A Season of Secrets (57 page)

Max uncrossed his legs, drained his glass, took a deep breath and said, ‘She hasn’t, Gilbert. Or at least, not in the way you think.’

‘But of course she has! I don’t know what has been in the American press, but surely you’re up to date with what has been in the British press?’

Max cast a quick look around the drawing room. The couple of men who had been seated in it when they had arrived had left. Apart from themselves, the room was empty. Seeing no way of leading
gently up to what he was about to say, Max plunged straight in.

‘Four years ago, Gilbert, I had a meeting with Violet at the Beverly Hills Hotel in Hollywood. It wasn’t a chance meeting. A man called Kirby, in the European intelligence and
research section, had asked me to make contact with her.’

Gilbert froze.

Max, realizing that Gilbert had instantly made the connection between the US intelligence services and Violet being about to leave for Berlin, said succinctly, ‘It was thought her position
at Babelsberg – newly under the control of Joseph Goebbels – would put her in an ideal position to pick up gossip that could be useful to America and Britain.’

Gilbert felt as if his heart had stopped beating. ‘The United States recruited my daughter as a spy!’ He rose to his feet, trembling and white with rage. ‘And you, Max? You
facilitated it?’

Max thought Gilbert was about to punch him.

‘The original belief was that she’d be in Berlin only for a short period of time – long enough to make whatever film it was she had gone there to make – and the
arrangement was that she’d meet up socially and regularly with a contact in the US Embassy and pass on whatever gossip could prove useful. No one anticipated her turning into a fully fledged
spy, or that four years down the line she would still be there.’

‘But good God, Max! If the Gestapo get even a whiff of a suspicion as to what she’s up to – and considering who she’s spending her time with, they must have her within
their sights all the time – she’ll lose her life!’

Unsteadily he turned on his heel, heading to one of the many windows looking down into Pall Mall. He leaned his arm against it, his head against his arm, shuddering with the raging emotions he
was trying to contain. If even a tad of suspicion fell on Violet she would be questioned by the Gestapo. Her relationships within the Nazi hierarchy might protect her a little, but nothing would be
any protection if the truth as to why she had cultivated those relationships came to light. She would be tortured until she revealed what information she had passed on to the Americans. And when
she had given that information, she would be executed.

He lifted his head from his arm, his forehead sheened with perspiration. It was Göring who, shortly after Violet had gone to Babelsberg, had revived beheading as a preferred method of
execution.

For a moment Gilbert thought he was going to vomit.

Behind him Max, now also on his feet, said, ‘Every piece of information Violet has passed on to us has been passed on to British Intelligence. In the beginning what she gave us was useful,
but not earth-shattering’

‘And now?’ Still ashen, Gilbert turned away from the window.

‘And now it’s become of vital importance.’

‘Does MI6 know Violet is the source of the information being passed on?’

Max shook his head. ‘No. Only three people know she is the source. Me. Tom Kirby And her US Embassy contact in Berlin.’

Gilbert experienced a stab of relief. The thought of his own government having such knowledge about Violet – and keeping it secret from him – would have been something he would have
found impossible to handle.

Turning back to what really mattered, he said, ‘No matter how important the information Violet is passing on, she can’t be allowed to continue doing so. Though listening to
Chamberlain you wouldn’t think it, Britain and Germany will be at war within months, perhaps even less. Violet
has
to leave Germany. She has to leave now, before she’s trapped
there.’

The door opened and Clement Attlee, leader of the Labour Party, entered. Sensing the tension in the room he paused, looked towards the two of them and then, aware that a very private and heated
discussion was under way, exited, closing the door behind him.

Max said tersely, ‘I agree with you that she has to leave. Only she won’t.’

‘What the devil do you mean?’ Even as he spoke, Gilbert’s mind was racing. If he left immediately he could be in Berlin by early morning. Violet could be in London by late
tomorrow night, and the entire nightmare scenario would be over.

‘She’s been ordered to leave and she hasn’t.’

Max kept to himself that the order had been his, and his alone: that Washington was too desperate for the information it was receiving from Violet to want it to come to an end.

Now that he had grappled with the initial shock, Gilbert was clear-headed and decisive. ‘I’m going down to the front desk to book a seat on the late-night ferry to Ostend. I’ll
be in Berlin by morning. We’ll finish talking when I’ve made the arrangement.’

Max nodded, and as Gilbert strode from the room he thought of the other person he wanted to talk to Gilbert about. He thought about Roz. He was still thinking about her twenty minutes later when
Gilbert returned.

‘Sorted?’ he asked him.

‘Yes. This isn’t the Travellers Club for nothing. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering tea and coffee to be sent in. Tea for me, coffee for you.’

Max would secretly have far preferred another tumbler of Glenfiddich, but didn’t say so. Instead he said, ‘What is the latest news re Roz? We are no longer in contact, as you no
doubt know.’

A waiter came in with the tea and coffee.

Gilbert waited until both had been poured and then, adding a slice of lemon to his tea, he said, ‘She’s well. In fact she’s arriving on the
Aquitania
at Southampton
tomorrow morning and intends remaining in England until after Christmas – which she will be spending at Gorton. As will Thea and Carrie.’

‘Carrie?’ Even though Max had long ago accustomed himself to Fenton family eccentricities, Carrie spending time at Gorton over Christmas sounded a little odd. The last Max had heard
of her, she was a housekeeper at a stately home just outside Richmond. ‘Won’t Carrie be needed at her place of work?’

‘Lydia Markham is spending Christmas in Madeira.’

