John Potter rolled the car on the gravel and headed around the great circular drive, reaching backwards to close off the glass window between the back and the front of the car.
‘Is that wise?’
‘It’s normal, Stella.’
‘Is it normal to have staff in the back of the car with you?’
He gave her a sidelong look of reproach. ‘These are unusual circumstances, you’d agree.’
‘Tongues will wag.’
‘Let them.’ He pushed his hair back. ‘Bloody hell!’
She flinched. ‘Grace will be all right, I promise.’ Stella wanted to reassure him by touching his hand, instead she moved as close as she dared by stroking the little girl’s forehead. She seemed to be dozing.
‘How can you promise that? Have you seen the egg on the back of her head?’
‘Yes. It does look tender.’
‘I’ve seen those sorts of injuries kill grown men.’
‘This is not a war zone,’ she admonished softly. ‘Even so, we should not let her sleep.’
They roused Grace, who stirred and mumbled at them.
‘Don’t sleep, Grace, darling. Why don’t you recite your daffodils poem for your father?’
Grace began muttering her poem and they shared an indulgent smile.
‘We’re not going to the hospital, by the way,’ Rafe said. ‘It’s all at sixes and sevens there because there’s a new one being built. And I don’t need any attention being focused on us.’
She frowned, his rationale was odd, but now she was concerned for Grace. ‘So where are we going?’
‘To our family doctor. Hawkin will know what to do.’
‘Your wife is going to blame me.’
‘I don’t see how,’ he replied tonelessly, looking out as they began to snake through a valley cutting through the Weald in an area of steep-sided slope.
Stella made a soft clicking sound. ‘Men. You can be so naïve sometimes. Beatrice doesn’t like that I’ve shaken her off. And don’t think I didn’t catch her murderous expression earlier today when you ingeniously brought me back into your employ and entirely under your control. Now she has yet more reason to consider me a threat to her family.’
He didn’t answer because they were emerging into a hamlet, rounding a large village green with a sign that read ‘Copingcrouch Green’ with an enormous horse chestnut tree dominating proudly.
‘Looks like a Turner painting, doesn’t it?’ he murmured.
Grace had fallen quiet again, her eyes opening and then looking heavy as she once more fought her doziness.
Stella didn’t answer, looking instead to the south side of the big expanse of the green and where the brass on an ‘Autombile Association’ sign on the Camden Arms Hotel glinted in the last gasp of the sun.
‘Penny for your thoughts,’ he said, turning.
Stella blinked. ‘I was just thinking – ridiculously, of course – what a romantic village this is, out of the way, and . . .’ She shook her head.
‘Perfect for a rendezvous?’ he muttered.
‘No, I . . . just . . . wish my life were normal.’
‘You’re the most normal person I know.’
‘Then I meant, I wish my life had more freedom.’
He smiled sadly. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Rafe,’ she whispered, glancing at Potter who was busily signalling a turn. ‘I can’t be the other woman.’
He didn’t look at her, turning towards the window. ‘You already are.’
‘I don’t want to feel this guilty but I don’t ever want to stop holding you.’
‘We are guilty. But it’s my fault, not yours.’
Potter was pulling into a long driveway of a large Victorian-style house. He crunched the handbrake, turned around and flipped back the connecting window. ‘Here we are, Sir. Shall I help you carry Miss Grace?’
‘No. I need you to head back to the house because my wife is going to need picking up from the station shortly. Check with Mrs Boyd. Stella, would you please go and get the doctor? I’ll bring Grace.’
Within minutes they were in Dr Hawkin’s rooms and he was frowning and tutting around Grace. Stella stood by the door, feeling redundant, but trying not to be distracted by the series of college certificates or fine paintings adorning the walls as well as various photographs. Hawkin with a pipe in his mouth and standing with jolly-looking people adopted a far more avuncular air for the camera than he did in his office where he stared into Grace’s eyes with his thin beamed torch.
He straightened and looked at her. ‘You’re Grace’s nanny, are you?’
‘Er . . .’
Rafe explained Stella’s role. ‘Miss Hailsham is Grace’s nanny.’
