A Grave Man (21 page)

Instead she was cool and perfectly friendly but repelled any gesture of intimacy. It seemed, for no apparent reason, that they were no longer lovers. Edward was bewildered and hurt. Had he done something to offend her? Had he got too close or was it that damn Communist, Graham Harvey, and his hatred of Churchill that had soured their relationship? He had made an effort to talk to Harvey at the cricket match, aware that he had established some influence over Verity which he suspected of being malign. Harvey had been surly and monosyllabic and Edward had to accept defeat. However, he thought he understood the man’s appeal. He was an outsider – hostile to conventional morality and seemingly uninterested in what people thought of him. In addition, he was utterly certain in his faith in Communism. Edward knew the type and considered them most dangerous because, as fanatics, they were not open to argument.

Verity’s belief in Harvey’s austere creed had been undermined in Spain, he knew, and he wondered if, perhaps unconsciously, she was looking for someone to rebuild the foundations of her belief. What she had seen in Spain had shocked her – not just the atrocities carried out by the Fascists but those, equally cruel, which were the work of her friends and allies. And, what was worse, these brutalities had been directed very often not at the enemy but at political allies who had failed to toe the Stalinist line. In particular, she now had evidence that many so-called Trotskyists had been murdered or made to endure show trials in which the guilty verdicts and death sentences had been passed before the trial started. Some of the victims had been known to her. And yet she had invested everything in the Communist cause. Was she now to become an apostate? It did not bear thinking about. At all costs she must remain true.

In Harvey, Edward reckoned, she had found a man who would – like a Jesuit in Elizabethan England – gladly go to the stake for his faith. His certainty massaged away her uncertainties. He was ugly, humourless, driven by his contempt for the society in which he had to live. Verity would like – at least sometimes – to be as he was but she loved life too much and was too intelligent to sacrifice her common sense at the altar of blind fanaticism for long. It was that which prevented Edward from despairing. For the moment Harvey was her Father Confessor and her conscience. She wanted to be a martyr to the cause. Edward told himself he must wait until her crisis of faith had been resolved.

And the situation was complicated by the German – in many respects Harvey’s antithesis but, in his way, just as attractive. Edward had no idea if Verity had slept with Adam – he rather thought she had – and did not really care. He just knew that she worshipped him. He was her ideal, as Churchill was Edward’s. He was a heroic figure – a reincarnation of a medieval Teutonic Knight – a patriot but an enemy of Fascism. Edward saw much to admire in the young man but was afraid that the time would come when he would be fatally compromised by having to choose between his country and his hatred of Fascism. Adam was not a Communist but an aristocrat with strong views on how men should behave to one another. Edward could empathize. He had no difficulty in imagining his own position if a Fascist party had come to power in England as, for a brief moment, had seemed possible. He would have opposed it with all his might but, in his own eyes at least, remained a patriot. These were dangerous times when everyone had to make a stand for what they believed in.

The combination of Harvey and Adam von Trott was a heady brew and he feared Verity had found his innate dislike of extremism in all its forms unpalatable. On that first occasion he had taken the Blue Train to the South of France, he had been on his way to Spain in a rather panicky attempt to protect her from unspecified danger. This trip, in the so-called ‘millionaire’s train’, should have been sheer pleasure followed by an easy few days in the sun, a fascinating dinner with the Duke and Duchess of Windsor and then home again to domestic bliss. As it turned out, Verity was not in the mood to enjoy luxury. She was not sullen or irritable but cool and professional, which was worse. He could have dealt with her anger – he often had before – but this unforgiving
friendliness
, as though he was an acquaintance whom she tolerated rather than liked, was difficult to accept. He attempted to tease her but that merely produced surprised stares or blank incomprehension. He tried to engage her in serious conversation on matters he knew to be important to her – the Munich exhibition of so-called degenerate art, by which the Nazis seemed to mean all modern art; the war in China where the Japanese were behaving with extraordinary cruelty to Chinese civilians; and, on a lighter note, Amelia Earhart’s mysterious disappearance on the last leg of her round-the-world flight from California. Only when he mentioned, unwisely, Churchill’s disappointment at not being offered a position in Neville Chamberlain’s new cabinet did he receive more than a formal response.

‘Mr Churchill!’ She spat out the name. ‘Well, you know my opinions of him. If he were in the cabinet, we would probably have declared war on Russia by now.’ She stopped and took a breath. ‘But I won’t discuss him with you because you will only go on about how he will save the world.’

Edward could have wept with frustration.

It was a relief to reach Cannes. Lord Weaver had offered them the use of his villa on Cap Martin and, in other circumstances, it would have been the perfect place to relax, make love and soak up the sun. Now, it was unthinkable and they stayed at the Carlton in such splendour that Verity was visibly uneasy. Edward wished now he had never agreed to Joe’s request to accompany her.

‘She’ll need looking after,’ he had said, ‘you know, chaperoning. You'll have to stop her making a fool of herself and talking Communist clap-trap to the Duke.’

Both men had smiled guiltily, knowing how Verity would hate being talked about in this way. Edward had welcomed the chance of being alone with her for three days. Surely, in three days he could woo her back? Now, he knew he was wrong. If it had been a normal quarrel they might have made up their differences in bed but it wasn’t that sort of disagreement. Edward was feeling a little guilty because he had a particular reason for meeting the Duke of Windsor of which Verity knew nothing. Churchill had asked him to pass on a letter to the Duke in which he strongly advised him not to tour Germany and meet the Nazi leaders. Churchill pointed out that such a trip would be a tremendous public relations coup for Goering and Hitler and make the King very angry. Churchill, who had supported the Duke when he wanted to remain king while marrying Mrs Simpson, was still regarded by the Duke as a friend and ally although he and Wallis had been disappointed that he had not attended their wedding in Tours. Despite the Duke’s regard for Churchill, Edward thought it most unlikely that he would take any notice of his advice but it was his clear duty to make the effort to give it him. The Duke was too pig-headed and politically naive to see the use to which he was being put by the Nazis.

The Duke and Duchess, who had married only a couple of months earlier and might therefore be presumed to be enjoying their honeymoon, were living at the Villa La Cröe in Antibes, owned by one of Lord Weaver’s friends and rivals, Sir Pomeroy Burton. It was a pleasant, shady house with green shutters and delightful gardens. Edward and Verity presented themselves at the villa about six o’clock the next day and were led by the butler on to the terrace where the Duke and Duchess were having cocktails with two or three friends. Edward noted with amusement that Verity made what might almost have been a curtsey and, in happier times, he would have stored away the memory to rib her about it later. His mind was on the tricky question of what he should call the Duchess. He knew the Duke liked her to be addressed as Her Royal Highness even though, at the abdication, this title had been expressly denied her. In the end, to please the Duke, he did use her royal title and was glad he had done so when he saw him smile. For a few moments, he was busy with Wallis who patted his arm and wanted to know all about Verity. It was quite a shock when he suddenly saw that the distinguished-looking man at the other end of the terrace was Simon Castlewood. He was sitting beside a pretty, snub-nosed, bright-eyed girl dressed with just too much care to be English.

Sir Simon seemed equally surprised to see Verity and Edward, and possibly a little embarrassed, though he tried not to show it. Clearly, the Duke had not bothered to inform him who else had been invited to dinner. The Duchess was charming to Verity in her cool way and took her to sit beside her in a bamboo armchair. The Duke was on his feet mixing a cocktail – something he liked to do himself – and greeted Edward courteously, inquiring after the journey and what the weather had been like in England. There was, of course, no mention of their previous meeting. This had been frosty though Edward had done them a considerable service in retrieving letters the Duke had written Wallis which, had they been published, would have embarrassed them. No one likes to be in someone else’s debt, as Edward knew to his cost. That was all forgotten now and it was clear that he was to be treated like any other casual acquaintance.

