Daphne walked down to the gazebo, admiring the grounds as she moved toward the lake ahead of her. The flowers were magnificent, making the garden breathtaking this year. Everything had bloomed so well, and fortunately at the right time.
Alicia looked up when she saw her mother standing next to her and smiled at Daphne.
Her mother bent down and kissed her cheek, and sat next to her. “Where is everyone, darling? Have they all gone out?”
“No, not at all. Cecily is upstairs in their bedroom. She told me she has work to do. And some telephoning, checking her business, I’ve no doubt. Charlie is in his room writing. My father went to a meeting and took Miles with him. He said they would be back in time for lunch, and not to worry about them being late.”
Daphne laughed. “Your father’s hardly ever late, bless him.”
“I’m glad Cecily and Miles are here, Mummy,” Alicia said. “I thought she looked tired. They both did. But Cecily seemed tenser.”
“I know what you mean. I noticed that myself when they arrived on Tuesday night. But a few days here and she seems to be more at ease, don’t you think?”
“It’s the house, you know, everyone sort of collapses here. And they become soft and unworried and genial. I guess I’m right about that.”
Daphne laughed. “I know you are. They let go, actually. So, have you made a decision, Alicia? Are you going to join your brothers at the Bowens’ in the south of France or not?”
Alicia shook her head. “No, I’m not, Mummy. I’m going to go home to Cavendon next Monday, actually. I want to prepare for work, for September, which is when Felix and Constance will be back. I had a note from him yesterday, and he says they will take me on as a client.”
“I’m so glad, darling!” Daphne exclaimed. “They’re the best, they will do well for you. And it won’t do you any harm as an actress being the niece of one of England’s greatest actors.”
* * *
There was a sudden commotion, laughter and masculine voices echoing in the air. Daphne stopped talking and glanced behind her. So did Alicia, who exclaimed, “It’s Papa, Miles, and Charlie. But what on earth are they doing?”
Daphne shook her head. “I’ve no idea, however, I do see a pair of ladies’ shoes peeping out from behind their collective trouser legs.”
“Oh, it’s Cecily, obviously! They must be teasing her about something,” Alicia volunteered. “They’re certainly joking around a lot.”
It was Charlie, Daphne’s eldest son, who began to march down the garden path, raising his arms, moving his hands gracefully, like a conductor commanding a huge orchestra. He sang out, “Ta-da! Ta-da! Ta-da!”
At that moment Cecily appeared on the scene. She came through the French doors and onto the terrace, walking over to the men.
Alicia said, “Oh they must be hiding someone else, Mummy. Whoever could it be?”
“I don’t have a clue,” Daphne answered and stood up, moved out of the gazebo, staring at the terrace. Instantly she knew who it was and her heart lifted with a flare of happiness. There was only one person in the world who had those gorgeous legs, now fully visible in very high heels.
“Hey there! Don’t hide behind those silly men!” she called out. “I know it’s you because of your legs and your shoes, Diedre.”
Hugo, who was well aware that very little ever surprised his darling wife, stepped to one side, and so did Miles, allowing Diedre to run down the path and into Daphne’s outstretched arms.
Cecily, who stood next to Miles, was wondering why Diedre was in Zurich. Was she here with news for her? Cecily dismissed that idea at once. It was far too soon for news. It was only last Friday, just a week ago today, that she had first spoken to Diedre about Greta’s problem. Maybe Diedre had just wanted a chance to relax for a few days away from Cavendon, needed new scenery, a little respite from the family.
Cecily knew how hard she worked, and how involved she was with her job at the War Office. Not that she ever said a word. She could not, presumably because she was bound by the secrecy laws of the country. If she was working in intelligence. None of them knew a thing about her job; she had never been talkative about her life in London before her marriage to Paul. Nor after she returned to work in 1935.
The two sisters clung to each other for a moment or two. They had become closer than ever over the last nine years, working together through the family troubles and travails and especially after Paul had died so suddenly. Diedre was felled by the most terrible grief, had relied on her, Cecily, and DeLacy. They had each helped as much as they could, been there for her when sorrow threatened to overcome her.
Finally stepping apart, they grinned at each other. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Daphne said. “Welcome, Diedre darling. I’m so happy to see you.”
Before Diedre could respond, Hugo cut in, “I couldn’t believe it when we arrived back at the villa and Miles was shouting, ‘Look what the wind’s blown in,’ and there was Diedre standing just in front of us, paying off a taxi.”
Diedre turned to her sister, and said, “The thing is this, Daphne. I had to go to Geneva on Wednesday night. I was surprised at how well it all went on Thursday, and it struck me how close I was to Zurich. And I suddenly wanted to be with all of you, spend a few days here. And I decided just to come and surprise you without even phoning.”
“And we’re glad you did,” Miles said. “You’re a wonderful surprise.”
“It’s lovely to have you, Diedre,” Cecily murmured warmly, and went to kiss her sister-in-law on the cheek.
Diedre gave Cecily a very direct look. Their eyes locked and the knowing glance they exchanged said everything. Say nothing.
Daphne slipped her arm through Hugo’s. “Let’s go to the terrace and have cold drinks before lunch. It’s getting quite hot out here.” Glancing at him, she added, “Anna and Bruno know Diedre is here, don’t they?”
“Oh yes. Bruno took Diedre’s suitcase up to her room, and he said he would tell Anna to set another place at the table.”
Daphne nodded and started up along the path with her husband, the others following behind.
The long terrace at the back of the villa, facing the lake and the mountains, was actually a roofed gallery in the form of a loggia, the roof offering shade and protection, and the open ends allowing air to flow freely. It was usually cool even on the warmest of days, and the family always ate lunch here in the summer, and often dinner as well.
The seven of them sat down in white basket-weave armchairs which surrounded a glass-and-iron table. As they were settling themselves, Bruno arrived with a tray of glasses and a large crystal jug of lemonade. After serving them, he turned to Daphne and murmured, “When would you like luncheon to be served, my lady?”
“In about half an hour, Bruno, thank you.”
He nodded and took his leave.
Charlie said, “Do you often get to Geneva, Aunt Diedre?”
“Only occasionally, Charlie. Why do you ask?”
“I was just curious. Also, I thought you should consider dropping in more often, don’t you agree, Mama?”
“I do indeed, but your aunt has Robin to think of, you know, and he spends the summers at Cavendon, which is where we’ll usually find Diedre. At his side, being a good mother.”
“Maybe I’ll bring him over here again for a few days,” Diedre interjected. “He’s always enjoyed himself when we stayed, and especially with you, Charlie. Thank you for spending time with him and making him feel special, and most importantly, grown-up.”
“He’s a fabulous boy. When I talk to him and listen to his answers to my questions, and look into his eyes, I can’t help thinking he’s been here before, that he’s an old soul.”
Diedre nodded. “I think he is.” She paused for a moment. “He misses his father, and you’ve sort of filled the breach during the holidays. He adores you, Charlie, and you’ve given him the writing bug. He told me last weekend that he wants to be a journalist, like you’re going to be after Oxford.??
?
“I did encourage him. I hope you’re not upset.”
“No, not at all.”
Changing the subject and looking across at Miles, Charlie now said, “Talking of journalism, I’ve noticed the British newspapers have been full of stuff about Edward and his lady love. Our former king seems to have really embraced Hitler and the Nazis. There was a quote in one of the papers the other day … apparently he told someone that he was entirely of German blood. I think he said it to Joachim von Ribbentrop when he was the German ambassador in London, but I’m—”
“I read that, too,” Miles cut in. “And he actually said it to Diana Mosley, not Ribbentrop.” Miles shook his head. “I’m sure she was thrilled to hear that, given Sir Oswald’s admiration of Hitler. She and Mosley are in Berlin constantly and so is her sister Unity, who’s obsessed with Hitler.”
“Those Mitford sisters take the cake!” Hugo exclaimed. “Worshipping at the shrine of the Führer, and Unity fawning all over him. He’s very flattered by all the attention he gets from certain members of the British aristocracy. Fools, the lot of them. No wonder Churchill sits fuming, I would, too. In fact, I do fume, in sympathy with him.”
“I know what you mean,” Daphne interjected. “I’ve noticed a lot of the establishment feels the same way, though; they think Hitler’s a great leader. They’re afraid of Communism, that’s why.”
Alicia gave Miles her attention, when she said, “But our royal family is rather German, isn’t it, Uncle Miles?”
“Indeed. Our ex-king spoke the truth about his German blood. Let’s not forget that his great-grandmother, Queen Victoria, was German through her forebears, the Hanoverian kings, and her mother was German. Victoria married a German, her cousin Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg und Gotha. That was the name of our royal family for years and years. King George V, Edward’s father, changed it in the Great War, thinking it was too German, perhaps. That is when the family took the surname of Windsor.”
“And their cousins the Battenbergs became the Mountbattens for the same reason,” Hugo remarked. “Mind you, I think George V did the right thing, and I do rather admire Louis Mountbatten. He’s a good man.”
Miles cleared his throat and was about to speak when Daphne exclaimed, “I see Bruno hovering, so let us go and have lunch. And please, Miles, no history lessons. I grew up listening to them at every meal.”
Her brother had the good grace to laugh, and Cecily exclaimed, “I loved his history lessons, and still do. Miles has a fantastic memory for such marvelous historical details.”
As she rose Daphne threw Cecily a warm look and teased, “Of course you love his history lessons. You love everything he does. You worship the ground he walks on.”
Grinning at Daphne, Cecily shot back, “That’s true, I do, and I don’t care who knows it.”
“We’ve all known it since you were about twelve,” Hugo murmured, squeezing Cecily’s arm as he walked past. Leaning over her shoulder, he whispered in her ear, “And I for one love you for the way you love him.”
Ten
Diedre, naturally observant, had had this particular trait underscored by years of training at the War Office, and she thought watching people was a fascinating occupation even when it was her own family under her scrutiny.
And so, as they all sat at the other end of the loggia enjoying lunch, she was able to indulge herself. Saying hardly anything at all, she made a show of savoring the food but kept her ears wide open.
During the first course, a cold vichyssoise soup scattered on the top with chives, her family talked about Wallis Simpson, the American divorcée for whom Edward VIII had given up the throne so that he could marry her.
Diedre was not especially interested, and only listened with half an ear, her thoughts focused at this moment on her immediate boss, William Lawson. He had joined “the firm,” as he called it, several years before she had returned in 1935, a year after Paul’s sudden and tragic death. He had welcomed her warmly, and with enthusiasm, and made no bones about his admiration for her and her many talents. In consequence, he had given her a lot of leeway in the three years she had worked closely with him, and he listened to her ideas.
She focused on that now, knowing that if she asked for a few extra days off, he would agree. Certainly he had had no qualms about her coming to Zurich today, to spend the weekend with her sister and other family members. She might phone Will later and ask for this favor.
Diedre had relaxed for the first time in months when she had arrived at the villa only several hours ago. Much of that had to do with Daphne, who had always shown love and understanding to everyone. And Diedre was no exception to that rule.
Surreptitiously, she looked down the long table at her sister and couldn’t help feeling a great sense of pride. Daphne was now forty-two, but did not look it. She was still the great beauty of the family, the gorgeous peaches-and-cream blonde she had always been. She had put on a little bit of extra weight, but not much, and there was a lovely aura around her. It’s goodness, sincerity, and devotion, Diedre decided, knowing how much of herself Daphne gave to others.
Hugo, too, helped to make Diedre feel better, perhaps because he had such a gift with people, knew how to make them welcome. Also, he had been close to her Paul, her husband’s business partner and best friend. So many of her happiest memories were associated with her sister and brother-in-law, and these memories warmed her, took away some of the pain inside.