‘I see, well, it might have been better to have brought this Miss Hailsham who was with her when Grace fell? I mean just so I could ask questions, get the full picture, you see?’
Again Stella felt stumped for the right answer but she couldn’t let Rafe speak for her again. ‘I suppose I’m here because I helped revive her, Dr Hawkin, and Grace was determined I come with her.’ Rafe stole a glance at her at the smooth lie. ‘Miss Hailsham was really too upset to be much help,’ she added.
‘I see. Well, you were wise to bring her to me. Concussion can be subtle; the symptoms can look like all sorts of other minor ailments, from headache to feeling a bit nauseous. But it can also lead to amnesia, ringing of the ears, delayed responses and far more serious consequences.’
Rafe nodded. ‘What’s our next step?’
‘Where’s Beatrice?’ Hawkin queried.
Stella could tell from the doctor’s familiarity that they all seemed to know each other well.
‘On her way back from London now.’
‘Right, well, Grace is to be kept quiet. No running around, no horse riding or sports. She is to be watched. Any signs of slurred speech or unnatural drowsiness, vomiting or acting as though she’s in some sort of infernal fog must be addressed immediately. Don’t wait because it could mean there’s pressure building in her head – straight to hospital and call me too.’
‘All right. That bump?’
‘It’s going to be very sore and she could feel sick. No hair brushing or shampooing. She’ll need 24-hour watching – can you arrange that?’
‘I can do that, Dr Hawkin,’ Stella offered. ‘I have a current St John’s Ambulance Certificate in first aid.’
‘Excellent. Well, Miss Myles, your job is simply to observe and any worsening of any symptoms – even marginally – just pull the trigger and make her parents bring their child to the hospital.’
‘I’ll do that.’
‘Right. She’s probably going to be teary and potentially irritable but nothing that a bowl of ice-cream couldn’t help with. As for the studies you were brought on to assist with, there’ll be none of that for a while. I would cancel any holiday tutoring, Ainsworth; young Grace is going to need peace and calm days. This could take a week to settle down and another week or two to heal fully,’ he said. ‘Children are amazingly resilient but I think lessons are out of the question in this instance.’
Rafe shared another glance over the shoulder of the doctor, this time looking as dismayed as she also felt.
Hawkin gave them a ride home in his car as he was en route to some house calls in their district. This time Grace sat curled up in Stella’s arms while her father listened to the amiable chatter of the doctor. Stella watched Rafe’s profile, the square line of his jaw grinding as he politely paid attention to Hawkin’s opinion about the West Indian cricket team that was touring from this month.
‘. . . and of course Sussex is playing Cambridge next month – that will be interesting.’ Hawkin said, taking a puff on his pipe.
‘Yes,’ Rafe answered and Stella thought he sounded so far away that she wondered how his body remained upright in the car.
‘Here we are, old man,’ Hawkin finally said, his wheels grinding gently on the gravel of the Harp’s End drive. ‘Good luck with Beatrice.’
Rafe returned to the present she noted as he smiled weakly. ‘Thanks, Howard.’
It was another confrontation – broken only by the memory of a kiss that needed no words either side of it – and here they were again. The simmering anger was identical to this morning, all of it emanating from Beatrice, and Stella’s only sense of relief was that the smirking Georgina was surprisingly absent.
They were clustered in Grace’s bedroom, a large and, Stella thought, draughty chamber, but it reminded her of the nursery with its eclectic clutter that was displayed on every surface. She could see that beneath the shells and pebbles, the teddy bears and finger puppets, the drawings and jars of crayons, necklaces of dried flowers and a crude tea set made of clay with a child’s fingerprints dried into the terracotta, that Beatrice had once hoped Grace would be a girl of the magazine-style stereotype. Whatever image her mother had planned for, with her candy-floss pink-striped room, satin bows, pink toile furnishings and cream enamelled iron bed with flounced white muslin so it looked as though Grace slept in a cloud, her child possessed Rafe’s curiosity and love of the outdoors. And as much as Stella could tell that Grace enjoyed ballet, she suspected she far preferred horse riding, boisterous sport and running wild on the Weald if given the chance, to anything her mother had in mind for her.
