Chapter Four

London, July 1972

When Eve wakened in the hospital the following morning, there was a moment when she thought she was back in Egypt, lying in bed at the Winter Palace. There was something about the sharpness of the sunlight blinking through the window and a disinfectant smell that reminded her of another scent she couldn’t quite put her finger on, one she knew was to do with Egypt.

A nurse came to take her temperature and at first she mistook her for the lady’s maid who had accompanied her to Egypt in 1919 to look after her wardrobe and style her wayward hair. Marcelle! That was her name! Then she glanced down at the wrinkled, age-spotted skin on the back of her hand and knew she wasn’t eighteen anymore, not by a long shot.

“Is your husband coming today?” the nurse asked, fitting a blood pressure cuff on her arm.

“Fink so,” Eve managed to reply. Her tongue felt heavy, making the th sound difficult.

Mornings were devoted to mechanical functions: bowels, urine, washing, stretching, massage. The doctor came by on his round and told her she was doing very well.

“Ow long?” she asked.

“It’s impossible to say right now,” he replied, “but perhaps we can transfer you to a convalescent home in a few weeks.” He caught her expression of shock. “Don’t be impatient. I know you’ve always made a miraculous recovery from previous strokes, but you’re in your seventies now and it could take a while longer.”

Not if I can help it, Eve thought. As soon as he’d gone she pulled out the page about ventilators and did her best to read it out loud.

Brograve came at two, when visiting hours started, and she knew he would stay till six, when they ushered all the guests out for the night. He hadn’t brought a photo album this time but there was a newspaper tucked under his arm.

Katie, the speech therapist, arrived shortly after him, full of apologies because she was running late. She should have come before lunch but she’d left her notes in the office and had to go back for them, then the traffic was hideous. Eve smiled, remembering from last time that she was a chaotic sort, but very likable.

“I don’t want to banish you when you’ve just arrived,” she said to Brograve. “Maybe the three of us could have a conversation so Eve can practice her talking?”

“Certainly,” Brograve said. “If it’s helpful.”

Katie did some warm-up exercises with Eve first—“Muh, Wuh, Huh, Tuh, Duh”—demonstrating the way she should move her lips for each consonant, then she asked, “Why don’t you tell me how you two met? I don’t think I’ve ever asked.”

“Cai-ro,” Eve said straightaway.

“I believe it was something to do with a lace sleeve.” Brograve smiled. “Some kind of devious female trickery.”

Eve took a deep breath and spoke slowly. “One . . . of . . . usss . . . had . . . to.” It was her longest sentence yet, and she clenched her left fist, pleased with herself.

“I would have been too shy to approach her,” Brograve explained. “She was by far the most popular girl at the party—and the prettiest too.”

“You met in Cairo? Did I get that right? How romantic!”

“Chriss—mass,” Eve said. “Cai-ro.”

* * *

The grand ballroom of the British Residency was festooned with holly and ivy garlands and a plump fir tree stood in one corner. Waiters were hovering with glasses on silver trays, and candles glowed on every surface, their flames licking dangerously close to the paintings on the walls above. The guests were a handful of soldiers from the local military base and some titled folk of Eve’s parents’ generation, all dressed in evening finest, the women weighed down by heirloom jewels.

Eve and Pups had arrived by train from Luxor only the previous evening, and so far all she had seen of the city was the very smart area around the Continental Savoy Hotel, where Eve’s mother had reserved a suite for the season. Apart from the sticky heat, it felt as if they could be in England, with neatly planted gardens, Christian church spires, modern cars on the roads, and European-style architecture. It seemed incongruous to Eve to be celebrating Christmas in a Muslim country situated not far north of the tropics, but it must be the norm here because all the buildings in that quarter had festive decorations.

She was delighted to see her uncle Mervyn with his new wife, Mary. Mervyn, her father’s younger half brother, had recently been appointed first secretary at the British Embassy in Cairo. He had been a fun uncle when Eve was growing up, always arriving at Highclere with imaginative presents: cat’s-eye marbles, board games, and a slingshot that their mother confiscated as soon as he left. He had Eve in stitches with his repertoire of jokes and funny faces, and she was pleased he had married a woman who seemed to share his sense of fun. Mervyn and Mary whispered and giggled like children, and were clearly very much in love.

