Willow Grove Abbey (23 page)

“It is
my understanding from many friends, who are in academia in your country, that a large number of German citizens are beginning to view the philosophy of Herr Hitler with increasing alarm. What initially appeared to be a re-awakening of national pride seems to be taking on a new dimension. What do you know of this?” Doctor Hausfater inquired.

“
Men like Herr Hitler have a special destiny. His means cannot be questioned,” Dieter responded, with a somewhat arrogant tone. Directing his icy gaze around the table, his eyes rested briefly on each guest. “Surely you, as Anglo Saxons, have an appreciation for Hitler’s views on the purification of the white, Aryan race.” His words hung in the air like icicles. There followed a stunned silence, after which my father was the first to speak.

“Dieter
, I know of no Englishman who shares such a view. Indeed, I think I speak for my countrymen when I tell you that such beliefs are repugnant.”I held my breath, expecting that Papa’s retort had put Dieter firmly in his place, and that he would undoubtedly feel obliged to apologize for his offensive remark. That, however, was not to be.

“With all due respect, So
merville, Herr Hitler has a great vision for Germany, and for the world. Have you read
“Mein Kampf
”? It is a truly brilliant and inspired piece of literature.”

“A piece of infla
mmatory, distorted trash, Sir,” Dr. Hausfater replied, in a very strong voice.

Dieter
turned his gaze upon Dr. Hausfater. “I would expect such a comment from you, Sir. I mean no offense, but you are not of white, Aryan descent, if I am not mistaken. May I ask Sir, what is your genetic heritage?”

Edwina
gasped. “Dieter, that is an exceedingly rude question, and Dr. Hausfater should not dignify it with a reply,” she said, in glacial tones.

Dr. Hausfater sat upright in his chair.
“I should be pleased and proud to answer such a question. I am German by birth, and am of Jewish descent. I am also a British citizen, because of views such as yours. Those same views have caused horrors beyond the imagination all round the world. I left Germany just before the Great War because opinions such as yours were looming on the horizon. I hope to God that such an attitude doesn’t bring about what I fear could be an even greater conflict than that which occurred then.”

“The end justifies
the means,” Dieter replied.

I
glanced in my mother’s direction, and saw that she was clenching her teeth, as well as her hands. It was perfectly clear that the conversation was out of control, and indeed, headed for disaster. As the hostess, I knew that I had an obligation to put a halt to the exchange before it worsened. Yet, I was incapable of knowing what to say or do. It would have been an impossibility not to overhear a whispered conversation between my parents. Papa said to Mummy, “Now Pamela... please... In response to something she murmured to him, but it was far too late. Mummy’s face distorted with rage as she stood to face Dieter. She was trembling, and her voice was an octave higher than usual. She threw her napkin on the table and began to shriek.

“How dare you?
You absolute piece of filth! How dare you enter our home and make such remarks? You are typical of your kind, and your nationality. You and your bloody country! You are an arrogant horse’s arse!” Papa continued with his pleas, which had no effect. I sat in motionless shock, as did all of the other guests. Naturally, I had seen this side of my mother before, but never in a social gathering. I even shared Mummy’s outrage at Dieter’s remarks, and in fact, silently agreed with the feelings she articulated, but could never agree with her method or timing. Dieter had managed to show his true colors, and everyone present saw him clearly, for what he was... A bigot and a fool. However, Mummy had just managed to lose complete control, for which I could find no justifiable defense. My brothers were equally aghast, and every bit as impotent in terms of being able to stop her tirade. The outburst continued until it culminated with the hurling of a silver candelabra in Dieter’s direction. Had he not ducked very quickly, his white Aryan head might well have been badly or even permanently damaged.

That gesture galvanized the rest
of those present into action. All stood, as Papa grabbed Mummy by the shoulders, and moved her toward the Great Hall and the staircase. She ceased the screaming and submitted to his urging that she retire to her bedchamber. Like the child she was emotionally, she allowed herself to be led away. I was not overly concerned about her, as I had witnessed far worse behavior in the past. I knew that Papa would end up coaxing her back to reality with a stunning piece of jewelry, a fur wrap, or a priceless object d’art. In the end, she would manage to convince herself, and Papa, that her actions had been perfectly justified, and even admirable. I was very close to tears. My primary intent was to remove Dieter’s offensive presence from
Willow Grove Abbey
. Edwina was openly weeping, and it seemed as though she did not know what to do. She was obviously desperate to be away from the sight of everyone who had witnessed the horrifying scene. Shortly after, Papa descended the staircase, having calmed Mummy, given her a sedative, and put her to bed. Then he turned his attention to Edwina. With great solicitude, he inquired as to whether she would like to be a guest for the night, and she immediately accepted. Dieter, who had been standing alone by the door holding Edwina’s white fur coat looked astonished. He threw the coat upon the floor, turned on his heel, and departed. I was surprised that he didn’t click his heels. Papa calmly walked over to where the coat lay in a crumpled heap, picked it up and hung it in the cupboard in the Great Hall.