The other guests were Serge Voronoff – a strange-looking man who, the Duchess explained, was famous for ‘monkey glands’ – and the Duke’s most loyal friend and supporter Major Edward ‘Fruity’ Metcalfe. He was less a guest and more a member of the Duke’s entourage. Edward knew him quite well and they shook hands warmly. Metcalfe seemed to greet him with something like relief. As soon as he could, Metcalfe took him off into a corner and explained that all was not well at La Cröe. Since the King had abdicated, he had become increasingly irritable and complained constantly of slights and insults from the English community in Cannes and Monte Carlo as well as from the many prominent visitors to the South of France. ‘He’s so touchy!’ Metcalfe confessed. ‘When he heard the
Cutty Sark
had been seen in Cannes harbour a week or two ago and the Duke of Westminster had not asked to see him, he wouldn’t eat or sleep for forty-eight hours and, of course, he blames me.’

‘Why does he blame you?’

‘Because I’m here,’ Metcalfe replied simply.

‘And the Duchess?’

‘She’s very good with him but the truth is, he’s beginning to bore her.’

‘Do they go to the casino?’

‘Occasionally, but David always imagines he is being stared at and, of course, he is. What would be worse,’ he said with a grin, ‘is if he weren’t. He’s not quite the figure he was. Last time he ventured out to the casino in Cannes, he was actually jostled by people wanting to get past him to the
chemin de fer
. The trouble is that there are so many ex-kings here.’ He counted on his fingers, ‘The ex-king of Portugal, the ex-king of Spain, the ex-king of Yugoslavia, the ex-king of Egypt . . .’

‘Do they socialize – the ex-kings?’ Edward asked, grinning.

‘They all belong to the Cercle Nautique. It’s the grandest club on the coast.’

At that moment the Duke, seeing them gossiping, came to interrupt.

‘What are you two finding so amusing?’ he inquired sourly.

‘Lord Edward was just asking me about my white dinner-jacket. I said they were all the rage here but doubted they would catch on in England,’ Metcalfe said smoothly.

‘Hmm,’ the Duke said. ‘As long as you weren’t conspiring. He’ll report everything back to Winston, don’ty’know?’

‘He will be delighted to hear you are well and happy, sir,’ Edward replied with as much sincerity as he could manage.

They went in to eat about nine and the food was very good – melon with tomato ice, eggs with crab sauce, chicken with avocado pear salad and an elaborate fruit pudding, and Edward started to enjoy himself. He was very much aware that this was an occasion he would always remember and probably bore his friends with for years to come. The Duke dominated the conversation. He seemed to take to Verity and questioned her closely on social conditions in the cities, a subject on which she could talk for hours. He obviously felt he still had a part to play in England and had not yet thrown off the habits and concerns of kingship. He was lively and well informed and discussed the welfare of the Welsh coal-miners with real passion, saying he wanted to see them clean, healthy and contented. He asked Verity to tell him about the Jarrow March, on which she had reported, and complained that Baldwin had refused to let him meet the marchers. Edward, while appreciating that the Duke was interested in the social conditions of his former subjects, was faintly repulsed by his tone of voice. It was as though he wanted the miners to be clean and healthy in the same way that he might want his dogs or horses to be fit and well.

Edward talked to the Duchess and soon recalled how charming she could be. She wanted to know all about her friends – some of whom were also Edward’s – and the London ‘season’. ‘I don’t want to spend my life in exile,’ she told him. He had very little opportunity to talk to Sir Simon’s pretty friend but gathered she was an actress and French. She seemed charmed that Edward could speak to her in her own language, confessing that she found the ‘English tongue’ difficult but the men ‘
charmants
’.

After dinner, they all rose together and strolled out on to the terrace for coffee and liqueurs. There was no hint from the Duchess that the ladies should leave the gentlemen to talk amongst themselves. It was almost as if she did not like to leave the Duke alone with his guests in case he said something he ought not. When the Duke beckoned to Edward to follow him, he caught the quick glance of warning she shot him. He walked after the Duke into a small conservatory where, standing, they lit cigars and Edward gave him Churchill’s letter. The Duke made no attempt to read it but slipped it in his pocket.

‘I know what it says but you can tell them I won’t do it. I won’t give up my tour of Germany. It is incumbent on me to go,’ he said pompously, his voice sounding rather shrill. ‘Someone in authority must go and do what they can to prevent this unnecessary war. I like the Germans and I like what Herr Hitler has done for his country. We are natural allies – Germany and England – Aryan races with more in common than we have with the southern races. We should combine to fight off the threat of Communism.’