A Season of Secrets (43 page)

Ignoring his drink, Max said grimly, ‘You’re wrong about it being unnecessary, Violet. It’s very necessary and I’m going to continue.’

He leaned towards her, his hands clasped between his knees.

‘I know you’re criminally uninterested in politics, Violet, but if you’re going to make a film in Berlin, you have to know the state of the German film industry. For starters,
it’s a far cry from anything you’ve experienced in London, or here. Since earlier this year, everything filmed at Babelsberg comes under the control of the Minister for Public
Enlightenment and Propaganda.’

‘The film I will be making is a historical romance. It has nothing to do with propaganda.’

‘It will have, in some way or another. Trust me. And there won’t be a Jewish person on the set, either in front of the cameras or behind them, because the Reich Chamber of Film
officially excludes Jews from employment in the film industry. No one in Germany, if they are a Jew, can by law appear on-stage or in a film.’

‘But that’s outrageous!’

‘Glad you think so. In March the German parliament voted Hitler the right to make his own laws – and the ones he is making are all outrageous. No Jew can work for the Civil Service
any more. All trade unions have been abolished and their leaders have been arrested. All political parties have been banned – which means the German people can’t get rid of Hitler, even
if they want to. In July he passed a law whereby anyone deemed to be an “inferior” citizen is compulsorily sterilized. God only knows what he’s got up his sleeve for next
year.’

‘My God!’ Violet’s amber eyes flashed fire. ‘Something should be done about him.’

‘America – and Britain – certainly need to keep a step ahead of Hitler. In defiance of the Versailles Peace Treaty, he’s re-arming – building up both the German
army and the navy. It indicates he’s got war on his mind. The State Department needs all the clues it can get as to what he’s going to do, long before he does it. Which is where you
come in, Violet.’

‘Me?’ Violet’s eyebrows shot nearly into her hairline. ‘What can I do? All I’m going to be doing is making a film. Except that I’m probably not going to be
doing so now, because you’ve put me right off the idea. With what you’ve told me, I can’t understand why Olivia loves living in Berlin. She must be going around with her eyes
shut.’

‘She is. And I want you to go around Berlin with your eyes – and especially your ears – wide open.’

Violet took off her sunglasses. Her black-lashed, extraordinary-coloured eyes held his. She said flatly, ‘You want me to act as a spy.’

He’d forgotten how quick on the uptake she was.

With a flash of amusement he said, ‘In a nutshell, Violet. Yes. Because of your movie-star status at Babelsberg, and because Dieter is your brother-in-law, you’re going to be
socializing with the kind of people few intelligence agents have the opportunity of mixing with and eavesdropping on. You would have to appear either indifferent, or simpatico, to what is taking
place in Germany, and you’d have to maintain that stance with Olivia and Dieter. Would that be a problem for you?’

Violet looked at him witheringly. ‘Do me a favour, Max. I’m a movie actress. Whatever part you want me to play, I can play it.’

All the time they had been talking there had been activity going on around them. Bellboys delivering drinks; swimmers diving into the pool and climbing out of it; swimsuit-clad figures walking
along the side of the pool within feet of them. Until now Violet had resolutely avoided eye contact with anyone, but just then a statuesque brunette strolled past, saying as she did so, ‘Hi,
Violet. Let’s catch up later, okay?’

‘Okay, Joanie.’

‘Was that Joan Crawford?’ Max asked, as the brunette sashayed on her way.

‘Yes. She’s the one person I’m really going to miss when I go to Babelsberg.’

‘You’re going to go then? And you’re up for what I’m asking you to do?’

‘Why not? It’s not going to take much mental effort, is it? Besides, I’d like to help put a stop to all this Nazi Jewish nonsense.’ She put her sunglasses back on.
‘I don’t usually give a rap for what governments do, but refusing to let Jews work on-stage or in films is the living end – and being a spy in real life will be even more fun than
being one in a film.’

It was then that Max very seriously reconsidered his request. He thought of the consequences if she was discovered passing information to the American Embassy. Whatever they were, they would
certainly be grim. Her father was, though, a British government minister. The Brits would intervene. They’d have Violet out of the country in a twinkling of an eye.

He said sternly, ‘Don’t go into this thinking it’s a game, Violet. You’ll only be passing on gossip, not military documents, but even so, if anyone becomes suspicious of
what you are up to, there is no telling what the consequences will be.’

‘Thank you for the fatherly advice. And now, are you going to tell me what you have in your briefcase?’

‘What I have in my briefcase are photographs and résumés of some of the key people we’d like you to become on chatting terms with: Joseph Goebbels, the Reich’s
minister in control of film-making and Hitler’s right-hand man, being top of the list. I want you to look through them in the privacy of your room and commit them to memory. I’m
assuming you’ll have no problem with that, being an actress?’

‘None at all.’

‘What else would you like to know?’

‘I’d like to know what happened between you and Roz. She’s been very close-mouthed about it. Thea doesn’t know. Olivia doesn’t know. According to Thea, Carrie
doesn’t know. So why the split?’

Max sucked in his breath. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about the ending of his affair with Roz. Considering the magnitude of what he’d just asked of her, though, Violet did
deserve as much of an explanation as he could give.

Another jug of Pimm’s later, when he had told her of Roz’s phone call to him from London, she said, ‘It doesn’t make sense. Why would Roz find the
difference in your ages a problem now, when she never has before? Why would the two of you only having snatched, irregular meetings matter now? The reason you sometimes didn’t see each other
for a couple of months at a time was her fault, not yours. She’s the one who, by choice, was always on the other side of the Atlantic.’

‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘that there’s someone else. Someone who, to spare my feelings, she doesn’t want to tell me about.’

‘If there is, no one else knows about him, either. The reason she ended her affair with you is because of your decision to stand as a candidate in the next presidential election. If she
hadn’t finished it, you would have had to.’

Max shook his head. ‘No, it wasn’t that. Though I had been asked to stand as a candidate, at the time she broke things off with me, Roz didn’t know that; plus I’d turned
the invitation down the minute it was offered. I only accepted it weeks later, after I realized there was no way she was coming back to me.’

Violet spread her hands out expressively, palms upwards. ‘Then, darling Max, I don’t understand it. All affairs have to end, but they don’t usually cause long-term heartache.
When I arrive in Berlin I’ll be finishing my affair with Dieter – not that it’s much of an affair, only a catch-as-catch-can one. He’ll quite likely blow his top when I tell
him that even Olivia would cotton on to it, if it was taking place beneath her own roof, but give it a week or two and he’ll be over it.’

He stared at her. Other than Roz’s last phone call to him, he couldn’t remember another time when he’d been so shocked that he felt as if he’d been slugged in the guts by
a baseball bat. When he could trust himself to speak, he said disbelievingly, ‘You’ve been having an affair with your sister’s husband?’

‘Only a teensie-little one. Nothing full-blown.’

‘Nothing full-blown? Dear God, Violet! He’s your
brother-in-law
! Have you no morals at all?’

Violet regarded him in amusement. ‘Apparently not. It’s one of the reasons I’ll make such a wonderful Mata Hari. Do sit down again, Max, and stop making a mountain out of a
molehill. I’m not ruining anyone’s marriage. Dieter adores Olivia. It’s just that Olivia takes things so seriously, and Dieter needs a little fun every now and then, just as I
need to be naughty every now and then.’

Max put a hand over his eyes, his doubts growing as to the saneness of what he’d asked of Violet. How could Tom Kirby’s section ever be certain of her? How could anyone ever know
what she was likely to do next? And why did she have to be so damned
likeable
about being so outrageously amoral?

Seeing how deeply perturbed and exasperated with her he was, Violet rose to her feet, closed the distance between them and hugged his arm. ‘Don’t let’s fall out, Max. I’m
going to be the most marvellous intelligence-gatherer for you. Mr Goebbels – and lots of other nasty Nazis – will be putty in my hands.’

He didn’t speak. Speech was beyond him.

Laughter bubbled up in her throat. ‘Think how aghast Thea is going to be when she thinks I’ve become a Hitler admirer. Poor Daddy, too – and Roz and Carrie and Hal. It’s
going to be the greatest tease ever. I’m going to have such a wonderful time in Berlin, I might never come home!’

OCTOBER 1934

‘Home’ was a word Carrie still never used about Monskwood, even though she had been living and working there for more than twelve years. Whenever she thought of
home she thought of Gorton Hall, and though she tried hard not to, whenever she thought of Gorton she thought of Gilbert.

It was a Friday at Monkswood and the last day of a three-day shooting party, which meant she was so run off her feet in seeing that the house ran like clockwork that the last thing she should
have been doing was letting her thoughts wander. She hadn’t been able to help it, though, when Lady Markham’s lady’s maid had said as they passed each other on the back stairs,
‘Thank goodness my weekend off is next weekend. I haven’t been home for six months and I can’t wait to see my nieces and nephews again.’

Carrie hadn’t made a response, because for one thing a response hadn’t been necessary, and for another they had both been in such a hurry that by the time she’d made one, there
would have been a flight of stairs between them. It had made her think about her own next weekend off, though, and of how, having no home to go to, she would be spending it at Monkswood as she
always did.

A stab of bleakness entered her heart, to be firmly banished before it took hold. It was mid-afternoon and the lunch that had been taken out to the shooting party, where it would be eaten in a
marquee at tables carried out earlier by footmen and set with glistening white napery and heavy silver, would now be nearly over. This meant that the ladies who had been taken out by shooting brake
to join the party for lunch could be expected back at the house at any moment.

‘Ah, there you are, Mrs Thornton.’ Briggs, Monkswood’s butler, hurried towards her, addressing her as a married woman, as all housekeepers – even under-housekeepers
– were addressed, whether married or not. ‘General Elphinstone has just been brought back to the house with an injury. Nothing serious,’ he added speedily, as he saw by her
expression that she was fearful it had been caused by a careless gunshot. ‘He’s twisted his ankle in a rabbit-hole. He’s been helped to his room – not an easy task for the
footmen, as he weighs at least eighteen stone.’

‘Is his valet with him?’

‘Yes, and I don’t envy him – or you. According to Jack and Wilf, who half-carried him up the stairs, the general was still swearing like a trooper when he’d been heaved
into a chair, and is probably still swearing now.’

‘I’ll make a mustard foot-bath mixture and take it up to him straight away.’

Not wasting any time, Carrie headed for the kitchen. General Elphinstone was a regular visitor to Monkswood. A red-faced, choleric man, he was a difficult guest even at the best of times. Now,
having been cheated of finishing the last day of the shoot, she could well imagine the kind of temper he was in.

The mammoth-sized kitchen was a hive of activity, with Cook overseeing the preparations for dinner that evening. Pans were being slammed on and off giant ranges; two kitchen maids were labouring
over hors d’oeuvres while another was pounding cooked chicken and cream in a mortar.

‘It’s for Cook’s
Consommé à la Comtesse
, Mrs Thornton,’ Ena Batty, the girl doing the pounding, said, eager to come to Carrie’s attention.

‘And it’s about time you were sieving it,’ Cook said to her sharply. And then, to Carrie, ‘Jack and Wilf have told us what happened. Do you want a mustard-bath mixture
made?’

‘You have enough on your hands at the moment, Cook. I’ll do it.’

She walked across the kitchen, opened the door of a tall cupboard and took down from the shelves baking soda, mustard powder, peppermint oil, rosemary oil and eucalyptus oil. As she combined all
the ingredients she could hear Ena, now sieving energetically, say, ‘Can I add the eggs now, Cook? I know it’s one whole egg to every three yolks. I won’t make a mistake, I
promise.’