Right now the child looked small and pale, sleeping in that cloud of a bed, and her mother’s face was equally pale with lips marshalled into an unhappy line of disapproval.
‘I suppose you were on the wretched Weald, were you, Doug?’
‘I was,’ he said and Stella looked up in surprise that he didn’t stammer as she’d come to expect around his wife. He wasn’t even wearing his glasses, which she didn’t think Beatrice had noticed yet either.
‘Typical! And where were you, Stella?’
‘She was with me, Bee,’ he answered for her. His glance towards the pinch-faced housekeeper standing near the door told Stella that Mrs Boyd had likely already told Beatrice everything she knew.
‘I see.’
‘Do you? Thank you, Mrs Boyd. We’ll call if we need you.’ The housekeeper opened her mouth to say something but Rafe cut her off by speaking first. ‘Close the door, please, behind you.’ Mrs Boyd had no alternative but to leave though not before she gave Stella a look of deep disapproval.
‘Bee, Stella is not employed to bathe our child or even babysit her. She is here to tutor – that is all. This accident occurred under the paid watch of Miss Hailsham, whom you have personally appointed.’
‘Why are you speaking to me like this when you can see how upset I am?’
‘Forgive me, Bee. It is not my intention to upset. I note Georgina wasn’t upset enough to return home.’
Stella watched Beatrice’s hackles rise fully now. ‘Why don’t you try and force home a teenager who has, only hours earlier, been given some freedom in London?’
‘You are her mother, Bee. And she’s not an adult yet. You just order her home.’
Beatrice shook her head with closed eyes. ‘You don’t understand, Doug.’
He sighed as though he did understand but Stella could tell he wasn’t going to have that argument now. Besides, it had been his idea to send them to London. She suddenly felt horribly guilty. Until now she hadn’t but it was as though an invisible hand had reached into the room, its insistent finger now tapping her on the shoulder as if to say that she was the reason he’d sent the Ainsworth women away, she was the reason he was defending himself, she was the reason Mrs Boyd had been banished. Was she the reason that Grace was now lying hurt?
‘Miss Hailsham left the bathroom, Grace slipped and here we now are. No one is to blame, Bee, but as her mother I would like to think that you are not angry so much as relieved that our child is going to be fine.’
Stella stepped back surreptitiously, hating to share this tense, intimate conversation, and found the shadows. She stood like a sentinel, holding her breath, determined not to interrupt.
‘Of course I am. But, Doug, you know how I struggle with Grace. She’s like a mad puppy, always cavorting around and getting into mischief. I can’t stand the way she’s always humming odd tunes as you do. What’s worse, she’s added numbers or coordinates or something to them now. I have no idea what she’s thinking. Georgie wasn’t like that.’
‘Grace is a normal nine-year-old.’ Stella watched his mouth flatten in a way she was coming to recognise as a giveaway sign of his controlling irritation. ‘Actually, I suspect she’s probably more intelligent and curious than the average nine-year-old, but what would I know?’
‘What would you know about anything in this household?’ she snapped. He blinked and Beatrice stood her ground. ‘I do everything for Harp’s End,’ she continued. ‘You’re barely here, always secretly rushing off somewhere. To be honest, I don’t even know what you do. I tell people you work in the city but I’m also sure I tell everyone something different . . . he’s in finance, he’s a developer, he’s good with money, he’s doing special projects with the government. You see, Dougie, you keep me at arm’s length about your secretive life and yet you have the audacity to take me to task over the care of our children.’
‘I didn’t know that was what I was doing,’ he replied calmly. ‘But let’s both be clear that I would never take you to task over the care of Georgina – in that you are unblemished for you take exceptional care of her. So much care, in fact, that you’re afraid to confront her about much at all. Her behaviour this morning towards Stella was difficult to stomach but you let it go anyway.’
Stella wished he hadn’t steered his wife’s wrath towards the shadows.
‘Georgina’s attitude is fast becoming intolerable but you do not wish me to interfere. However, with regard to Grace, I think your mothering does come up wanting.’
Beatrice gasped, her expression filled with injury but also guilt.
‘Miss Hailsham is not equipped and never was to look after the needs of Grace. But she’s pretty and I realise that being around beautiful people is important to you.’
‘And you, darling,’ Beatrice countered, casting a sharp glance Stella’s way.
‘You are well aware that Suzanne Farnsworth chose our tutor.’
‘Do I? How come I never saw a shortlist? How come you did all the organisation with Suzanne?’
His expression didn’t flicker. ‘Because Basil Peach is my acquaintance and Suzanne is known to him, as you are also well aware.’
‘I’ve had Basil for dinner on several occasions. Heavens – didn’t we only have him over last spring trying to matchmake for him over cocktails?’
‘Your point?’
‘My point is that I am more than simply familiar with Basil Peach, and I am just as capable of contacting one of his associates to organise my children’s tutor.’
‘I don’t see what you’re getting at, Bee,’ he baited, and Stella wished he wouldn’t.
‘Normally you wouldn’t go near any domestic arrangements but where Stella is concerned you seem almost mother-hennish in your protection for her.’
‘I think I should leave,’ Stella said. She was suddenly standing between the snipers and it was about to get painful for her.
‘Stay right where you are, Miss Myles,’ Beatrice said in a tone so commanding that Stella felt she had no choice but to remain rigidly where she stood.
‘So what’s your point?’ Rafe continued. Stella silently begged that he stop baiting his wife.
‘My point is this,’ she returned fast and stinging like a whip crack. ‘From the moment Stella walked into our lives, you’ve changed.’
He actually laughed. ‘You speak as though Stella has been with us for months and yet she’s been in our midst for about forty-eight hours.’
‘And we’ve had problems for all of them.’
‘None of Stella’s making.’
Beatrice nodded slowly but biting her lip as though sensing she was onto something. ‘She’s upset Georgie, which in turn upsets me. Now we have Grace injured, Mrs Boyd is put out – none of the staff knows how to be around her.’
He gave a soft snort. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Well, either she’s staff or not. If she’s staff, then she should act accordingly, not appear for dinner with the family.’
‘That was a personal invitation from me.’
‘Which brings me to my point.’
‘Well, ring the bells for that!’
‘Doug! Whatever’s got into you? You’re behaving so strangely I hardly know you.’ Stella could tell Beatrice was genuinely thrown off her normally impeccable balance by his new tone. ‘Shall I put your behaviour down to having Stella around as well? Georgie seems to think you have an unnatural interest in our tutor.’
‘Why am I not surprised, Bee? Georgie stirs trouble wherever she goes. If she can see a pathway to causing other people discomfort, she will almost certainly walk down it. You realise she does this for sport, mostly.’
Beatrice straightened, looking fearsome. ‘I cannot believe you speak about your own daughter like that.’
‘Oh, Bee, let’s not dance around the truth and play this charade any longer. Georgina is not my daughter, never has been, not even when you’ve pretended that a stepfather is allowed to advise his child or raise her in a way that he considers appropriate. Georgina is learning none of life’s lessons other than how to manipulate every situation to suit her agenda. Congratulations, Bee, she’s turning into you and presumably whomever her real father is. And frankly, I’m glad no Ainsworth blood runs through her veins – my family would be ashamed, as you should be.’
Beatrice appeared so thunderstruck for a couple of heartbeats that Stella was sure they could hear her own heartbeat drumming loudly and echoing around the room. She turned to Stella with a look of poisonous intent. ‘Leave us!’ she commanded.
Stella fled, not daring to cast a glance his way. She closed the door silently, leaning back against it on the other side and shutting her eyes with dismay as she had just hours ago in the nursery. She moved to the stairwell but still could hear their muffled voices.
‘I cannot believe you’ve just openly spoken of a secret that was ours, Doug.’ Beatrice sounded genuinely shocked.
‘We can’t go on like this, Bee. We’re ships in the night.’
‘What are you talking about, Doug? I love you.’ It sounded so clinical to Stella.
‘Love?’ The gust of amusement sounded full of pain. ‘Your idea of love is ownership by any means.’
‘You’ve not complained before. You’ve been quite happy to take my family’s money.’
‘And this is your typical position, Bee. It’s all about threat, it always has been. I’m beginning to care less and less, though.’