A footman announced that the carol singing would begin shortly, and everyone shuffled toward a grand piano. Eve took the song sheet she was handed and stood between her father and Uncle Mervyn. Her view of the pianist was entirely blocked by a tall soldier in a scarlet tunic directly in front of her.

When the singing began, Eve caught eyes with Pups and almost chortled out loud because the man was tone deaf; he sang every word of “Silent Night” on the same flat note. What’s more, he didn’t seem aware of his shortcoming because he sang along with enthusiasm. Eve pinched her nose to contain her mirth and saw Uncle Mervyn doing the same.

Once the carols were done, Eve’s mother led her to the front of the crowd to introduce her to Lady Allenby, wife of the British high commissioner.

“So this is your girl,” she exclaimed. “What a beauty! That dark hair and amber eyes—just like yours, Almina. She’ll certainly be a hit with the young men.”

Eve had absolutely no idea whether she was pretty or how young men would react to her. She’d spent an isolated childhood at Highclere with Nanny Moss and a succession of tutors who coached her in French, mathematics, music, and literature, but never told her anything about the world outside. She hadn’t yet “come out” as a debutante; that had to wait till the following year because there was a backlog of girls waiting to be presented at court after the war.

A buffet was laid out in the Residency’s dining room and Eve’s mother stood at her elbow instructing her which foods to select: “Have a cucumber sandwich—salmon will make your breath smell. No cake—you don’t want to get porky. And don’t think of touching the champagne; men flirt with drunk women but they never marry them.”

Once her mother was ensconced with a group of older women friends, Eve was at last free to wander around. She couldn’t see any girls her own age, but she spotted the tall soldier in the red tunic standing on his own by some potted palms. He was younger than she’d imagined from his back view, and looked uncomfortable, as if he would rather be anywhere but there. Eve felt the urge to talk to him, but knew from her mother’s strict instructions, as well as the romance novels she read, that it was frowned upon for women to initiate conversation with a stranger.

Around her wrist she wore a slim diamond bracelet with a safety catch, and earlier the lace of her sleeve had become caught in the catch. Her mother had freed it without tearing the lace but it gave Eve an idea. She pulled back the safety catch until it caught the lace again, and gave a little twist to secure it. Then she wandered toward the potted palms, pretending to be so absorbed in disentangling her sleeve that she nearly walked straight into the man.

“Oh, I beg your pardon!” she cried. “This blasted bracelet will keep getting caught . . .” She smiled up at him. “I don’t suppose I could prevail on you . . .”

“I’ll do my best,” he said, putting his drink down on a side table. “I hope I don’t make matters worse.” He stooped to peer at the delicate cream lace.

“It’s most awfully kind of you,” Eve said, at the same moment that he exclaimed, “That’s it!” and freed the bracelet. His hair oil had a spicy scent.

“Evelyn Herbert,” she said, thrusting out her hand and tilting her face toward his with a grin. “Can you hear me all the way up there? Exactly how tall are you?”

“I’m six foot four.”

“Five foot one,” she said. “But I have three-inch heels, which help somewhat.” She lifted a foot to show him. “I’m so small that I get lost in a crowd without them, like a Chihuahua in a cornfield. Which bit of the army are you in? Is it an especially tall brigade?” His scarlet jacket was trimmed with gold epaulettes and buttons, and worn with slim-fitting dark trousers that had a red stripe down the outer leg. She should probably have known what that signified but regimental dress held no interest for her.

“The Life Guards,” he said. “And no, height is not a particular requirement because we are a cavalry regiment.”

“I love horses,” she said. “My father has a stud farm and I could ride almost before I could walk.”

“You’re lucky. Mine is a banker and a politician who tried his best to groom my brother and me for life in the House.”

