Traitors' Gate (13 page)

He found, too, that, except for a Bishop and one walrus-moustached old gentleman who was a Baron in his own right, they were all either Counts or Countesses, as the Magyars followed a widespread Continental custom that all children took the title of their parents, distinguishing themselves by the use of their Christian names. All of them spoke German, French, English and Italian with almost equal fluency and, apparently, as the spirit moved them at the moment; so the conversation was a veritable Babel.

Zapolya’s wife, the Countess Dorottya, was plump and grey-haired, but appeared to be still on the right side of fifty, so a good twenty years younger than himself. As she extended a beautifully kept hand to Gregory he remembered just in time not to kiss it, as a chance remark he had heard in the bar of the Zur Krone two nights before had informed him that the Hungarian aristocracy now regarded the custom as bourgeois. That she was the Count’s second wife emerged a few minutes later when a tall man with Tartar features, also about fifty, was introduced to him as the Count’s eldest son, Count Rudolph.

There was a beautiful black-haired Italian, the Countess Marcella, who was the wife of a much younger son, not present, and a bronze-haired Countess Erzébet, who was a daughter of the house; a handsome young man named Count István, and a hunchback with a clever, amusing face named Count Lászlo. But before Gregory could gather more than a vague idea of their relationships they all went in to lunch.

They were using, as Gregory learned later, the smaller dining room; but it could easily have seated twenty. Standing in it near the far end of the table were a sandy-haired young man with thick-lensed glasses, whom Gregory thought looked suspiciously like a German, a mousey looking woman in a white blouse and black skirt, a boy of about nine and a pretty little dark girl of about eleven. The children, Count Sityi and Countess Teresa, belonged to the Countess Marcella, and the
grown-ups were their Austrian tutor and French governess.

Throughout the meal a major-domo stood behind Count Zapolya’s chair while elderly footmen handed dishes that had nothing Hungarian about their cooking, but were obviously the productions of an excellent French chef. Nevertheless, it proved a jolly, informal, family party with everyone laughing and talking at once. But for the medley of tongues it might have been a luncheon in one of the stately homes of England for, like the English, and unlike the Germans, Austrians and French, these Magyar aristocrats regarded the fact that they had been born noble as so natural that they made no effort whatever to impress, or to protect their dignity behind a cold, formal manner.

In the rôle of the French major who had got away from Dunkirk, Gregory gave an account of wartime life in England, and described the blitz. Most of them knew London well, and while the burning of a large part of the City meant little to them, they pressed him for further details when he spoke of the great raid on the West End.

On that Saturday night he had been dining with friends at Hatchett’s when a stick of bombs crashed along Piccadilly and scores more fell in the neighbourhood. An hour or so later, when they left the restaurant, fires along the wide thoroughfare had made it as bright as day from the Circus to the Ritz, and from pavement to roof every window in ‘Burtons the Tailors’ building was belching great tongues of flame.

Most of the men among Gregory’s listeners had pleasant memories of being entertained at the famous clubs in Pall Mall and St. James’s Street, so were distressed to hear that many of them had been severely damaged; yet, having no experience of air raids, it was the after effects which struck them most forcibly. No doubt they would have faced the dangers of the blitz with commendable bravery, but they were quite shocked when Gregory told them that, after he had made a tour of the area the following morning to see the worst for himself, owing to the electric and gas mains having been wrecked the Berkeley could provide him only with a cold lunch.

With fruit and dessert wines the luncheon continued in leisurely fashion till past three o’clock, then the Count told Gregory that it was the custom of the house-party to go for a drive in the afternoon. Thereupon Gregory remarked that his poor driver must be wondering how much longer he meant
to stay, and that in any case it was time for him to be starting back for Budapest; but Zapolya would not hear of his doing so.

‘Nonsense, my dear fellow,’ he declared. ‘My people will have seen to it that the man was given a meal then paid off. If you must return to Budapest tonight, I’ll have you driven to the station at any hour, and the Station Master will flag the first train that comes along to stop and pick you up. But unless you have engagements that you cannot possibly cancel by telephone, I suggest that you should spend the next few days here. We shall then have an opportunity to discuss matters in more detail.’

