I TOOK HER in my arms and hugged her. She clung to me like a little girl and sobbed into my shoulder. ‘You’ve come,’ she wailed. ‘I prayed that you would.’
‘Hush, now,’ I said, after she’d sobbed for a while. ‘Let’s go inside.’ I did feel sorry for her, mostly because she was such an idiot, but at the same time I was angry. It seemed that in the last few years my life had been interrupted on too many occasions by my silly little sister. She had got herself into trouble and I resented the fact that I was supposed to sort it out. But even as I thought that, I could feel her shoulder blades poking through her dress and could see how paper white her skin was. There was no doubt about it: she needed help.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Amyas and I could do with a coffee. You’ve got coffee, haven’t you?’
‘I think so.’ She nodded uncertainly, and, taking my hand, led me through the front door into the square hall of the villa. It had a whitewashed interior, with a brick fireplace containing a cold stove and a pile of logs. The furniture – a chaise longue and two chairs – looked rickety and useless for sitting on, and the rug on the red-tiled floor was a cheap piece of cotton weave. I hoped, for Xanthe’s sake, that the rest of the house was more comfortable.
‘Are you still with him?’ she whispered, looking over her shoulder to Amyas, who was following us.
‘He brought me here to help you,’ I said. ‘Aren’t you glad?’
She pouted, her lips thinner than they were before, so that her pout now less prominent. ‘I don’t like him. He’s beastly to me and,’ she shot Amyas another look, ‘foreign.’
‘You’re ridiculous,’ I snapped. ‘Just be grateful that we’re here.’
She took me into the small, rather grubby kitchen where a shapeless, middle-aged woman was leaning against the sink, smoking a thin cigar. ‘She’ll know about coffee,’ said Xanthe, looking helplessly at the woman.
‘Christ!’ Amyas groaned and then spoke sharply in Portuguese to the housekeeper, who, with a scowl, moved the kettle to the hot part of the stove. In minutes she had prepared a tray with coffee and little cakes and had taken it into a sort of drawing room, with fabric-covered armchairs and small leather tables.
Before we’d even sat down, Xanthe snatched a cake from the plate and stuffed it into her mouth, chewing rapidly and swallowing so quickly that I was concerned she might choke. She was behaving as though this was the first food she’d had today and while I watched, she took another of cake. So much for Amyas saying she would only eat a lettuce leaf. I poured coffee and handed her a cup, which she cradled between her thin hands, and when she took a sip she closed her eyes. ‘Oh, bliss,’ she groaned. ‘So delicious. I can’t remember when I last had a cup of coffee.’
I shot a look at Amyas and he raised his eyebrows and shook his head. Now I was feeling really worried. Xanthe was plainly ill, physically and possibly mentally. I reached forward and took her hand. ‘Listen, Xanthe, I’ve come to take you home, so when you’ve finished that coffee, I’ll help you pack. We’re going today . . . as soon as possible.’
‘Home?’ Xanthe looked up excitedly. ‘To Berlin?’
‘No,’ I sighed. ‘Don’t be silly. We’re going to England. To your real home.’
‘But I can’t,’ she wailed. ‘Wolfie is in Berlin. I have to go to him. He’s waiting for me.’
‘He isn’t.’ Already I was exasperated. ‘There’s a war on. He’s probably away fighting. And you must come home, otherwise you’ll be thought a traitor.’
She frowned. ‘The war? Haven’t we won yet? Wolfie said that he’d be marching through London by Christmas. I was going home then. I told Mummy ages ago. She thought it was a very good idea.’
‘Mummy’s in America with Binkie Durham’s uncle. Don’t you remember? I told you when I saw you in Berlin that last time.’
She held the cup close to her thin chest, savouring the warmth. ‘I’d forgotten,’ she murmured. ‘Oh dear. She won’t be able to meet Wolfie.’
Amyas got up and started pacing around. ‘We must get a move on,’ he said. ‘There may be someone looking for us.’
I stood up too. ‘Come on, Xanthe. Show me your bedroom and let’s get you packed.’
‘So we’re going to Berlin, after all?’ She smiled, giving a fleeting reminder of the pretty girl she’d been.
‘Yes,’ I lied. It was the easiest option. In her present state, she’d have no idea what aeroplane she was on. ‘Hurry up.’
Suddenly, I heard a thin, little cry from somewhere quite close. It was a pathetic sound, not the lusty yell that Marisol used to give, but a reedy wail, as if its owner had no strength. ‘Is that your baby?’ I asked, and Xanthe nodded.
‘Where is he?’
‘Umm . . . I’m not sure. He might be on the balcony. That woman puts him there sometimes.’
I followed the sound and walked through the double glass doors on to a narrow balcony which overlooked the hillside. There, lying on a rug, exposed to the mist, was a baby. A very small, painfully thin baby, who had a pinched, exhausted face and white lips.
‘Oh my God,’ I said, and picked him up. He was clammy to the touch and there was almost a blue tinge to his skin.
‘He’s freezing!’ I shouted at Xanthe. ‘Why the hell did you put him out there?’
‘I didn’t, that fat bitch did. But he cries,’ she said, with the petulant note in her voice that I knew of old. ‘I hate it when he cries, so I can’t have him in here, with me. It wears me out.’
I was furious. How could she be so heartless, so cruel. I was ready to have a row, but Amyas took my arm. ‘Get her moving,’ he growled. ‘I’m going to pay the woman and get her out of here. I need you and them,’ he nodded to Xanthe and to the baby, who was now quiet and cuddled into my arms, ‘to be in the car in fifteen minutes.’
I told Xanthe to pack her clothes while I, still carrying the baby, looked for its room. I found it down the corridor, the room furthest away from Xanthe’s, a bleak space with splintered floorboards and furnished only with a dusty wicker cot. There was a small pile of clothes on the floor beside it and I searched through them for something clean to dress the child in. I took a couple of romper suits, a shawl and some cotton nappies. Gathering them up, I looked for a bathroom and there I stripped off his soaking nappy and filthy vest and washed and powdered his sore little bottom. I dressed him in a fairly clean suit and wrapped him warmly in the shawl. With the remaining nappies I went back to Xanthe.
‘How are you getting on?’ I asked.
‘All right,’ she said, gazing at me, but it was clear that she’d done nothing. Putting the baby down on the bed I dragged a small suitcase from the top of a wardrobe and shoved underwear and a dress into it. ‘Have you got a coat?’ I asked.
She shook her head. ‘I’ve got a cardigan.’
‘That will do,’ I said. ‘You can buy clothes at home.’
Her face brightened. ‘Oh, lovely. It’s ages since I’ve been to the shops.’ Then the brightness disappeared. ‘I haven’t got any money.’ She scowled. ‘You took it away. Wolfie was furious.’
‘You’ll get it back, when we get you home. I promise.’
‘Oh, thank you, Seffy.’
‘Now, go downstairs . . . I’ll take the case.’ As she went out of the room I had a thought. ‘When did the baby last have a feed?’
‘Haven’t a clue,’ she called, halfway down the stairs. ‘The woman does that.’
Amyas was standing by the car and looking agitated. ‘I think I heard a car coming up the road,’ he said. ‘It went past . . . this place is quite well hidden, but if it’s who I think it is, they’ll be back.’
‘One minute,’ I begged, and went back inside to the kitchen. Throwing open all the cupboards I searched until I found a baby’s feeding bottle and then, in the grimy larder, found a bottle of sterilised milk on a stone slab. ‘It’ll have to do,’ I muttered to myself, as I filled the feeder. Putting it into my shoulder bag, I hurried outside.
‘Ready,’ I said and got into the front passenger seat. I tried to hand the baby to Xanthe in the back seat, but she shook her head. ‘Oh, no, Seffy. I’ll drop it, or something. You know how hopeless I am.’ She was quite animated. A little colour had come back into her cheeks. ‘What an adventure,’ she squealed.
I looked at Amyas. His face was set in a grimace as he swung the car out of the clearing and along the track to the road. There, he stopped for a moment, listening for sounds of another car, but I heard nothing, except for birds twittering in the trees and the occasional rustle of small woodland animals.
‘It’s all right,’ I said. And he put his foot down on the pedal and we drove down the mountain road back to Sintra.
The car exchange went as smoothly as before and now that we were down from the mountain the mist had gone and the sun gave everything a golden glow. ‘Shops,’ breathed Xanthe, looking out of the window. ‘Can we stop?’
‘No.’ Amyas and I spoke in unison.
Had I been nervous before? I realised that I had and that Amyas was still twitching.