“Is your brother here today?” Eve asked. “Or is he stationed elsewhere? Mine is still in India with the Seventh Hussars.” She stopped, sensing a change of mood. “Have I said something tactless?”

He shook his head, but his expression was stiff. “My brother died in 1914. At Givenchy-lès-la-Bassée.” He spoke as if it were a name she should recognize.

Eve’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh no, I’m so dreadfully sorry. How awful for your family. Was he an older brother?”

“Yes, there were just the two of us.”

She blinked hard. “I feel a total idiot for speaking so thoughtlessly. Many families here must have suffered losses, but I blundered on regardless.”

“Please don’t apologize,” he said, but Eve still felt clumsy. Her mother had warned her to avoid speaking about the war, saying that those who had fought did not want to talk about it, but she couldn’t just drop the subject, not now.

“I suppose I feel a sense of unreality because I was stuck safely at home for four and a half years being bored to distraction. My mother ran a hospital at our house for a few months and I helped there, but I never saw the trenches, never heard a shell explode. Men just left for France and some didn’t come back.”

He nodded as if he understood. “I was on the Western Front and saw men dying all around me, but I still find it hard to accept that Edward won’t turn up at our door one day. My parents and I went to France to find his grave last summer, in the hope that would bring some kind of acceptance. But it’s just a wooden cross with his name on it, in the middle of a muddy field with thousands of wooden crosses as far as the eye can see. It’s very difficult to believe he’s there . . .” He shook his head as if to clear the image. “Forgive me. This is not a suitable conversation for a Christmas gathering.”

A dance band struck up in the next room and when Eve turned she saw a few couples traipsing onto the floor. It felt incongruous and disrespectful given their conversation.

“Tell me about your brother,” she asked. “What were his interests?”

Brograve smiled with pursed lips. “Motorcars. He was passionate about them. He knew the details of every make and model. I think, had he lived, he would have worked in the automobile industry.”

“I can drive,” Eve couldn’t resist telling him. “My father taught me. It’s a wonderful feeling. But please don’t mention it to my mother. She’d be horrified. Not ladylike, don’t you know.”

He seemed impressed. “You must be rather a daring sort.”

Eve considered. “I don’t particularly know what ‘sort’ I am yet. I led such a sheltered childhood that I feel as if I am only just starting to live, and finding out who I am along the way. Whereas you—you’ve been to war. You’ve lived through the worst thing imaginable. Losing a brother must be like losing a part of yourself.”

Brograve was about to answer when Eve’s mother suddenly appeared and interrupted them. “There you are, Evelyn. I’ve been looking everywhere. There is someone you simply must meet.” She tugged on Eve’s elbow.

“Might I finish my conversation first, Mama?” she asked. It felt rude to abandon Brograve at such a sensitive moment.

“I’m afraid he’s just leaving. My apologies, Lieutenant, but I must drag her away.” She smiled politely, but with steel in her gaze.

Eve held out her gloved hand to Brograve, and he bowed his head as he took it. “Pleasure to meet you,” she said.

“Likewise.”

As they walked through to the ballroom, Almina hissed to Eve: “I know him and he won’t do. His father is a Liberal and his mother is American.” Both, in her view, were unforgivable.

* * *

“L-long . . . time . . . till . . . we . . . m-m-m . . .” Eve struggled over the word married and Brograve leaped in to explain to Katie.

“There were dozens of other men who were crazy about Eve, some of them much richer and more deserving than me, so I never thought I stood a chance.” He looked at her fondly.

Eve rolled her eyes. That wasn’t the real story and Brograve knew it, but she was too tired to say more. Everything was an effort: thinking of the words she wanted to say, shaping her lips into each syllable, shifting her tongue, which felt too big and heavy for her mouth, then finding the air in her throat to push the sounds out in the right order. All the muscle strength had gone.

She lay back on her pillows. A quick nap, then she would try more talking later.

“You’re doing so well,” Katie said. “I can tell how hard you’re working. Keep it up and you’ll be chatting away in no time.”

Damn right I will, Eve thought before she drifted into sleep.