almost forgotten, but Paolo should be here at any moment. He couldn’t dine because in these days he works so late at the Legation, but he said that he would come in at ten o’clock.”

“All the better,” I grinned, feeling at the top of my form and ready to tackle anything. “I’m sorry for Paolo, but the sooner this thing is settled the better. When he comes you’d better have a showdown with him right away, and I’ll speak to your parents immediately afterwards.”

“Oh, why are you in such a hurry?” she sighed.

I kissed her lightly just behind the ear. “The main reason is because I’m nearly twenty-seven years old, and I don’t want to waste another day of my life without you.”

She smiled. “You couldn’t take me with you to your camp in the Western Desert at the end of your week’s leave, you know.”

“All the more reason for us not to waste a single hour but to get engaged this very night,” I countered. “Then I’ll be able to spend every waking moment for the rest of my leave with you.”

“What’s the other reason?”

“Because I want to make you an Englishwoman as soon as possible.”

For obvious reasons I could not tell her that she was on Major Cozelli’s suspect list, and I felt that the one way to make quite certain that she would give up any Italian intrigues in which she might be participating was to get her to become engaged to me.

But that was the real motive which lay behind my decision to force the pace for all I was worth.

She considered a little, then she said:

“Marriage can’t change one’s love for one’s own country, and I don’t know if you know it but I’m half Italian.”

“Yes, I know that,” I said. “What of it?”

“If Britain and Italy went to war you’d expect me to hate Italy, and I could never do that.”

“Of course I shouldn’t,” I laughed. “Britain’s war with Germany is one thing. War between Britain and Italy would be quite another matter. The English and the Italians have always been good friends, and the Italians are no fonder of the Germans than we are, so if they did get dragged in through pressure exerted by Hitler, there’d be no real bitterness on either side. You and I would make the subject taboo—just ignore it.”

“No, Julian,” she shook her head. “We might try to but we couldn’t do that. After a few months of this hateful modern war each side would have performed acts which the other would consider brutal or despicable, and we’d be bound to be affected. It would be taking an awful risk for me to marry you as long as there is any chance that war may break out between Italy and Britain.”

“It won’t,” I declared with a confidence that I really felt. “I don’t want to belittle Italy in any way, but one can’t get away from facts. Italy couldn’t possibly afford a war. She’s only self-supporting in one of the six major commodities which are used in waging wars so she would be a liability rather than an asset to Hitler. At present Italy is the big hole in the Allied blockade. She’s taking in millions of tons of surplus merchandise each month and railing it straight through to Germany. Once she went to war our Navy could put an end to that overnight and the traffic would have to start to flow back the other way. Hitler would have to help feed and support the Italians and there are forty-five millions of them. Honestly, darling, this great trumpet-blowing act that Musso is putting on now is only another big bluff.”

“Perhaps you’re right. I hope so! But this morning all Italian shipping was recalled to its ports, and that’s a pretty serious step.”

“Of course I’m right,” I insisted. “Holding up his shipping
for a day or two, or even a week, may cost Mussolini a bit of money but he can well afford it. With Britain, Germany and France at war Italy has been left without a rival for the Atlantic passenger traffic, and she’s making a packet out of it. While we’re all busy the Italians are cornering all the South American markets, too, and of course they’re making a huge profit on every single thing they send through to Germany. If the war lasts for two years Italy will have drained Germany dry financially and conquered huge new markets for herself overseas into the bargain. From near bankrupt she will have become one of the richest countries in the world, while we’ve been cutting each other’s throats. That’s why it’s absolutely inconceivable that the Italians would be such fools as to come in. Anyhow, if you won’t marry me right away, we can at least get engaged.”

Her eyes danced as she murmured: “Yes. I suppose we could, but it will be an awful shock for poor Paolo.”

“That’s settled then.” I kissed her hands. “You’ll break the bad news to Paolo as soon as he turns up, and while you’re doing it I’ll tackle your mother and stepfather.”

“Oh, Julian! This is all so—so …”

“Sudden!” I finished for her with a laugh. “That’s the classic phrase which a mid-Victorian girl would use for a situation like this.”

The dimple on her cheek showed. “Do you really think that I’m so terribly old-fashioned?”

“You have no time or period. You’re just the loveliest and most adorable thing in the world,” I answered, staring straight into her eyes; and next moment we were locked in each other’s arms again.

“Daphnis!” The exclamation of shocked surprise pierced our reeling senses, causing us to spring apart. Madame Diamopholus had come into the room unheard by us, and was staring at her daughter in anger and amazement.

I was a little breathless after that long kiss, but I came to my feet with the best grace that I could muster and said, with a solemnity due to the occasion:

“I know that I appear to have abused your hospitality shamelessly and—and that, before addressing myself to Daphnis, I should have gained the consent of your husband and yourself. But—well, I hope that you will forgive my impetuousness when I tell you that Daphnis and I love each other, and that she has just consented to become my wife.”

Madame Diamopholus stood there, with her mouth half-open,
staring at me as though I had gone crazy; but I had hardly finished speaking when a newcomer violently projected himself into the midst of this good old Lyceum drama family scene. He was a thickset, olive-faced young man with black piercing eyes, and had evidently been just behind Madame Diamopholus as she entered the room, but had remained hidden from me until that moment by the open door.

“What you make ’ere wiz my fiancé?” he almost screamed. “You tella da lie and I am insult!” He thumped his chest angrily, and if looks could have killed I should have fallen stricken to the floor.

There could be no doubt at all as to who this little fire-eater was, but I said coldly:

“Am I to assume that I am adressing Signor Paolo …?”

“II Cavaliere Paolo Tortino!” he roared. “And you ’oo maka da insult! My honour is tramped. I demanda we fight.”

The name Tortino had a vaguely familiar ring, and as I stared at him I felt sure that I knew his face. In his rage he had gone white to the gills, and I think he would have attacked me there and then if Daphnis had not shown remarkable aplomb and courage in so young a girl.

Instead of playing the part of a Victorian miss, to which I had likened her, and giving way to a fit of hysterics, she appeared as cool and collected as if we had been exchanging the most light-hearted pleasantries. Stepping between us, she said in Italian, which she knew that I could understand: