Cometh the Hour: A Novel (11 page)

Giles continued chatting to Gian Lucio as if they were old friends while one of the officers did another head count. Thirty-one. He stood to attention and saluted, then he and his colleagues climbed off the bus. As the door closed behind them the passengers broke into a spontaneous round of applause for the first time that day.

The coach drove a couple of hundred yards across no-man’s land, an acre of bare wasteland that neither country laid claim to, before coming to a halt in the American sector. Karin was still shaking when a US marine sergeant stepped onto the bus.

“Welcome back,” he said in a voice that sounded as if he meant it.

11

“I
S THIS WHAT
politicians in the East mean, when they describe the West as decadent?”

“Decadent?” said Giles, pouring Karin another glass of champagne.

“Staying in your hotel room until eleven o’clock in the morning and then ordering breakfast in bed.”

“Certainly not,” said Giles. “If it’s eleven o’clock, it’s no longer breakfast, but brunch, and therefore quite acceptable.”

Karin laughed as she sipped her champagne. “I just can’t believe I’ve escaped and will finally be reunited with my father. Will you come and visit us in Cornwall?”

“No, I intend to give you a job in London as my housekeeper.”

“Ah, Professor Higgins.”

“But your English is already perfect and, don’t forget, they didn’t have sex.”

“They would have done if Shaw was writing today.”

“And the play would have ended with them getting married,” said Giles, taking her in his arms.

“What time’s our flight?”

“Three twenty.”

“Good, then we have more than enough time,” said Karin, as her hotel dressing gown fell to the floor, “to rewrite the last act of
Pygmalion
.”

*   *   *

The last time Giles had been greeted by a bank of television cameras, photographers and journalists on returning to England was when it had looked as if he might be the next leader of the Labour Party.

As he and Karin walked down the aircraft steps, Giles placed an arm around her shoulder and guided her gently through the assembled pack of journalists.

“Karin! Karin! What’s it feel like to have escaped from East Germany?” shouted a voice as the cameras flashed, and the television crews tried to stay a yard ahead of them while walking backward.

“Say nothing,” said Giles firmly.

“Has Sir Giles proposed to you, Miss Pengelly?”

“Will you be standing for Parliament again, Sir Giles?”

“Are you pregnant, Karin?”

Karin, looking flustered, glared at the journalist and said, “No, I am not!”

“Can you be sure after last night?” whispered Giles.

Karin smiled, and was about to kiss him on the cheek when he turned toward her and their lips brushed for a brief moment, but that was the photograph that appeared on most front pages, as they discovered over breakfast the following morning.

*   *   *

“Keith Brookes has been as good as his word,” said Karin, looking up from the
Telegraph
.

“I agree, surprisingly generous. And the leader even more so.”

“The leader?”

“An editorial opinion on one of the leading stories of the day.”

“Ah. We never used to get those on our side of the wall. All the papers delivered the same message, written by a party spokesman, and printed by the editor, if he hopes to keep his job.”

“That would make life easier,” said Giles, as Markham appeared carrying a rack of warm toast, which he placed on the table.

“Is Markham decadent?” asked Karin once the butler had closed the door behind him.

“He certainly is,” said Giles. “I know for a fact he votes Conservative.”

Giles was reading the
Times
’s leader when the phone rang. Markham reappeared. “It’s Mr. Harold Wilson on the line, sir,” he said, handing him the phone.

“Is he going to send me back?” said Karin.

Giles wasn’t sure if she was joking. “Good morning, Harold.”

“Good morning, Giles,” said an unmistakable Yorkshire voice. “I wondered if you could find the time to drop into the Commons today as there’s something I need to discuss with you.”

“When would be convenient?” asked Giles.

“I’ve got a gap in my diary at eleven, if that would suit you.”

“I’m sure that’s fine, Harold, but can I check?”

“Of course.”

Giles placed a hand over the mouthpiece and said, “Karin, when’s your father expected?”

“Around ten, but I’ll have to buy some clothes before then.”

“We can go shopping this afternoon,” said Giles. He removed his hand and said, “I’ll see you in the Commons at eleven, Harold.”