‘I can see that. You’re different. What’s happened, Doug? Last night you were normal.’
‘Was I? Perhaps last night I feared discovery . . .’ Stella heard him stop abruptly and she swallowed hard.
‘Discovery? What are you talking about?’
‘I don’t know any more,’ he murmured and Stella had to strain to hear him. ‘I want to be honest, but . . .’
‘Doug, you’re not making sense. I know you love Grace, I know you’re worried, I also know you seem distracted about something. Is it work?’
He sighed. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Where are your glasses?’
‘They’re . . . they’re here, Bee,’ he said, and Stella looked down in disappointment. Rafe was gone; Douglas was back.
His wife leveraged that return. ‘Darling, I trust Hawkin. He’s not worried; neither should you be. Grace will be fine – she’s such a rough and tumble child, nothing hurts her.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong, Bee,’ he countered but he had fallen back into his alter ego; Stella could hear the return of his mild tone . . . all the fight had left him. He had been on the brink of saying something that he knew he couldn’t retract or step away from. What else was he hiding?
‘Grace has a gentle soul,’ he continued, ‘a perceptive one. She can be hurt by the least slight. She . . . she seeks your approval.’ He sighed.
‘I’ll try harder with Grace, darling, I promise. And with you. Let’s get some time together – just us. We can go up to the Lakes – I know you’d enjoy that.’
‘But you wouldn’t.’
‘No . . . Or how about the Isle of Wight, then, or the Isle of Skye, if you really must, darling?’
She heard him laugh hopelessly again. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Bee. The first gust of wind that blew your hairdo askew would make you furious.’
‘Well, I’m begging you, Dougie, not to do anything rash, all right? We’ve been a good team all these years.’ She gave a rueful titter. ‘Heavens, all our friends envy us our closeness. And they envy me my handsome husband,’ she added in a slightly more provocative voice. ‘Don’t ruin it now. Surely you don’t want Georgina to spend her Deb Season knowing everyone is whispering about her parents? That won’t do, and Dougie, I don’t want to lose you. You may think I don’t care, but nothing is ever more immediate in my mind than our remaining together. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know you – like a few minutes ago when you felt like such a stranger to me – but I need you, Doug. I don’t make it hard for you to go about your mainly absent life, do I?’
‘No,’ he murmured.
‘I wish I knew more —’
‘Don’t, Bee.’
‘All right, darling. I shan’t press you. I don’t know what came over me. I know there’s no one else. I’ve even agreed to go on this ridiculous cruise to the Levant just to please you.’
Stella heard his sigh. ‘Leave Stella alone. She’s innocent.’
‘I will, Dougie. I was just being a silly, jealous wife but I won’t lose you to anyone. You need to know that. I can’t.’ There was an awkward silence as though a familiar old threat hung around them; Stella realised she was holding her breath, waiting for it to be spoken aloud. It obviously didn’t need to be. Beatrice’s voice was conciliatory when it came. ‘Come on, my love, I’ll take the first watch. I’ll sit with our daughter and you have a rest for a while.’
Stella heard the creaks of their movement and scampered away, moving as fast as she dared while still being careful to tread lightly in the stairwell when she heard the door open down the hallway from Grace’s room. It was Rafe, she was sure, but she couldn’t face him. Stella hurried up a floor to her room and closed the door gently, turning the lock, which she’d not done previously.
She backed away and waited, watching the door. Soon enough the soft knock came.
‘Stella?’
She held her breath.
‘Stella?’
He tapped more insistently. She expected the handle to twist but it remained doggedly still and there were no further taps at the door. Instead she heard his retreat and a minute or so later the soft complaint of floorboards above her as he moved around.
Later, when the house felt still, she tiptoed down to the parlour feeling the grind of hunger. Normally she could ignore it but she realised that in her distraction she hadn’t chewed a morsel since her light lunch with Grace more than ten hours earlier. Even a cup of tea would be enough. In the silence of the parlour, still warm from the embers in the range, she pottered around quietly and found bread and cheese to make a small sandwich, which she devoured hungrily. Instead of risking making noise with boiling water and brewing tea, she settled for another cup of Daphne’s famous milk and began tiptoeing up the stairs.