Everyone was relieved
to see Dieter depart. After a few moments, all seemed equally eager to leave themselves. Thus, there were multitudes of hasty departures, accompanied by half-hearted attempts at a show of good manners. Several guests even went so far as to murmur “
Thank you for a lovely evening
,” which was, obviously, daft. Taking a deep breath of relief, I watched as the last guest disappeared down the circular driveway. I walked out of doors, and followed the ancient, well-worn pathway to the burying ground. I found myself next to the lynch gate. Leaning against it, I felt weak and quivery. Inside the house, I could hear the sounds of the cleaners, clearing away plates of half-eaten Fillet en Croute and unopened bottles of wine. I was certain that someone had discreetly removed the severely dented candelabra. Then I heard a sound, and glancing up, saw Edwina coming down the pathway toward me. Her head bent, she was weeping. It was so unlike Edwina. I knew the best thing I could do was to let her talk. Edwina had done that often enough for me. I needed to be loving, empathetic and supportive. Edwina knew the mistakes she’d made, and did not need to hear any more from me. When she reached the spot where I stood, I opened my arms and she walked straight into them. It was the first time I’d been the one to console her. Finally, when she seemed incapable of shedding another tear, I spoke.

“
Edwina. This is not your fault. You couldn’t possibly have known that he held such beastly views.”

“No, I didn’t
Sophia. We never spoke of such things. Now I realize that we should have,” she answered, still hiccoughing with sporadic sobs. “I’ve learned a great lesson tonight. One cannot simply go through life skimming the surface, ignoring things like values and political beliefs. All I have ever really thought about was whether a man was attractive, attentive, and able to show me a wonderful time. Dieter had all of those qualities, and I never probed more deeply. Everyone must think me such a fool.”

“No
more a fool than any of a million people. Good Lord, Edwina, look at Papa,” I replied. We stood there, looking at one another for a moment, and then the most amazing thing happened. We both were overcome with laughter. Gales and gales of laughter. It could only have happened between Edwina and me. The nightmare evening and all of its drama were not without humor, and it was undoubtedly healthy that both of us were able to see that. After all, we were still young girls, in spite of all we had weathered. Laughter had always been an integral part of our world. Especially in times of crisis.

Finally, we
returned to the house, and I showed Edwina to her room. Then I checked on Isabella before retiring for the night. My little girl was sleeping soundly, with her thumb in her mouth, and her little terrier,
Maggie
, snuggled next to her bed. I was so glad that Isabella had not witnessed the scene in the dining room. However, I was suddenly keenly aware of the very real possibility that one of Mummy’s outbursts would someday affect Isabella’s life. That’s when I knew that the time had come to make the move to London.

The
more I thought about relocating to London, the more appealing the idea became. Therefore, the following week I travelled to the Capitol, and stayed at the Sumner Street flat. I left Isabella in the care of Martha, as there was a great deal to be done in preparation for permanent relocation. Edwina stayed on at
Willow Grove,
saying that she was exhausted from the horrid scene with Dieter, and wanted peace and tranquility for a few days. I understood her feelings, and didn’t press for her to come to London. It was obvious that she had a lot of sorting out to do, and felt she could best accomplish that alone. Edwina always knew that she could come to me and talk, if she felt the need.

M
y primary task upon arrival in London was to convert one of the bedrooms into a nursery for Isabella. The flat was furnished in a heavy, Victorian style. While I found some of the pieces attractive, I felt that most of the colors were far too dark. So, I arranged to have the parlor done over with crème-colored, watered silk walls, and an Aubusson rug, woven with shades of rose and crème. The windows were covered in heavy, dark green damask, which I immediately tore down, and replaced with ivory taffeta. This lightened the room enormously. I was adamant about re-doing the master bedroom, as well. The present duvet cover was crème, and the walls were pale blue, but there was dark blue carpeting on the floor and the draperies were midnight blue velvet. I decided to do the entire room in white, with faint touches of rose as an accent color. The comforter was replaced with a thick, white, goose down covered with a white Matillese duvet. Then, I filled the bed with gorgeous white decorative pillows, in delicate fabrics such as eyelet and organdy. White carpeting was ordered, as well as enormous fluffy, white curtains of lined handkerchief linen, draped into a bishop’s sleeve.