Diedre was brought out of her reverie when Bruno placed the main course in front of her, and Hugo said, “Anna makes the best branzino in the world, as you know.”
Smiling at him, she said, “I do remember. And Daphne always creates the greatest menus.”
“Mama is the best,” Charlie announced. “The magical mother. Who does everything perfectly.”
Hugo grinned and Alicia agreed, as did Miles and Cecily. It was Diedre who added, “And without a doubt the best sister that ever was.”
A slight blush crept up Daphne’s neck to her cheeks, and tears glistened in her eyes, but they all knew they were tears of happiness. She sat there smiling at them, obviously pleased.
Diedre let go of her people-watching habit and concentrated on her plate of food. The branzino had been grilled and there was a lemon sauce with tiny segments of lemon mixed with capers in it, and small new potatoes.
“It’s delicious,” Diedre said to Hugo, and added, “Are you going to be here next week, Hugo? Or will you be in Geneva?”
“Oh, here, of course, Diedre. No business next week. We just want to enjoy the Villa Fleurir for a couple of weeks longer. Then it’s back to Cavendon.”
“I thought I might go to Berlin next week,” Charlie said, looking from his mother to his father, a brow lifting quizzically.
“Berlin!” Daphne exclaimed, staring at her son in astonishment. “Whatever for?”
“To see it. Get a feel about it. I’ve read so much about all these little men prancing around in ridiculous operetta-style uniforms—”
“Which would only be funny if these little men, as you call them, weren’t a bunch of dangerous gangsters,” Diedre interrupted, her tone serious, her face grimly set as she looked at her nephew. “Make no mistake, they are tyrants and will stop at nothing to attain their aims. Be assured of that, Charlie.”
“I’ve no intention of allowing you to go to Berlin,” Hugo said in a firm voice. “And what would be gained by it, I ask you?”
“This is a particular time in history,” Charlie said in a mild, steady voice, not wanting to alienate his parents, who always stood together on all things. “As a budding journalist, I want to see what’s happening, take photographs with my Kodak camera, do a general walk-around. I hear the Unter den Linden looks amazing … Nazi flags, great German eagles atop high columns, searchlights beaming. Very colorful.”
“No,” Diedre said in a harsh tone. “They’ve ruined that beautiful avenue with their theatrical trimmings. Anyway, no one should go to Berlin alone, Charlie, and espe
cially a twenty-year-old.”
“I’ll soon be twenty-one,” he interjected, still speaking in the mildest voice.
“I’d go with you,” Alicia said. “But I’m off to Cavendon on Monday.” Wanting to avert a quarrelsome scene between her brother and her parents, she hurried on, “I had a letter today from Felix, who’s in Los Angeles with Dulcie and James. He and Constance have agreed to represent me, and be my managers. I want to make films, you see, not tread the boards.”
“What? You? A film star!” Charlie cried, shaking his head, chuckling. “You’re the ugly duckling of the Inghams.”
“No she’s not,” Cecily said. “She’s a graceful and elegant swan, if you’ll excuse the use of my name.”
Charlie grinned at his aunt, and said, “I’m only teasing the beautiful Alicia and every one of you knows that.”
“Yes, we do, darling,” Daphne said. “And you’ve taken lovely pictures of Alicia on your Kodak. But it’s still no to Berlin.”
Cecily looked at Diedre, and said hesitantly, “Maybe we all ought to go with Charlie … what do you think, Diedre?” She sat waiting for an answer, quaking inside, hoping Diedre wouldn’t be angry with her.
Diedre didn’t respond immediately, not particularly surprised by Cecily’s suggestion. She always said what was on her mind. Her sister-in-law had never shown fear in her life. And, as a matter of fact, she had voiced what Diedre had herself been thinking at that moment. It would be a way for her to speak to Toby Jung in person, and plan the extraction, if there was going to be one. But how to pull it off? Finally she spoke.
“What do I think…? Well, I believe a family like ours would be perfectly safe in Berlin. Particularly if we were invited to a reception at the British embassy by Sir Nevile Henderson, the ambassador—”