Gilbert interlinked his fingers and stared down at them, sorely tempted to say more. And why not? There was very little age difference between himself and Max – and Max knew better than
most what it was like to be in love with someone a couple of decades younger than himself. If he was ever going to unburden himself of his inner conflict, then Max was probably the best possible
choice to unburden himself to.

He said, ‘I see as much of Carrie as I can, Max. She’s been the only person I’ve been able to speak to with regard to my many family anxieties – and I like being in her
company. I always have.’

Max, immediately sensing all that Gilbert wasn’t saying but wanted to say, commented encouragingly, ‘Knowing Carrie, I find that perfectly understandable, Max. When does your divorce
from Zephiniah become final?’

‘In a month’s time.’

‘Then in a month’s time you have no problem.’

Gilbert gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Only an American would think there was no problem in a peer of the realm – and a government minister into the bargain – wanting to marry a
woman who is his late nanny’s granddaughter and the housekeeper to a friend of his first wife, a situation without problems.’

‘Marry?’ It wasn’t often Max was almost robbed of speech.

‘Well, of course marry! Where a young woman like Carrie is concerned, how could any honourable man consider anything else?’

Max thought of what he knew of Carrie, and what he knew of Gilbert, and could see the problem.

He said tentatively, ‘What are Carrie’s thoughts, where you and she are concerned?’

Gilbert looked at him as if he was mad.

‘She doesn’t have any thoughts, because she doesn’t know how I feel! Dear God, Max. If she knew, she’d probably be appalled. To Carrie, I’m Lord Fenton. I’m
someone she’s known all her life and whom she thinks of much as she would a well-respected uncle who has always had her welfare at heart. Why should she feel any differently? I’m
twenty-two years older than she is. I have – or soon will have had – two previous wives. Of course she doesn’t know how I feel!’

Max, remembering how happy he and Roz had once been, despite a similar age difference, said, ‘I think you’re a fool for not giving her some indication. What harm can it do? And you
might find you get a very nice surprise.’

‘And if I did?’ Gilbert’s blue eyes blazed with frustration. ‘This is England, not America. Class divides are written in stone.’

‘Do you care?’

‘I care, if it means Carrie not fitting in anywhere and being unhappy!’

‘Britain’s class system may have been written in stone up to now, but if you’re right in predicting that Britain will soon be at war with Germany – and I think you are
– then it won’t be long before people will have more on their minds than class. If I were in your shoes, Gilbert, I’d make sure Carrie knew the nature of my feelings. Life is too
short to miss out on happiness that could well be within your grasp.’

There was such naked feeling in his voice that Gilbert momentarily forgot about his own situation and thought of Max’s.

‘You’re thinking of Roz,’ he said perceptively.

Max nodded. ‘I never have understood why she ended our relationship as abruptly and inexplicably as she did, and as she isn’t married or engaged, it’s about time I took the
advice I’ve just given you and found out. The minute I leave here I’m heading off to Waterloo station. No matter what the outcome of my doing so, when Roz disembarks tomorrow at
Southampton, I’m going to be there to meet her.’

There was a lump in Max’s throat as he watched the
Aquitania
dock the next morning. The ship had played such an initial part in his and Roz’s love story
that he couldn’t help hoping that Roz having sailed on it was a good omen. Since the day he had received her letter, posted from England and categorically breaking off her relationship with
him, there had been no contact between them. His assumption at the time had been that she had met someone else: someone younger; someone who was free to marry her.

She hadn’t married, though. She hadn’t even become engaged. She was still living as she had lived when they had been lovers. She was still an independent spirit, travelling the world
with her Leica and beholden to no one.

As the gangplanks were lowered and disembarkation began, he felt a rising tension in his chest. He was taking a huge gamble. What if she walked off the ship arm-in-am with someone? Someone
Gilbert knew nothing about and hadn’t been able to forewarn him about? What if, even if she wasn’t with someone, Roz didn’t want to have anything to do to with him? How was he
going to deal with that situation?

He had secured himself a place in the arrivals hall where, hopefully, he wouldn’t be able to miss her when she entered it. All around him were joyful greetings, as other passengers rushed
eagerly into the arms of family and friends.

There was such a crush that he began to feel an edge of panic. What if he missed her? What if his journey had been all for nothing? Then, with a stab of relief, he saw her – and wondered
how he’d ever thought it possible Roz could have been lost in a crowd.

She was head and shoulders taller than most of the women stepping into the arrivals hall – and three times as distinctive. Beneath a trilby worn at a provocative angle, her night-black
hair swung sleekly forward at cheekbone level. A cherry-red, square-shouldered clutch coat was slung carelessly around her shoulders and beneath it she was wearing a grey grosgrain suit. Her heels
were high and she was carrying just two items of luggage: a small suitcase and the camera-case she never travelled without.

In that moment he knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, that all his life his priorities had been wrong. He’d been single when he had met Roz. He could have married her, and he hadn’t.
Instead, because Myrtle possessed qualities making her the ideal wife for an ambitious Congressman, he had married Myrtle.

It was no wonder Roz had finally broken all ties between them and that, when his presidential ambitions had ended in failure, so had his marriage.

He didn’t blame Roz for her actions, or a disillusioned Myrtle for hers.

The mistakes he had made were huge, but given another chance they were mistakes he would never make again. He knew now what mattered most in his life, and it wasn’t what he had always
thought.

It wasn’t the greasy pole of Washington politics.

It was Roz.

With his heart in his mouth he moved swiftly, manoeuvring a way through the crowd so that, though still some distance from her, he was standing directly in her line of sight.

She saw him almost immediately – and stopped dead.

Feeling as if he was taking his life in his hands, Max walked towards her, came to a halt and said, ‘Gilbert told me you were arriving this morning. I hope you don’t mind my coming
to meet you?’