P
erhaps most importantly, was the room I planned for Isabella. I wanted it to be the quintessential little girl’s room, predominantly pink and white. I selected a baby cot with a white organza canopy over the top. There was a comforter in a pink, white and taupe paisley print with matching curtains, as well as magnificent needlepoint carpeting, sporting a design of lambs and ducks.

Finally
, I completely renovated the kitchen, borrowing from Edwina’s décor, with black and white marble on the floors, and white marble counters. Everything took time and I made many trips back and forth to
Willow Grove
during that period. I worked non-stop on the flat throughout the early winter of 1937, and grew well-acquainted with an entire crew of workmen. My plans were to begin living there on a permanent basis after 1 January, 1938. Isabella and I spent Christmas, 1937 at
Willow Grove, but
I was already looking ahead to sharing our own home, which had been so lovingly renovated. I’d taken leave from classes at the University, as well as duties with Dr. Hausfater, while arranging for the move. It was an immensely busy time.

Edwina
finally
did
make the decision to return to Paris. I had truly begun to wonder if she would
ever
leave
Willow Grove Abbey...
After all, she’d been there since the ghastly party in September, and through the Holidays, with only a brief absence for a visit to her own family in Bury St. Edmunds for Christmas. However, my parents seemed content to have her there, so there seemed no reason for interference. Perhaps because I was spending less and less time at my family home, and had plans to move so soon, my parents found solace in the fact that Edwina was still an integral part of their lives. Finally, however, she came to London with plans to be my guest for three days en route to Paris. We spent most of our time at Sumner Street, catching up on chatter. Isabella was still at
Willow Grove,
so it was a nice time for us to be ‘just girls’, reminiscent of our time together in Paris. When I look back now, Edwina seemed somewhat subdued, and more mature during that visit. She seemed softer. At any rate, it was clear that time in the country had been a nice respite for her.

“Will you return to school when you re
sume life in Paris?” I asked her one afternoon, as we enjoyed tea in the newly decorated parlor. We were both sitting cross-legged on the couch.

“I think I’
m ready to take on the design world, Sophia. I’ve had several offers to start in a beginner’s capacity in some of the better houses. I contacted a few when I was at
Willow Grove Abbey,
and sent copies of my portfolio. If I get a final offer, I hoping to join
Vionnet
.”

“Oh
Edwina, how exciting. Your dreams are coming true. Isn’t that marvelous?
Vionnet
designed my Presentation Ball dress. Remember? The one with the appliqued swallows scattered across it. I adored that dress. I am so very proud of you.”

“Yes
, I have to admit, I’m pretty darned proud of myself. Without a man in my life, this is the perfect time for me to really concentrate upon a career.” She didn’t sound at all upset about her newfound freedom.

“”
Edwina, I never knew you to base your future happiness on having a man in your life. That was my mother’s dream for me. Remember? ‘
The suitable man
‘. Honestly, the last thing I ever thought you wanted or needed was a man to muddy the waters. After all, you haven’t fallen in love with your artist yet, and lived in his garret, I laughed.”

“Well, dear h
eart,” Edwina smiled, I just may have to skip that particular fantasy. I’ve found out a lot more about myself. It’s been a very beneficial time. I’ve a much better perspective of what I want out of life... Of what sort of man would be good for me. I’ve been all wrong in my choices.” This was curious talk from Edwina. I had never heard her speak so seriously about men and love. It had always been a whimsical topic. I had undergone profound changes after Isabella’s birth, and now it was evident that Edwina was experiencing something akin to what I’d gone through, albeit due to different circumstances.

“And what type of
man have you decided would be your ideal?” I asked, genuinely interested.

“
Defiantly someone more mature. Older than I am. I believe I told you that once before, when you were in Paris just after Isabella’s birth. That I prefer older men. I suppose it isn’t surprising, when one considers that my Dad is twenty-eight years older than Mum. I’m more secure and feel more appreciated by older men, and they aren’t so apt to have foolish, radical thoughts, like Dieter.”

“Edwina, doesn’t the prospect of
marrying a much older man frighten you a bit? It’s almost a given that in such a case, you would be widowed, perhaps early in your life?”

“
My Mum isn’t widowed yet. And my father is sixty-eight, and neither is yours, and your Papa is sixty-five.”

“Yes
... when you put it like that, it doesn’t seem so far-fetched, does it? But... well, I guess we’re just very different in that respect. I can’t see what you would have in common with someone that much older. Especially you, Edwina. You’re so full of life and so... so... young.” I laughed.”

“I think once two people are adults, age difference really doesn’t
matter all that much.”

Yes
... perhaps you’re right. You mentioned ‘security’. Do you mean to say that you need a man to feel secure? Not you, Edwina.”

“It would be lovely to
never have to worry about money, or with having to support myself if I didn’t want to. Especially if I were to have a child, which I think I would like to do someday. After you had Isabella, I realized how important having a child can be.”