She reached the landing that accessed the lobby and was startled by a sudden jangling of the telephone. Stella remembered Suzanne Farnsworth’s promise to try and call again late this evening. She quickly put down the milk and hurried to the phone on the sideboard, feeling suddenly responsible for the insistent noise and determined not to be blamed for another headache of Beatrice’s. She yanked it up to her ear, about to say ‘Ainsworth residence, good evening,’ when she heard the mellow voice of Rafe speak first.
‘Ainsworth,’ he said, crisply.
‘It’s Basil,’ a man replied and she instantly remembered the jovial ‘Fruity’ from the Berkeley dance hall and Stella felt immediately trapped. Having wrongly assumed the call would be for her, she now felt disinclined to put the phone down and risk a click on the line to signal her presence.
‘This is a surprise,’ Rafe remarked.
She frowned. It seemed an odd comment for him to make to a friend.
‘I know, old chap, but I have no choice but to phone you at home.’
‘All right. You’d better tell me what is so pressing that can’t wait until our usual rendezvous.’
‘Well . . . a canary is leaving the cage.’
Stella’s forehead developed a stitch of consternation at the odd turn of conversation. She tightened her grip on the receiver and she still dared not breathe before Rafe spoke again. ‘I see. From where?’
‘Berlin.’
Her astonishment deepened. Berlin?
Rafe sighed. ‘Who?’
‘Someone we know as Owl.’
Canaries, Owl . . . What was this secret language they were using and why? If it didn’t sound so genuinely serious with the mention of Berlin, she might have smiled.
‘What has this to do with me?’ Rafe demanded.
‘Owl will only talk to you.’ Basil’s voice sounded far less jolly than she recalled.
She heard Rafe’s sharp intake of breath. ‘I can’t imagine why. I’ve never had anything to do with any connection called Owl. How can he ask for me if he doesn’t know me?’
‘Oh, he knows the Falcon, all right.’
‘Can you be more specific, Fruity?’ Rafe growled, surprising Stella with his intensity.
‘Let’s just say he’s an old childhood friend from the East.’
‘Joseph?’ she heard Rafe reply in a whisper of incredulity.
Stella blinked. Joseph. Was that the boy from the photographs who was never far from Rafe?
‘He has something for us.’
‘You’re running my stepbrother?’ Rafe continued, now sounding suddenly appalled to her.
‘Not really running him, old chap. He’s more of a sleeper, really. He’s been passed to me in this instance because of the connection to you. I’m just keeping an eye on things.’
‘Listen to me now, Fruity. Joseph is a pen-pusher. A mild, gentle desk man the last time I checked. He is no spy. You can’t —’
Spy! She stopped herself gasping just in time.
‘Nevertheless,’ Basil Peach continued, sounding exasperated, ‘he insists he has something he needs us to know. The thing is, Monty, we need you to meet with him because he’s too far up the line for us to ignore anything he may wish to share.’
‘You’ll endanger him.’
‘He came to us.’ She pictured Basil Peach shrugging on his stocky frame.
‘How long has this been going on?’
‘Two years.’
Stella could feel his shock from two floors above coming down the line of the phone. ‘And only now you —’
‘Listen, old chap, you know how it is. It’s on a need-to-know basis and all that. It wasn’t necessary to tell you.’
‘But suddenly it is!’ he snapped. Stella had never heard him angry and the emotion seemed to bridge the gap in the part of his personality he kept so deeply hidden. As confronting as it was, the passion he spoke with aroused hers. She was sure she was blushing.
Basil was doing his best to soothe. ‘I’ve said we’ll arrange the meet.’
She sensed Rafe forcing his wrath down. ‘Where?’ he asked, his tone as wintry as a February morning. ‘Surely not Germany?’
‘No, no, although he is playing his cards close to his chest. Refuses to clue us. Said to say “peacock” to you. Means nothing to us – we’ve checked into it. There’s no restaurant or café called that, no hotel linked to it either. Said you’ll know.’
‘When?’ Rafe demanded and Stella suspected he understood from the cryptic message precisely where the meet would take place.