Gregory said that he would have been delighted to accept but had not with him even a tooth-brush, let alone a change of clothes. The Count waved the objection aside. He would send his valet in on the next train to collect Gregory’s things from the Vadászkürt, and the man would be back by nightfall. He would also arrange with the management that Gregory’s room at the hotel should be reserved so that he could return to it whenever he wished.

In consequence, Gregory drove out with the family, and on his return was equipped for dinner, by the charming Countess Elizabeth, with an Hungarian costume, selected from the great store of finery kept in the house for amateur theatricals and dressing up. To put him at his ease several of the other men also wore the national dress that night and the women all congratulated him on the fine figure he cut. When, at two o’clock in the morning, he eventually went up to bed he found that all his own things had been arranged in his room as though he had already occupied it for a week.

On waking the following morning between the fine lawn sheets he found it difficult to believe that he was not still dreaming. Twenty-four hours earlier he had been convinced that he had come to Hungary on a wild goose chase; now there seemed a definite possibility that he might succeed in engineering a break between the Hungarians and the Nazis. The half-waking thought was made all the more unreal by kaleidoscopic memories of having the previous day walked into a world of luxurious, cultured leisure that he had believed to have become extinct for two years or more all over war-torn Europe. Yet his transitory doubts were dissipated by the arrival of a French-speaking man-servant who brought him a breakfast
which could not have been surpassed in pre-war days, and’ asked him at what temperature he liked his bath.

For the next three days he remained at Nagykáta, enjoying to the full a gracious hospitality, and much laughter; but the secret reason for his presence there was kept well in mind by his elderly host. Unostentatiously the Count called several conferences in his own room. Before the first he explained to Gregory that his eldest son, Count Rudolph, was interested only in agricultural problems, so would be of little use in their deliberations; but the Baron Alacy—who was also a retired General—the Bishop, and the merry-eyed hunchback, Count Lászlo, were called in. All three agreed that, short of some unforeseeable circumstance, the combination of the United States, the British Empire and Soviet Russia must in the end defeat Germany and Japan; so that Hungary’s best hope for the future lay in going over to the Allies. But there was a considerable divergence of opinion on the question of the conditions to be stipulated in any secret pact and the timing of this exceedingly dangerous volte-face.

In the meantime, Zapolya had written guardedly to a number of his other relations and most intimate friends, and convened a meeting at the Nobles Club in Budapest for Thursday the 20th.

From the time of Gregory’s arrival in Budapest up to the morning of that day, the news had been far from favourable to his mission. Lieutenant-General Gott, who he had heard was the most promising of our younger Generals in the Middle East, was reported killed while over Libya in an aircraft. The British had arrested the leaders of Congress on evidence that they were preparing to sell out India to the Japs, which had led to serious rioting in Bombay. Another attempt to relieve besieged Malta had been carried out at heavy cost, the cruiser
Manchester
and the aircraft-carrier
Eagle
both being sunk as well as many other ships. And, worst of all for the Allied cause as a whole, the German offensive in Russia was meeting with spectacular success. Von Bock was still being held outside Stalingrad, but further south the Germans had penetrated the foothills of the Caucasian mountains and were threatening Krasnodar. The hope that these claims might be exaggerated had been nullified by an admission from the Soviet High Command that they had evacuated Maikop, the oil centre north of
the Caucasus, and were destroying many oil wells in the threatened area.

Then, on the morning of the 20th, came the first news of the British and Canadian landings at Dieppe. The German comminiqué stated that, although many thousands of men and considerable numbers of tanks had got ashore on six beaches the preceding day, after nine hours of severe fighting, the invaders had been driven back into the sea with great loss in killed and prisoners.