“
Well…I’m certainly not going to argue about that. As you know, Isabella made my life
whole.
Is there someone in your life who makes you feel this way?” I asked.

“
No. No one in particular,” she answered, after a moment’s hesitation. I sensed that she might be holding something back, which was entirely out of character for her. We had always shared every secret, and it was hard for me to imagine why now Edwina would decide not to tell me if she had developed feelings for someone. I’d sensed something of the same sort while in Paris, discussing the same topic. However, I certainly understood that it was my friend’s prerogative to keep private emotions to herself. Perhaps she wasn’t yet certain of her feelings. Therefore, I let the matter drop, and decided that when and if the time was right, Edwina would tell me. I enjoyed my dear friend’s company during those few days, and was sorry to see her leave.

***

I
recall early 1938 as peaceful and content. At least, that was true of
my
life. Isabella, Martha and I made the transition to Sumner Street quite smoothly. Martha was thrilled with my request to have her join our household in London, as her parents had relocated to Lambeth from Lincolnshire. She would be able to see them much more frequently. She, too, would be living on Sumner Street, which could easily accommodate all of us, since there were three bedrooms. She was to see to the running of the house, while I devoted time to studies. I already knew that she and Isabella were very compatible. Isabella was fast developing into an exceptionally sweet child, and Martha had adored her from the beginning. There was a lovability about Isabella that one didn’t often encounter in children her age. She was thoughtful and had a desire to show affection. I wanted to foster all of those natural, God-given qualities. Isabella thought Martha was splendid, since she fussed over her so, and knew exactly how to satisfy my little girl’s craving for learning new things. From the beginning, it was clear that Martha had been the correct choice as someone who could assist with housekeeping chores, as well as perform duties as Isabella’s nanny. I would have been happy to add a Rose, to take the load from Martha’s shoulders, but she wouldn’t hear of it. In no time at all, the flat was transformed into a light, airy, happy home, where the fragrance of pastries, pies and freshly baked bread continually drifted from the kitchen.

D
r. Hausfater rang me in February, asking that I meet him at one of my favorite pubs in London. His call somewhat puzzled me. I assumed that he wanted to speak about when I might be ready to resume classes and duties at University. He had taken such kind and special interest in me, and I felt very fortunate to have him in my life. I looked forward to meeting with him, as we hadn’t seen one other, nor spoken at length, for some time. We had engaged in a long talk following the scene at
Willow Grove Abbey
on Isabella’s birthday, and I was greatly relieved that he didn’t hold any resentment toward me or my family for what had turned out to be a ghastly evening. He’d become such a dear person to me. I would have felt dreadful if there had been animosity. I had no idea at the time that the forthcoming meeting with him would bring about a sea change in my life. I kissed Isabella goodbye, and left her sitting at a small table in the kitchen helping Martha make cookies.

It was a bitt
erly cold February afternoon. I left Sumner Street wrapped snugly in a red cashmere coat, mittens, muffler, Wellington boots, and red beret. There were dark clouds overhead, spitting a mixture of sleet and rain. In addition, there was still snow in the streets, serving as a reminder of the enormous winter storm that had roared through London and environs the previous week. I trudged along, taking care not to slip and fall on the many patches of ice still on the sidewalk. I lowered my head, as I walked into the biting wind, which was blowing from the north. My newly styled, shorter curls were tucked beneath the red woolen beret. I’d felt as though I looked rather fetching when glancing into the foyer mirror upon my departure from Sumner Street. I could feel the cold, sharp wind bring roses to my cheeks, as I scurried across Sloan Square. Suddenly, I came to an abrupt halt. Noticing a familiar figure moving toward me from the opposite direction, I was knocked for six. It was Spence. It had been so long since that night at
Deux Magots,
yet I would have recognized his handsome face and tall, athletic frame no matter the time or distance. I wondered if he would notice me, and wasn’t certain if I should acknowledge him if he didn’t.
Should I continue on my way, looking down at the pavement as we passed?
Once again, my heart was in my throat. Fortunately, the dilemma resolved itself, for indeed, he
did
see me.

“
Well, I’ll be damned. It’s happened again. We just seem to continue running into one another,” Spence exclaimed.

“Why, Ha
llo Spence,” I replied, acting surprised to have come upon him so unexpectedly, and pretending to have just seen him. He extended his leather-gloved hand, and I placed my own mitten-clad one into his. I so wished I’d chosen to wear my Italian kidskin gloves. I felt childish. He seemed, however, to be genuinely pleased at our accidental encounter.

“Serendipity,” he s
miled.

“Yes.
You seem to have been on target,” I replied, also smiling.

“Where are you rushing off to on such a dreadful day?” he asked.