‘A fortnight from today.’
‘Can’t do it.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Because he’s talking about Africa!’
‘Good grief, man.’ Basil blew out his breath audibly. ‘Well, then, Africa is where you have to go. He wouldn’t request this if it wasn’t something important.’
‘I’m impressed with your ability to understate.’
‘Aren’t we Brits meant to be the masters of it?’ Basil replied, seemingly unoffended.
‘This is not an easy time.’
‘Never is, Monty. But you’ve got your lepidopterist and Kew Gardens cover and I’ll have the paperwork drawn up. Africa, you say. Where exactly?’
‘I was planning on taking my family on a cruise to Egypt,’ Rafe replied, clearly refusing to take his own advice and be specific, plus it sounded like he’d ground his words through gritted teeth. ‘Although I’m —’
‘Oh, heavens, that’s perfect!’
‘I was going to say that this other business has to wait. The girls are on holiday, I’ve been away rather a lot recently as you well know, Beatrice is —’
‘Wait?’ Basil echoed sarcastically. ‘We need this, Monty. You know how it is over there right now. Any information is an aid. I’m sure you’ve taken a measure even within your own circles that a lot of our people all but openly sympathise with Germany’s harsh reparations – in fact, I’d go so far as to suggest that many rather admire Adolf Hitler.’
‘Especially as his speech in the German Reichstag was all about maintaining peace in Europe.’ The dryness in Rafe’s tone and the sad chuckle at the other end gave Stella pause. She’d recalled hearing an extract of that speech of 17 May on the wireless, and now, somewhere distant in her mind, thoughts – not fully formed – niggled on the edge of her consciousness in response to his appeals. The words were non-inflammatory and yet even in her ignorance of politics and the diplomacy of statesmen she had heard that false note, hadn’t she? It was as though Hitler mocked the League of Nations that promoted international cooperation to maintain collective security when, as a seemingly strong exponent of peace, the new Chancellor promised that Germany would follow all of the restrictions on weaponry if the other armed nations destroyed their aggressive weapons alongside her.
‘. . . and if you believe that you’re a fool like all the rest of the liberalists who are being taken in,’ she heard Basil say.
She agreed with this sentiment, recalling the tide of anger that swelled whenever she thought of all the men lost to the Great War because of Germany’s hostility.
‘Of course I don’t believe his cunning declarations are anything at all to do with peace; more about putting us on the back foot.’
‘Indeed. There’s no denying he’s rebuilt Germany but while our officials seem to be very friendly with that Austrian-turned-German dictator who talks of only desiring security in the region, few of us in the dark recesses of the ministry trust him or his new Nazi party with anything nearing equality. The fact is, Monty, your friend is too well connected in Berlin for us to ignore anything he wants to share about the Nazi party. We may never get another easy chance to hear what he has to say.’ There was a difficult silence before Basil spoke again. ‘The cruise with your family is the perfect cover. We’ll pay for it, of course, and Kew Gardens can request some special tasks of you. Hide behind that ridiculous moth society you’re a member of.’
Rafe ignored the barb. ‘You surely can’t expect my family to —’
‘No danger for them, I assure you; they’re passengers like any other. In fact there’s not even a need for any of your girls to leave the ship. A voyage to Egypt and the Holy Land is innocent, draws no attention and you are well entrenched at Kew. We need you, old chap. I’ll have all the voyage paperwork delivered to your club.’ This time Basil barely paused a heartbeat, rushing on to close the conversation before Rafe could put up any further protestation. ‘Goodnight, Monty . . . and thank you. King and country and all that.’
The phone line clicked dead. Stella waited until she heard Rafe put his receiver down too before she replaced hers, her mind swarming with tension at what she’d just heard. She needed to piece it together. Grabbing her cup, she hurried upstairs into her room, looking to the ceiling as it creaked angrily above her; he was moving around urgently, Stella could tell. She wished now she hadn’t ignored him when he had knocked and called to her earlier. Suddenly she needed to see him again, hold him once more, if just for a moment. A door banged distantly above.
And then the house became silent and she knew in her heart that Rafe had gone.