“And what am I expected to wear until then?” Karin asked once he’d put the phone down.

The butler coughed.

“Yes, Markham?”

“Mrs. Clifton always leaves a change of clothes in the guest bedroom, sir, in case of an emergency.”

“This is unquestionably an emergency,” said Giles, taking Karin by the hand and leading her out of the room.

“Won’t she object?” asked Karin as they climbed the stairs to the first floor.

“It’s difficult to object to something you don’t know about.”

“Perhaps you should call her?”

“I have a feeling Emma might be doing something a little more important than worrying about which clothes she left in London,” said Giles as he opened the door to the guest bedroom.

Karin pulled open a large wardrobe to find not one, but several suits and dresses, not to mention a rack of shoes she would never have seen in a worker’s cooperative.

“Come and join me downstairs once you’re ready,” said Giles. He spent the next forty minutes trying to finish the morning papers, while being regularly interrupted by phone calls offering congratulations or trying to arrange interviews. He even found the odd moment to speculate about why Harold Wilson wanted to see him.

“Mr. Clifton is on the line, sir,” said Markham, passing him the phone once again.

“Harry, how are you?”

“I’m fine, but having read the morning papers, I’m just calling to find out how you are after escaping from the Germans a second time.”

Giles laughed. “Never better.”

“I presume being reunited with Miss Pengelly is the cause of you sounding so pleased with yourself.”

“Got it in one. As well as being beautiful, Karin’s the most delightful, kind, thoughtful and considerate creature I’ve ever met.”

“Isn’t it a little early to be making such an unequivocal judgment?” suggested Harry.

“No. This time, I’ve really struck gold.”

“Let’s hope you’re right. And how do you feel about the press describing you as a cross between Richard Hannay and Douglas Bader?”

“I see myself more as Heathcliff,” said Giles, laughing.

“So when are we going to be allowed to meet this paragon?”

“We’ll be driving down to Bristol on Friday evening, so if you and Emma are free for lunch on Saturday—”

“Sebastian’s coming down on Saturday, and Emma’s hoping to talk to him about taking over as chairman. But you’re welcome to join us.”

“No, I think I’ll skip that, but why don’t you all come over to the Hall for lunch on Sunday?”

“Isn’t that putting a little too much pressure on Karin?” said Harry.

“When you’ve been living under a Communist regime for most of your life, I don’t think you’d consider having lunch with the Cliftons as pressure.”

“If you’re sure, then we’ll see you both on Sunday.”

“I’m sure,” said Giles, as the front door bell rang. “Got to dash, Harry.” He put the phone down and checked his watch. Could it possibly be ten o’clock already? He almost ran into the hall to find Markham opening the front door.

“Good morning, Mr. Pengelly, Sir Giles is expecting you.”

“Good morning,” said Pengelly, giving the butler a slight bow.

“Come on in,” said Giles, as they shook hands. “Markham, can you rustle up some fresh coffee while I take Mr. Pengelly through to the drawing room.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Karin should be down in a moment. It’s a long story, but she’s trying to decide which of my sister’s clothes to wear.”

Pengelly laughed. “Women have enough trouble deciding which of their own clothes to wear.”

“Did you have any difficulty finding us?”

“No, I left it all to the taxi driver. A rare experience for me, but this is a special occasion.”

“It certainly is,” said Giles. “The chance to be reunited with your daughter when you thought you might never see her again.”

“I’ll be eternally grateful to you, Sir Giles. And if the
Telegraph
is to be believed, it was a close-run thing.”

“Brookes exaggerated the whole incident,” said Giles, as the two of them sat down, “but one can hardly blame the man after what they put him through.”

Markham returned carrying a tray of coffee and shortbread biscuits, which he placed between them on the drawing room table.

“Comrade Honecker won’t be best pleased that you upstaged him,” said Pengelly, looking down at the
Telegraph
headline. “Not that there was anything in the speech that we haven’t all heard before.”

“Several times,” said Giles, as the door opened and Karin burst in. She ran toward her father, who leapt up and took her in his arms. Funny, thought Giles, I never noticed that simple white dress when my sister wore it.

Father and daughter clung onto each other, but it was Mr. Pengelly who burst into tears.

“Sorry to make such a fool of myself,” he said, “but I’ve been looking forward to this moment for so long.”

“Me too,” said Karin.

Giles looked at his watch. “I apologize, but I’ll have to leave you both, as I have a meeting in the Commons at eleven. But I know you have a great deal to catch up on.”

“When will you be back?” asked Karin.

“Around twelve, possibly earlier, then I’ll take you both out to lunch.”

“And after lunch?”

“We’re going shopping. I haven’t forgotten.” Giles kissed her gently on the lips, while Pengelly looked away. “See you both around twelve,” he said as he walked out into the hall where the butler was holding his overcoat. “I’m expecting to be back in about an hour, Markham. Don’t disturb them, as I suspect they’ll appreciate having some time to themselves.”

*   *   *

Karin and her father remained silent as they waited for the front door to close, and even then they didn’t speak until they heard Markham close the kitchen door.

“Did everything go to plan?”

“Almost everything,” said Karin. “Until we reached the border, when an overzealous young officer started asking far too many questions.”

“But I personally briefed the border guards,” said Pengelly. “I even told Lieutenant Engel that he was to give you a hard time before ticking off your name, so Barrington would be even more convinced you’d been lucky to escape.”

“Well, it didn’t work out quite as you planned, comrade, because a Fleet Street journalist decided to poke his nose in, and even started taking photographs.”

“Keith Brookes. Yes, I gave orders for him to be released soon after you crossed the border. I wanted to be sure he didn’t miss his deadline,” Pengelly added as he looked down at the
Telegraph
headline:

SIR GILES BARRINGTON RESCUES GIRLFRIEND FROM BEHIND THE IRON CURTAIN

“But we can’t afford to relax,” said Karin. “Despite the lovelorn look, Giles Barrington is nobody’s fool.”

“From what I’ve just witnessed, you seem to have him eating out of your hand.”

“For now, yes, but we can’t assume that will last, and we’d be unwise to ignore his record when it comes to women. He isn’t exactly reliable.”

“He managed ten years with his last wife,” said Pengelly, “which should be more than enough time for what our masters have in mind.”

“So what’s the immediate plan?”

“There’s no immediate plan. Marshal Koshevoi looks upon this as a long-term operation, so just be sure you give him everything his two previous wives obviously failed to do.”

“That shouldn’t be too difficult, because I think the poor man is actually in love with me. Can you believe that last night was the first time he’d ever had oral sex?”

“And I’m sure there are one or two other experiences he can look forward to. You must do everything in your power to keep it that way, because we’ll never have a better chance of getting a foot in the British establishment’s door.”

“I won’t be satisfied with getting my foot in the door,” said Karin. “I intend to break it down.”

“Good. But for now, let’s concentrate on your other responsibilities. We must develop a simple system for passing on messages to our agents in the field.”

“I thought I was only going to deal directly with you.”

“That might not always be possible as I’ll have to remain in Cornwall for a lot of the time if Barrington’s not to become suspicious.”

“So what should I do if I need to contact you urgently?”

“I’ve installed a second phone line for your exclusive use, but it’s only for emergencies. Whenever you want to get in touch with your “father,” use the listed number, and only ever speak in English. If you need to call the private line—and I stress, only in emergencies—I’ll speak in Russian and you should respond in German. So there are only two numbers you’ll need to remember.”

The front door slammed, and a moment later they heard Giles’s voice in the hallway. “Are they still in the drawing room?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I’ll never forgive myself,” Pengelly was saying, “for not being by your mother’s side when—”

Giles burst into the room. “I wanted you to be the first to know, my darling. Harold Wilson has offered me a place in the House of Lords.”

Both of them looked pleased.

LADY VIRGINIA FENWICK

1971

12

T
HE EARL OF
Fenwick wrote to his daughter and summoned her to Scotland. Almost a royal command.

Virginia dreaded the thought of having to face her father. As long as she kept herself out of the gossip columns and within her budget, the old man didn’t seem to care too much about what she got up to in London. However, her high court libel action against her ex-sister-in-law Emma Clifton had been extensively reported in the
Scotsman,
the only paper the noble earl ever read.