‘I’m going to take you straight to the aerodrome,’ he said. ‘It’s several hours before your flight, but you can wait there more safely than in Lisbon. There is a café and you can sit it out in some comfort.’ He turned his head to me. ‘I’ll have to leave you.’
I thought I heard a choke in his voice and was going to put a hand on his arm but Xanthe suddenly cried, ‘Stop the car. Let me out. I’m going to be sick.’
She was sick at the side of the road. I put the baby on Amyas’s knee and went to help her, but it was over in a minute. ‘It was the cake,’ she said. ‘It just looked so delicious, but I knew I shouldn’t have eaten it.’
‘Are you often sick?’ I asked, when we got back in the car.
‘Oh yes. It’s a good way to lose weight. Wolfie doesn’t like me to be fat. He says I have the perfect figure. I do, don’t I, Seff? I’m petite, but well formed, that’s what it said in Tatler, when they did that piece on London society. Not like you, Seff. You’re lanky, like a boy. And as for your hair, well, Mummy always said that it was quite uncontrollable.’ She gave a high-pitched giggle and I yearned to turn round and smack her in the face.
‘I think Persephone is beautiful.’ Amyas broke his silence. ‘Both inside and out.’
‘Thank you,’ I whispered and loved him more than ever.
‘Well, you should know,’ Xanthe said spitefully. ‘About the inside and out.’
The aerodrome was a field with a wire fence around the perimeter. Long, low buildings surrounded the wooden control tower and I saw several cars parked in front of them and a few people wandering about. Aeroplanes were drawn up by the buildings. Two looked like passenger liners and I recognised one as the Avro on which I’d arrived. It must be the one we were going on. ‘That’s our plane,’ I said to Xanthe, nodding towards the runway where it was standing.
‘Wonderful,’ she smiled. ‘I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to be going home to our dear Fatherland. Did I tell you, Seffy, that I saw Herr Hitler once? Oh, he was magnificent. Dynamic, that was what Wolfie called him.’
I winced, imagining what might happen if she spoke like that in London, and realised, yet again, that my troubles were really only just beginning. How could I leave her in the house in Eaton Square, with only the housekeeper to look after her? Would I have to keep her in my flat? Then I remembered that I’d decided to go down to Cornwall and to be a mother, and knew I’d have to take her with me. My heart sank.
We left the car outside the administration building. A Portuguese policeman at the door asked if we were travelling. Amyas spoke to him and produced Xanthe’s passport. I saw a set of folded notes peeking out of it and then he nodded to me to show mine. To my relief, the policeman grinned and we were able to go inside.
‘Persephone,’ Amyas put his hand on my shoulder. ‘We must say goodbye now.’
I looked up at him and saw the pain in his eyes. I stood for a moment, just gazing at him, and then I turned and thrust the baby into Xanthe’s unwilling arms. Turning back I put my arms around Amyas’s neck.
‘Come with us,’ I begged. ‘You’ll be safe in England.’
‘I can’t,’ he said quietly. ‘You know that.’
‘I’m frightened for you.’ Tears had come to my eyes and I struggled to stay in control. Even though I knew that, as Charlie had predicted, the day had come when I would move on from Amyas, he was here with me now and I wanted to keep him.
‘I don’t know when I’ll see you again,’ he breathed into my neck, ‘it might not be very soon. But I know I will. We’ll drink wine on my terrace in Provence and watch the sun go down.’
‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘We’ll do that.’
He held me very close and I felt his heart beating quite fast. ‘I have loved you, my darling girl, even though . . .’ He left the rest of the sentence unsaid and I closed my eyes and remembered the nights in the house by the sea, where I’d been swept away by passion. The noise of the aircraft and passengers faded into the background and all I could hear was the sound of the sea breaking on the shore of our Cornish beach.
‘Remember the little church on the headland,’ he whispered. ‘Where we should have been married.’
‘Yes,’ I said, pulling back slightly and searching his face. ‘What about it?’
‘Bury me there.’
He kissed me hard, then, on my slightly open mouth, and immediately turned away. ‘I love you, Amyas,’ I said, as he walked back to his car. ‘I always will.’
‘And I you,’ he called, as he got in. ‘Give Marisol a kiss from me.’
‘Every day,’ I murmured. ‘Every day.’
I watched him drive away, my mind whirling, full of questions, and then turned back to the door of the administration building where Xanthe had been waiting. Of course, she wasn’t there. She was inside, weaving a path through the few waiting passengers to the far corner of the hall, where a small café bar was serving drinks. Her little son had been left lying on the floor beside her suitcase.
‘Oh, God,’ I said out loud, and picking up both him and the bag, I followed her. ‘Xanthe,’ I demanded, standing behind her at the small counter. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Having a drink,’ she smiled, holding up a glass of what looked like cherry brandy. ‘First for ages. Will you pay him, I haven’t any money . . . as you know.’ This last was delivered with a sardonic look, and I reached into my bag and got out my wallet.
‘Oh, good,’ she said, ‘you’ve got tons of cash,’ and before I could stop her she’d reached over and snatched some notes out of my wallet. She held them up, counting the amount, then pushed them down the front of her dress.
‘Sit down,’ I insisted angrily, pointing to a little metal table and chairs beside the café, ‘and stop making an exhibition of yourself. And then you can give the baby a feed.’
‘No,’ she said, scowling. ‘I can’t do that. He either won’t swallow, or he’s sick on me. It’s disgusting.’
So I fed the little boy, slowly giving him the milk, stopping frequently to make sure that he was managing it, and then lifted him up to help him get rid of the wind. He was sick, but only a little, and when I laid him down in my arms again he gave me a drowsy smile. His face had taken on a more normal pink tinge and didn’t look so pinched. I smoothed his ice-blond hair and swaddled him in the shawl. Soon he was asleep.
‘He’s a sweet little boy,’ I said. ‘What’s his name?’
‘His name?’ Xanthe looked confused. ‘He hasn’t got a name. Wolf said he’d choose it.’
‘Well, you have to call him something. Hasn’t he been registered anywhere?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Oh, Xanthe,’ I grumbled. ‘You are absolutely hopeless. Now, we’ll give him a name. What d’you like?’
She thought for a minute and then said, ‘Wolfie was talking about naming him after our Führer.’ She grinned. ‘I don’t really like Adolf, but Wolf does. Shall we call him that?’
‘Absolutely not,’ I snapped, and looked around to see if anyone was listening. There was a plump, flabby man, who had come to sit at one of the other tables. His grey suit looked too tight for him and he was sweating profusely, wafting air across his face with a white canvas trilby. A newspaper lay on the table in front of him, but every so often he would raise his eyes and look over to us. It was an American newspaper, the Paris Herald. He must have only recently arrived here in Portugal.
‘You should name him after Daddy.’ Then I took a deep breath, remembering that she didn’t yet know that Daddy had died. I had to tell her. ‘Xanthe,’ I said slowly, ‘Daddy died last year. I couldn’t find you to tell you, but he had a nice funeral and lots of important people were there.’
‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘Poor Daddy.’ She looked sad for a fleeting moment and then said, ‘But he had a silly name. It was after some common little mill town in the North, wasn’t it? Wolfie’s son can’t possibly be called that. No, if he has to have a family name, he can be called after Wolf’s father, Maximilian. We can name him that for now, until Wolf decides.’
Xanthe had got up to get another drink and was at the counter when the man reading the newspaper went to join her. He spoke to her and she was laughing, doing her usual flirting. I watched them nervously, then got up too, when I saw him buy her yet another brandy.
‘This is Karl,’ Xanthe giggled. ‘He’s an American.’
‘How d’you do,’ I said briefly, and then to Xanthe, ‘I think you’ve had enough to drink. Come back and sit down.’
‘My sister is such a spoilsport,’ she brayed, her voice so loud that people across the room looked our way. ‘She doesn’t know how to have fun.’
Karl grinned. ‘I can see that you do,’ he said and squeezed her arm. ‘Have another drink and tell me all about yourself.’ He had a strange accent, American in tone, although there was something not quite real about it.
‘We’re having an adventure,’ Xanthe squealed. ‘I’m going home to –’
I grabbed her hand. ‘Enough, Xanthe.’ I put as much venom in my voice as I could muster. ‘Shut up and sit down.’
Karl looked as though he was going to join us but I gave him a hard stare and, getting the message, he walked away.
The situation was getting out of hand. I looked at the clock on the wall. We had hours to wait before the flight. But just then, there was an announcement on the loudspeaker and everyone looked up. It was first in Portuguese, which I didn’t understand, but the people waiting in the hall were groaning and looking at each other in dismay. The message was repeated in French and I learned that due to engine trouble our flight would not take off tonight, but would be delayed for two days.
I was ready to scream. Amyas had gone, Xanthe was being a pest, and now this stranger had latched on to us. I made a decision quickly. We’d get a car back to Lisbon, check into the Avenida Palace and I would send a telegram to Charlie.
I grabbed hold of Xanthe’s arm. ‘Come on,’ I said firmly. ‘Our flight’s delayed. We’re going to Lisbon for a couple of days.’
‘Marvellous,’ she squealed and eagerly followed me to the enquiries desk. I managed to arrange a car to drive us to the city. When we went outside, Karl was there waiting for us. ‘Off to the city?’ he asked. ‘Me too. I guess you couldn’t give me a ride?’
‘Of course we can,’ Xanthe shouted. ‘What fun.’ But I wasn’t having that.
‘I’m afraid not,’ I said. ‘There isn’t room, what with the luggage and the baby. Sorry.’
‘OK.’ He was still smiling. ‘Cute kid,’ he said, looking down. ‘He’s blond, like your sister.’
‘It’s a little girl,’ I said, putting the baby on Xanthe’s knee while I got in beside her. ‘And she’s my daughter.’
His smile faded, but he waved a hand as we pulled away.
‘Why did you tell him that?’ asked Xanthe.
‘Because I don’t trust him, that’s why.’
‘Now who’s being silly,’ she said, but she forgot the conversation within minutes, as the prospect of a stay in a luxury hotel filled her mind.
I booked us a suite, two rooms with an interconnecting door, and I took both keys so Xanthe couldn’t lock me out of her room. I needed to keep an eye on her. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘if you want anything, call room service.’
‘Can we go out later?’ she asked. ‘I’d so love to go out.’
‘Perhaps,’ I answered. ‘But we have to think about the baby. We can’t carry him into restaurants, can we? Be reasonable.’
She pouted again and picked up the telephone. I watched until I saw she had called for room service, then walked into my room and wondered about getting formula feed for baby Max. I’d have to go out and leave Xanthe some time, but would it be safe? From my room I could hear her on the telephone ordering a bottle of gin, and my heart sank. She’d be drunk in half an hour and I was on the point of going in to her and slamming down the phone, but then I stopped myself. She’d already had three brandies on an empty stomach. If she did get drunk, she’d probably pass out and I’d be able to get to the chemist to buy stuff for the baby.
I was right. She sat with the bottle of gin and drank it from her tooth mug, with a splash of water from the tap. I chatted to her for nearly an hour, talking about my job and asking about her holiday in Bavaria and listening to her vague replies, until her voice started to slur and she lay on the bed. ‘Why don’t you have a little sleep,’ I suggested. ‘You’ve had quite an exciting day.’
‘I have, haven’t I, Seff. I’ll close my eyes just for a . . .’
She was asleep. Picking up the baby and my shoulder bag, I left the room and went down to the lobby. The smart receptionist who’d been flirting with Amyas was on duty and I asked her where I could find food and clothes for the baby. She looked at him, her mouth turning down at the sight of this tiny scrap of a child in his dirty clothes. ‘Perhaps along the Avenida da Liberdade,’ she said faintly. ‘I know of a pharmacy.’
‘Thank you.’ I hurried out and, turning the corner, walked along the street until I came across the pharmacy. They had all the provisions I wanted: formula feed, a couple of feeding bottles and some soap, cream and powder to get Max clean and comfortable. A few shops further on and I found a baby boutique and bought clothes and nappies for him. The assistant had a few words of English and expressed surprise that he was so small for his age. ‘He has been ill,’ I lied. How could I admit that my sister had starved him?
My shopping done, I raced back to the hotel and was just going in through the doors when I spotted Xanthe’s new friend, ‘Karl’, standing by the reception desk. I was sure he was asking about us. Christ! I didn’t know what to do. Then I walked away, around another corner and into the cocktail bar. Some early evening drinkers raised their eyebrows at the sight of us, but I walked straight through, out into the corridor and then up the stairs to our floor.
Xanthe was still asleep, which gave me the opportunity to send a telegram to Charlie, explaining the situation and asking for advice. But I knew I would have to manage on my own, so, giving Max another feed, I settled him into a drawer that I’d pulled out and went to sleep myself. And by seven o’clock the next morning I and a very hungover Xanthe were ready to face another day.