Something Dangerous (Spoils of Time 02) (31 page)

‘What is he busy with?’

‘Oh – you know,’ she said vaguely, ‘the gallery, this new venture—’

‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’

‘Well, I suppose so. I hadn’t really thought much about it at all.’

Boy had asked her the same thing: if she approved of the salesroom, if she had any ideas about it. She had been very surprised, had said that no, she didn’t. ‘But it’s not really my sort of thing, is it?’

‘Well – no. But you might have a view on where it was, perhaps, on whether it should trade in pictures as well as furniture, even on its decor.’

‘Boy, I don’t know anything about that sort of thing. You know I don’t.’

‘You could learn.’

‘Now you know I don’t have time,’ she said lightly, ‘four children, quite a lot of work and organisation, you know.’ She went over to him, gave him a kiss. ‘It’s sweet of you to ask, Boy. But I think really it’s far better if you concentrate on your things and I on mine. Don’t you?’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ he had said.

‘Well,’ said Adele now, ‘I think it’s a wonderful idea. I was talking about it to him the other evening.’

‘You were! What do you know about things like that?’

‘Oh – a bit. Through work, you know. There are some wonderful salesrooms in Paris that I was telling him about, I said I’d get some catalogues and things for him—’

‘Well I suppose you’ve got time,’ said Venetia. She felt rather put out that Adele should be able to talk to Boy in such terms.

‘Maybe. Anyway, I’m pleased you’re happier.’ She smiled at her sister. ‘He was flirting like mad with Freda Dudley Ward the other night, I have to say.’

‘Oh, I know. I noticed. Only because she’s so down about the fearsome Wallis. The Prince has just – abandoned poor Freda. God, that woman’s a nightmare. Wallis, I mean. Frightfully chic of course, but apart from that. She’s making him give up hunting, you know, when he loves it so much, it’s so cruel, he had his own flat at Melton Mowbray, just for the season, Grandmamma was telling me about it. She said he always looked so wonderful, in his buckskin breeches and top hat. She said it was altogether like a little Mayfair down there, too marvellous, anyway, he’s not allowed to do it any more, it’s awful, I think.’

‘Terrible. She’s not even very nice to him, as far as I can make out. Mummy says she treats him like some kind of a lapdog.’

‘Mummy sees quite a lot of him, I believe. Ever since she got mixed up with Lord Arden and his crowd. She actually attended—’

‘I know. And she’s on the committee of that ball Diana Guinness is giving to raise money for the BUF. It’s all a bit—’

‘It is a bit. Maybe it’s her age. Anyway, darling Dell, what of you today and the divine Monsieur Lieberman?’

‘The divine Monsieur Lieberman is coming to London next week, to see Daddy.’

‘Not to—’

‘Of course not. You know he’s married. Strictly business. But – there’ll be a little meeting or two. I hope. It’s so – complicated. So difficult. I do so adore him though, you can’t imagine.’

‘I think I can,’ said Venetia soberly.

Luc arrived the following week, and booked himself into a small hotel in Bloomsbury.

‘It was difficult, my darling,’ he said, kissing Adele tenderly as he led her up to his room, ‘persuading your father that I could not stay in your beautiful house as usual. He knows I have no money and I cannot afford the Ritz. But – I said I wanted to be near Lytton House. And so I am.
And
the most beautiful Lytton.’

‘I don’t think that’s true,’ said Adele, and then regretted it; the nervy, blinding happiness that encompassed her whenever she was with Luc seemed to inspire such silly, flirtatious remarks.

‘Of course you are. Well, you and your other self, of course. I hope I shall see her.’

‘Venetia? Yes, of course. She wants you – us – to have supper with her tomorrow. You can meet Boy, I’m sure you’ll like him.’

She wasn’t actually sure at all; she had an uneasy feeling they would rather dislike one another.

‘I would enjoy that very much. Please thank her for me.’

‘I will. But tonight, you have to come to Cheyne Walk. Three-line whip.’

‘What is this whipping? It sounds exciting.’

‘Oh,’ said Adele laughing, ‘not exciting at all. Not in the way you mean. It’s an expression used in parliament. If you’re an MP you get a notice underlined three times telling you to come and vote.’

‘What a lot I am learning through our relationship,’ said Luc, kissing her gently.

‘Not as much as me.’ Adele returned the kiss, trying to remember what she had been saying: he really was turning her into a complete imbecile. ‘Anyway, LM will be there too. And possibly her son, Jay. He’s down from Oxford, doesn’t know what to do all summer. He’s lovely, you’ll really like him.’

‘You are all lovely.
Toute la famille
. So – we have only a little time. Let us not waste it. Would you be so good as to remove that rather severe little suit,
mon ange
– here, let me help you.’

Sitting at her parents’ dinner table only three hours later, somehow reassembled from the fractured, joyous, crying, clinging, abandoned creature she could scarcely recognise as herself even in memory, Adele tried to eat and to follow at least some of the conversation and almost entirely failed. She could think only of Luc, of the pleasure he had led her to, of the intensity of her feelings for him, of the words he had spoken even as she settled back into quietude and released him slowly and reluctantly from her.

‘I love you,’ he had said. ‘I love you very much and very truly. Remember that, won’t you, Adele. Always, whatever you do.’

She had been silent, afraid to speak a word, lest it break the spell.

‘I am looking for something solid, something large to publish,’ her father was saying. ‘It’s too long now since we launched the Buchanans, even the early Meridians. I want not so much a sensation now, rather a work that will become a classic.’

‘I fancy
Clochemerle
, the most important book in France this year, however amusing, will fit into that category,’ said Luc. ‘It is truly a sensation.’

‘Indeed. I would have loved to have got that one. Anyway, we’ve been fighting the Depression with cheaper books, all the crime novels have been a huge success, but now we need something more – prestigious. A major novel, perhaps, successful both critically and commercially.’

‘The holy grail, in a word,’ said Celia. ‘Oliver never stops searching for it.’

‘And why not, what better thing to search for?’ said Luc. ‘I imagine your
Antiques Dictionary
will be much admired,’ he added into the silence.

‘Indeed,’ said Oliver, ‘but that is hardly a major innovation, however much Celia would like to think so.’

He looked at her; she met his eyes almost coldly.

There’s something wrong between them, Adele thought, it’s not the usual bickering, they seem really hostile.

‘I have two very strong biographies coming out,’ Celia said, ‘
Madame de Pompadour
, you would enjoy that, Luc, we will certainly want to publish that in France, and a book on royal mistresses. Nell Gwynn, Lillie Langtry, Mrs Keppel—’

‘And Mme Simpson? I imagine she would give your book a contemporary flavour.’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Oliver. ‘She is, we are assured, merely a friend of the Prince of Wales. A most unlikely story, I grant you, but – there are strict laws governing publication of such matters. Not even the
Daily Mirror
has dared to speculate on the subject.’

‘What absurdity,’ said Luc, ‘of course she is his mistress, what else would explain her constant presence at his side? In France a great deal has been written of the matter.’

‘I know, I know. But—’

‘I thought there was supposed to be freedom of the press in this country,’ said Jay. He had been quiet, now he leaned forward, his dark-blue eyes brilliant, ‘I can’t understand this nonsense. Why should the Prince of Wales be allowed such treatment? He’s carrying on with a married woman, a twice-married woman, and we’re all supposed not to notice. It’s a conspiracy, if you ask me.’

‘It is indeed something of the sort,’ said Oliver. ‘The Prince has Beaverbrook as a friend, for a start. And as I understand it, he has persuaded the others, Rothermere and so on, to join him in his voluntary silence.’

‘Jolly good of them. Think of the papers they’d sell,’ said Jay.

‘Jay, there is more to life than profit,’ said Oliver mildly, ‘even in newspapers.’

‘Maybe. But there’s also more to it than pussyfooting about someone, just because they’re royal.’

‘Oh now come along, old chap,’ said Gordon Robinson, ‘royalty has its own mystique, you know. Won’t do to get rid of that. Very dangerous, I’d say.’

‘I don’t see why. So they’re royal. So what. A lot of inherited privilege and wealth and non-existent power. It’s medieval. I think they should be done away with.’

‘If you do that, you only end up with something else. Quite possibly worse,’ said Oliver. ‘Herr Hitler, for example.’

He glanced at Celia as he spoke; she was crumbling a piece of bread with immense savagery.

‘Please do not speak of that man to me,’ said Luc quietly. ‘I tremble when I think what will become of all of us, if he gains any more power.’

‘Indeed?’ said Celia. Her voice was cool, politely interested, but touched somewhere with a slight derision. ‘Perhaps you would like to tell us why.’

‘He is a madman. There is no doubt in my mind of that. In anyone’s mind. A dangerous madman. He has a mission, to clear the face of the earth—’

‘The earth? Surely not.’

‘Very well. But certainly the face of Europe, of every party and people and creed of which he does not approve absolutely. To create his pure, Arian race. He would have me off to one of his concentration camps, for a start.’

‘You!’ said Adele. It was the first time she had spoken all evening.

‘But of course. I am Jewish. My mother was Jewish, there would be no hope for me.’

‘But you’d have to give him cause to – well, to send you off, surely?’ said Jay.

‘Not at all.’

‘That’s clearly nonsense,’ said Celia, ‘there is no possibility that you would be sent to a concentration camp simply because you had Jewish blood. Those are just foolish, irresponsible rumours, I do have that on the best possible authority.’

There was a silence; then, ‘I do not know from where you get your information, Lady Celia, but it is erroneous.’ Luc’s face was sombre as he looked at her. ‘Surely you of all people have read of the public burning of books by Jews, and by those whose views are not his own, people such as Freud, Brecht, your own H.G. Wells.’

Celia was most unusually silent.

‘Have you not heard of the restrictions upon free speech in Germany, or that Jewish actors have been banned in Germany, or that Jews are being expelled from the army, and the civil service—’

‘I had heard some of these – rumours,’ said Celia, ‘of course. What you seem to forget, Monsieur Lieberman, is that Germany was in the most appalling, virtually bankrupt state, particularly after the Depression, and that Herr Hitler has done a great deal, everything, some would say, to restore its fortunes. And I would add that with most of the German people he is extremely popular, and with good reason. He—’

‘Oh, Lady Celia, please! Do not be deceived by the cheering crowds, the pretty pictures of small children presenting him with flowers. Beneath the surface there are appalling things going on, and if he is not stopped, then not only Jews, but much of the civilised world will be in mortal danger. I shall hope very much to be proved wrong, but it seems – unlikely. And now, if you will excuse me, I think I must return to my hotel. I am very tired and we start early tomorrow. Thank you for a delightful evening. It was most kind of you.’

‘Of course, of course.’ Oliver looked strained and upset; he glanced at Celia. She was flushed, her dark eyes brilliant. ‘We understand. Let me see you out, get your coat.’

‘What was that about?’ said Jay, as the front door closed. ‘He seemed upset.’

‘He was upset,’ said Oliver, coming back into the room. ‘As you would be, if you were Jewish and found yourself engaged in such a discussion and in such company. I hope you were well pleased with your defence of your friends, Celia, and the offence it clearly gave. Goodnight.’

‘It was too awful,’ said Adele next day, reporting this to Venetia on the telephone. ‘Mummy was so angry, just swept out of the room, and half an hour later I could still hear them. Daddy talking quite quietly in that cold, angry voice of his and her almost shouting at him. Poor Luc, I think it was very difficult for him. I hadn’t realised, you know, how – well, how Jewish he is. I mean how Jewish he feels. Or how threatened. Stupid of me, I suppose, but – and there was Mummy, practically waving the swastika. Oh dear.’

‘How did he feel about it today?’

‘I don’t know. We haven’t spoken. Upset, I expect. Got to go. Bye, see you this evening.’

‘Who was that, Adele?’ said Celia; she had come down the stairs dressed to go to Lyttons. Adele studied her; she was looking very beautiful, in a black ankle-length dress, a large diamanté brooch on the lapel, and a wide-brimmed hat trimmed in black and white. It was a new look she had developed recently, harder, more obviously glamorous. Adele wondered what had inspired it: her new circle of friends, perhaps. It was certainly the style favoured by Mrs Simpson.

‘It was Venetia,’ she said. ‘Why?’

‘Oh I just wondered. You and Monsieur Lieberman are having supper with her tonight as I understand it.’

‘Yes. Well, he was very kind to me in Paris, gave me lunch and so on. I thought—’

‘It’s all right, Adele.’ Celia’s eyes were half amused as she looked at her. ‘You have every right to have supper – or – ’ there was a pause ‘ – lunch with Monsieur Lieberman, if you want to. But I think perhaps I should warn you that a – closer relationship might not be in your best interest. He is married, he is much older than you and—’