Having no source but the German to go on, Gregory could only hope that the action had not proved as costly as reported. But he was certain in his own mind that it could have been only a reconnaissance in force, with no intention of trying for a permanent foothold. In any case, despite the victory claimed by the Germans, it strengthened his hand enormously, as it showed that the British had both the will and the ability to make such descents on the Continent; and, that being so, the Germans would not now dare risk withdrawing any considerable part of their forces which were holding the European coastline from Northern Norway to the Pyrenees.

In consequence, he was in excellent heart when, after breakfast, with the Count and the others who were in the plot, he left for the capital, the intention being that all of them should lunch at the Zapolya Palace on the Illona Utcza before the meeting.

Although termed a ‘Palace’, it was actually one of a hundred or more similar mansions that crowned the slopes of Buda and was no larger than the fine London houses of the British aristocracy; but, unlike them, it was built round a courtyard entered through a big semi-circular arch and, from the terrace on its north-east side, had a magnificent view over the river. The Count pressed Gregory to stay there but he was anxious not to compromise Sir Pellinore’s old friend more than was absolutely necessary, just in case one of the numerous people who were soon to be told about his mission gave him away; so he tactfully declined the offer and had his bags sent on to the Vadászkürt.

After lunch they drove to the Nobles Club, or the Casino as it was often termed owing to the heavy gambling to which many of its members were addicted. As they went up the broad staircase Gregory was surprised to see in the place of honour at its top a large portrait in oils of King Edward VII.

Catching his glance Zapolya smiled at him and said:

‘When Edward VII was Prince of Wales he came many times to Budapest and, as an honorary member of the Club, he made himself so popular that the Committee decided to have his portrait painted. During the First World War several German nobles who were sent here as liaison officers were also made honorary members, and they objected most strongly to our continuing to display the portrait of the late King of a country with which we were at war. But we told them that wars should not be allowed to interfere with private relationships, that it was our Club, and that if they did not like our way of conducting its affairs they need not come to it. That is still the case, and nothing would induce us to take it down.’

‘How I admire that spirit,’ Gregory replied. ‘It is the greatest tragedy of modern times that wars are no longer fought with chivalry, and that whole populations are made to hate one another. The killing which cannot be avoided entails misery enough without the destruction of personal bonds built up over long years of friendship and respect.’

The Count nodded. ‘That at least is one way in which we Hungarians need feel no shame at the accusation that our country is behind the times. We still do all we can to ameliorate the hardships that war brings to enemy civilians. The professional at our golf club is a case in point. He is, like nearly all of them, a Scotsman; so, when Britain declared war on us, he was arrested and interned. But we decided that to keep him behind barbed wire for months, or perhaps years, through no fault of his own was both harsh on him and stupid as far as we were concerned. So within a week we had him released on parole and back at the Club.’

In a large room on the first floor some twenty men were assembled. Gregory was introduced to each of them in turn as Commandant Tavenier; then they all sat down round a big baize-covered gaming table and the meeting began. The Count informed them of his reason for calling them together; Gregory followed with a statement in general terms of the object of his mission, and when he had done a long discussion took place.

It was clear from the beginning that no one present had any love for the Nazis, or for the Germans as a people; but they regarded them as a lesser evil than the Russians, and feared that an Allied victory might lead to Communism’s spreading southward into Hungary.

Gregory contended that, if Hungary came over to the Allies, when the war ended she would be preserved from an occupation by Russian forces and her Government be in a strong position to take adequate measures against the spread of Communism. Whereas, should she stand by Germany to the end, her defeat would lead to bankruptcy and social upheavals which must make the triumph of Communism inevitable.

As the latter alternative was exactly what had occurred in 1919, his contention met with general agreement but, as several people were quick to point out, it would not apply if Hitler won, as he would crush Communism once and for all.

The question of which side would win was then argued and opinion upon it was sharply divided. Most of the older men believed that time was on the side of the Allies and that their almost limitless resources would enable them to overcome Hitler in the long run; but many of the younger ones were convinced that if he could once put Russia out of the war Britain and America would never be able to break him.