The Quality of Mercy (16 page)

Rose, at his most charming, had suddenly started to talk about the glittering career he would have in the Soviet Union if he cooperated and Georg sighed with relief. An agent of the German Reich might have killed him there and then to stop his mouth. It was clear that this man needed him and he smiled and nodded his head to every blandishment. They talked about Lord Louis Mountbatten and Rose asked if he would be accompanying Verity to the polo match at Broadlands. Georg admitted that he would – not, of course, that he was remotely interested in the game but Verity had made it clear that he would be expected to accompany the Mersham party to watch Frank show off his new-found skills. Georg did not mention that his real motive for wanting to go to Broadlands was to see Joan Miller – who, as Hedwig Kiesler, had been his childhood sweetheart.

Rose seemed satisfied but had made it clear that he would expect a favourable answer from Georg when they met at the weekend as guests of Mountbatten. It was an unlikely rendezvous for a Jewish refugee and an American Communist and, for that very reason, was likely to go unnoticed. Just as he was preparing to leave, Rose noticed the Dürer drawing lying on a table. Georg cursed himself for not having thought to hide it before opening the door. Rose immediately saw what it was and his enthusiasm was unfeigned. He asked how it had come into Georg’s possession and if he contemplated selling it. In order to end the conversation, Georg rashly said that he might need to. Rose promised to speak to friends in the art world and, when they met, would give him an idea of its likely value.

‘It may be worth many thousands of pounds if it is genuine,’ he opined.

Stung, Georg said it was certainly genuine and explained its provenance. Rose left feeling pleased with himself. He had achieved much more than he had anticipated and the sight of the Dürer had excited him. If he could not own it, he longed to be the agent commissioned to sell it. Apart from the financial reward, which would be considerable, it would make him talked about in the art world.

Georg, on the other hand, was dismayed by this new threat. He sat with his head in his hands for some time after Rose’s departure and tried to think what it was best to do. He was not safe. Even here in England he was not safe. He wished he hadn’t let Rose see the Dürer. He even wished he hadn’t proudly shown it to Verity. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her but . . . He decided not to tell her about Rose’s visit. There was too much to explain and he did not think she would understand. He did not do her justice but that was the decision he made.

The Mersham party found Broadlands
en fête
and it seemed that half the county had been invited to watch the polo. Lady Louis had still not returned from wherever it was she preferred to Broadlands but, as her husband appeared quite unconcerned by her prolonged absence, no one was brave enough to ask embarrassing questions. Edward saw him take the Duke aside and heard him mention Frank as they walked out of earshot. If Mountbatten wanted to make a friend of Gerald, he could not have found a better way if, as seemed likely, he was about to praise his son.

On balance, the Duke was forced to admit that Mount-batten was proving a good influence. Polo had given Frank a new enthusiasm and, under Mountbatten’s tutelage, he had blossomed – not just as a sportsman but as a young man with a future. Gone was the sulky boy who liked to puzzle and enrage his father. In his place, Gerald found he had a son to be proud of. Connie’s anxiety that he might be lured into a ‘fast set’ and seduced into a world of loose morals and high spending now seemed wide of the mark. True he had been on one or two ‘benders’, as Edward described them, with Stuart Rose whom Gerald instinctively disliked as an American and a ‘pansy’ – fortunately, he was not aware that his son’s friend was also a Communist – but as Frank had returned from London enthusing about a painter called Picasso and lecturing him on the Quattrocento he supposed it was all right.

What Connie and Gerald had not understood about Mountbatten was that he was ambitious and, once he had an object in view, every pleasure had to be surrendered to gain it. Although he played hard, he worked harder. He liked fast cars and glamorous women but nothing got in the way of his determination to be first in any sporting endeavour he attempted or, more importantly, to rise to the top of his profession. The navy was what mattered most in his life and he was passing some of his enthusiasm for the service on to Frank.

Mountbatten understood more clearly than most politicians – and some of his superior officers – how unprepared the Royal Navy was to meet the new cruisers and battleships Germany was producing at an alarming rate. Many of the navy’s impressive-looking ships were out of date, under-gunned and vulnerable to modern German hardware. Mountbatten was waging a campaign to modernize every aspect of the navy from training to equipment. He was particularly worried about the guns on which the navy’s destroyers relied and was trying to persuade the gunnery chiefs to buy the Oerlikon which was why his weekend guests included Helmut Mandl and his wife. Under cover of the festivities, Mandl was to meet the admiral who would decide whether or not to purchase the new gun.

Edward had received a cryptic message from Liddell that Mountbatten had also been prevailed upon to invite Heinrich Braken and he had been told in no uncertain terms that this was his opportunity to make Putzi his ‘friend’. He had to be persuaded that his future lay in remaining in England and not returning to Berlin. Edward was dubious that he could do any such thing but, all in all, he was rather looking forward to the day’s entertainment. He decided it was going to be what his father would have termed ‘a rum do’. So many people who would not in the normal course of events be found at a polo match were to gather for a variety of reasons, none of them sporting. Frank had invited Verity and, rather to Edward’s surprise, she had jumped at the idea. Of course, she had always had a soft spot for him and Frank certainly admired her. She was also pleased to have something with which to entertain Georg.

Edward realized that he had never got round to telling her about his extraordinary conversation with Georg at Mersham that morning. He had been about to when he had been distracted by her declaration of love for him which had, naturally, wiped everything else from his mind. Georg had begun by asking when he would be able to talk to Liddell. He had sighed heavily when Edward told him that he still had not pinned Liddell down to a definite date but assured him that what he had to say about the secret development of the bomb would be taken very seriously.

‘There’s so little time!’ Georg had groaned. ‘If we are to persuade one of the scientists on the team to come to England, we must act now. There’s a real chance some-thing can be done in the next few weeks but . . .’ he shrugged his shoulders expressively, ‘after that . . . who knows? My friend warned me that the SS were increasing security around them and restricting their movements and that was a month ago.’

Edward, to change the subject, told him that he had met Joan Miller at Broadlands and that she had spoken of him.

‘You know she is spending this weekend at Broadlands? You will see her if you come to the polo with us.’

‘Her husband’s a pig – not above prostituting her to Hitler. Bad luck for him the man’s a eunuch.’

Edward had never heard him speak so coarsely and it was obvious he was jealous of Mandl, as well as hating him for being a Nazi arms dealer.

‘May I ask . . .’ Edward said hesitantly, ‘were you and Joan . . . great friends?’

‘We were lovers,’ Georg replied simply. ‘But what could I offer her? A Jew . . . a penniless student. She had to marry a rich successful businessman.’

‘Does Mandl know you were lovers?’

‘He suspects,’ Georg said with satisfaction. ‘He does not know but he suspects. He hates the sight of me. I look forward to renewing my acquaintance with him.’

He then began what was to Verity a familiar lament.

‘I do not understand, Lord Edward, why you English do not comprehend what is happening to my country. You know, one of the guests at dinner last night – Lady Carlyon, I think she was called – asked me if I knew the Goerings! She said they were such “dear people” and told me how her husband had shot a boar on their estate last year. I mean, what was I supposed to say?’

‘Nothing, I hope.’

‘Remembering where I was – a guest of your brother, Lord Edward, for whose kindness to me I am truly grateful – I did indeed say nothing. But I must tell you I was tempted to pour my wine over her stupid head.’

Edward pursed his lips and was silent. He understood Georg’s frustration and he recognized that he was suffering
amertume de coeur
– bitterness of heart – which, if he did not take care, might destroy him.

Verity was being much more tactile than usual – taking Edward’s arm, and even his hand, in public. She had insisted on bringing her dog to the polo – perhaps, Connie suggested to Adrian, as a fashion accessory.

‘Beauty and the beast?’ Adrian offered.

Certainly, in all his liver-coloured magnificence, Basil set off his mistress who wore a charming blue and white cotton dress with a belted coat and a hat so large it almost dwarfed her.

‘That hat makes her look like a mushroom,’ Adrian muttered to Connie who giggled guiltily. Connie and Adrian, who were getting on very well together, remarked on the change in Verity.

‘Something’s happened to make her appreciate what she’s got in Edward,’ Adrian said, pleased but puzzled.

‘I know. I ought not to tell you, I suppose, but I believe I witnessed the moment she agreed to marry him.’ Adrian looked shocked. ‘I didn’t mean to . . . I just happened to look out of the window this morning and there they were . . . the two of them . . . in each other’s arms. I didn’t hear anything. Oh, do stop looking at me like that, Adrian.’

‘Sorry! I’m only teasing. So, you think . . .?’

‘Yes, I do.’

So she took my advice, Adrian thought to himself in surprise.

‘What happened to that German boy she was so taken with at the cricket match last summer?’ Connie inquired.

‘You heard that Himmler’s thugs kidnapped him in Vienna?’

‘No, I didn’t. Edward never mentioned it.’

‘It was awful. I thought he would have told you. Von Trott was kidnapped in front of Verity’s eyes and she thought he must have been sent to a concentration camp.’

‘But I thought he came from a very good family. Wasn’t his father one of the Kaiser’s ministers?’

‘That’s right. He must have been protected from the worst Himmler could do to him because she eventually got a letter from somewhere in the Far East.’

‘The Far East?’

‘Yes, he’s studying philosophy of all things.’

‘And so poor Verity was left . . . ?’

‘High and dry.’

‘I ought to be sorry for her but really . . .’

‘So why are you smiling, Duchess?’

‘You must call me Connie. I can’t gossip with you like this if you keep on calling me Duchess. Anyway, I wasn’t smiling – not much, anyway.’

‘One can’t help feeling that it serves her right for treating Edward so badly,’ Adrian said judiciously, ‘but, you know, she never means to be unkind. She’s just impulsive and honest about her feelings.’

‘A dangerous combination! But you know them both as well as anyone – do you think they are together . . . what shall I say . . .?’

‘Permanently . . .? Yes, I think so but who can tell? I’ve given up thinking I know what’s happening in my friends’ marriages or relationships.’

‘You think they might get married despite Verity’s principles?’

‘I can only say again – who can tell? Verity has always been dead set against the “bonds of matrimony”, as you know, but I think she may be mellowing. Have you noticed that she doesn’t lecture us nearly as much on social issues as she used to?’

‘You don’t mean she might give up being a Communist?’

‘I won’t go that far, Connie. She still has her principles but she’s seen enough in Spain to realize that the British Communist Party is now controlled from Moscow and no Party member can question any instruction – however nonsensical or contradictory it may seem. Now, you know Verity. She won’t stand for being muzzled. My bet is she’ll be thrown out of the Party before long. They don’t like her friends, they don’t like Edward and they don’t like her coming to this kind of event unless she blows it up. I’m just joking,’ he added, seeing the alarm on Connie’s face.

‘Well, the Lord works in most mysterious ways. All I want is for Ned to be happy. Oh look! Frank’s bringing over his nice Indian friend. Isn’t he good-looking in his polo clothes!’

Adrian, however, was not looking at Frank. ‘She’s beautiful,’ he said with what might almost have been a sigh of regret. ‘There’s something about a pretty girl in boots and breeches . . . She’s a maharaja’s daughter, isn’t she?’

‘Adrian, I’m shocked,’ Connie laughingly rebuked him. ‘You’re a married man, remember?’

‘Don’t worry! What hope does any of us have when she looks at Frank the way she’s looking at him now?’

Frank was in high spirits and talked of the coming polo match with enthusiasm, all the time glancing at the girl for approval. ‘I hope it’s not going to rain,’ he said, looking up at a particularly black cloud.

‘Your brother’s not playing, I hear?’ Connie asked.

‘No, poor lamb,’ Sunita said with a smile. ‘He’s in a bad mood, hoping one of us will get injured so he can step in and save the day.’

‘Oh, I hope not! Is polo so dangerous?’

‘Don’t fuss, Mother!’ Frank said. ‘Sunita will look after me.’

Connie smiled. Any man would want to impress this girl, she thought. She tried to imagine a scene in which Frank told his father he was marrying an Indian and that a grandson, who would one day be Duke of Mersham, would be brown-skinned but she could not make it convincing.

Edward had wanted to witness Georg’s reunion with Joan Miller but, as it turned out, he missed it.

‘
Lieber Gott! Hedwig! Immer, immer, Hedwig. Nicht wahr
?’

Georg took her hand and kissed it fervently.

‘Georg, is it really you? You escaped?’