A House Divided: An Easterleigh Hall Novel (36 page)

His heart was beating out of his chest. What the hell had gone wrong? Was an agent even now in some stinking cellar spilling his guts to the Gestapo? Would the Gerbers be picked up as they travelled
across borders on their way to Calais? Would he fight for them? He felt sick with fear.

And Herr Bauer? God, the man must have nerves of steel to live such a lie, because it was now clear that he was Potty's man.

By the time they reached the ferry, at fifteen hundred hours the next afternoon, Tim's clothes were damp with sweat and he felt he'd aged fifty years. There were only the embarkation papers to come, but so far, the Gerbers had floated through all controls. They did so again, with Tim a pace behind, steadying them with his presence, it seemed, though not a word was spoken between them. The gulls were soaring and screaming as they, along with many others, made their way up the gangplank, and at last, onto the deck. Within moments, the ferry set out for Dover.

It was then that Frau Gerber sank to her knees, weeping. Her husband and Tim helped her up, and to a bench along the side of the boat. Frau Gerber said, ‘We leave our daughter beneath the earth, but she is with us, in our hearts, always. She was twelve, ill, and we had no hospital that would take a Jew. Yes, she is in our hearts.'

The Gerbers sat together; Tim sat a space away. Tim said, looking at the surging sea, ‘Would you like to go inside? I can't, it makes me sick. I'm not a good traveller.'

Herr Gerber smiled. ‘If you had extra hands, you
could press an energy point on your wrists. It would help. But no, we will sit here, if it is safe for you to be seen with us.'

‘I think it is safe, but just in case, let us look at the horizon, not at one another. I will also “read” my book.' He dug out his book,
The Thirty-Nine Steps
, which he had brought to give him courage, looking around for over-curious passengers. The weather had changed to a light drizzle, however, and no-one was daft enough to remain on deck. He withdrew the cigarette case from his pocket. He took it with him when he visited Heine, to reinforce his assimilation into the fold. He had hoped that one day he could return it to its rightful owners. ‘My step-father gave me this. I believe it is yours.'

He placed it on the bench between them, while looking at the horizon. Herr Gerber took it, tracing the worn menorah. ‘It is my father's. You have no idea how important it is to us. My brother lives in America. He will be so pleased too.'

The couple who must be in their late thirties, if that, looked much older as they fingered all they had left of their life in Germany. Their tears fell when he also placed the hatpins and the ribbons on the bench. They had used the ribbons for their daughter's hair, Frau Gerber murmured.

Tim said, ‘I wanted to bring more, but it would have been noticed, perhaps, and the maid would have been suspected.'

‘So much for you to think about. So much,' Herr Gerber replied. ‘We can never thank you.'

Tim shook his head. ‘You don't understand. It is
my
mother who lives in your apartment.'

Herr Gerber shook his head. ‘Your mother is not you. A man whose face we never saw came to our camp, at night. We didn't believe him. We thought, if we went with him, he would lead us to our deaths. He explained. He is a brave man. We don't know who he is. If you do, please thank him. And we thank you, all of you. I am a doctor, I heal the sick, but could not heal my own child, though I helped a former patient, a Gentile. For this, we were sent to camp.'

Frau Gerber leaned forward, as though to see the waves more clearly. Behind her hand she said, ‘Remember, you are not your mother. Now, should we move to sit elsewhere? For your safety, as there are people now?'

The drizzle had stopped. Passengers had emerged. Tim turned a page of his book, his eyes scanning the deck. Who was that man over there, with the cap, watching the people milling? Who was that woman to their left, who seemed to be reading a book, just as he was?

‘Perhaps if you took a walk up and down, and found a seat near, but not too near?' They did, walking arm in arm. The wind was high, and soon Tim felt too ill to care who anyone was, and seriously considered throwing himself over the side.

At last they arrived at Dover. At the bottom of the gangplank, a man in a mackintosh stood waiting. He shook hands with the Gerbers, looking at them, but saying to Tim, who was a pace behind them, ‘Fall back a pace or two, I have them now.' He steered the Gerbers ahead. Tim followed behind.

The man had a fit of coughing, and had to stop. Tim almost knocked into him. The man gripped his arm as though in apology. He said, ‘Check your pocket.'

The man turned back to the Gerbers. ‘Come along, let's get things sorted. You are quite safe now.' They hurried away. Tim made a great show of checking his watch, patting his pockets and drawing out his book, nodding with relief, as though worried he had lost it. With the book he also withdrew the expected note, and placed it in the book, as though a bookmark, noting as he did so, ‘
Agent lost. Need to reconsider your position. Cover possibly blown. Telephone Smythe.'

Tim went on his way to the station, thinking of the lost agent, and Herr Bauer.

Annie, Evie, Bridie, Mrs Moore and Ver spent two days making plans for Sir Anthony's surprise seventieth birthday in May. To finalise everything they called a meeting at ten thirty in the morning. They sat around the kitchen table with Maudie, Harry, Richard, James and Mr Harvey, while Kevin and Ron guarded the reception desk.

Mrs Moore muttered, ‘And what, exactly, will you be doing for my ninetieth birthday?'

Evie groaned, ‘Surely you're not still going to be going strong by then?'

Bridie put her arm around Mrs Moore. ‘Sticks and stones may break our bones, but words they cannot hurt us, eh, Mrs Moore?'

‘Ah, rebellion in the ranks,' Aunt Ver said, brandishing pen and paper. ‘For that you can write the invitations, and remember, we do not make comments about the guests, as this is for Sir Anthony's sake, not ours. So write them with good grace, please, young lady.'

She tossed the list on the table, and pointed to the invitations on the dresser.

Bridie did as she was told.

On 5 May,, in the ballroom, the assembled guests consumed virtually the whole of the buffet, which had included many of Bridie's haute cuisine classics. At the end of the meal the tables looked like a train crash, she thought, with their scrunched-up napkins, and some knocked-over glasses. She looked around for the temporary staff and gave them the nod, because all the regular staff members were guests, at the behest of Sir Anthony.

The guests assembled around Sir Anthony, and his birthday cake. Bridie had iced it. It was not as good as Mrs Moore's would have been, but it was passable. Well, more than that, she thought to herself, trying not to look at Tim, who stood with Lady Margaret and Penny, near to Sir Anthony.

Her mam thought Lady Margaret might marry Sir Anthony. Bridie did hope not; she was such a horrid woman, and he was so nice, and the whole thing was so odd.

James stood beside her and whispered, ‘I do so hope the speeches don't go on forever, as I really want a slice of your masterpiece.'

She folded her arms. She was cross with him, still. Tim stood across from them. ‘Look at him,' she
hissed. ‘With that stupid girl fluttering all over him. Why can't he see them for what they are?'

‘Perhaps he can, and . . .' He stopped.

She said, ‘I'll finish it for you. Perhaps he can, because that's who he is, too. We all know that, so why are you always defending him?'

James flushed. ‘You can be so – hard. I think there's something else going on, he's . . .'

She put up her hand. ‘Yes, let me finish it for you. He likes her, so I've said it for you.'

Her da was beside Sir Anthony now, tapping his wine glass for silence. ‘I hope you've all topped up your glasses for the toast, to Easterleigh Hall hotel, and the Neave Wing's generous benefactor. It's been our great pleasure, Sir Anthony, to know you for many years, and to celebrate such an important birthday. We admire your goodness and kindness more than you can ever know. We admire your drive for peace, we applaud you for all your good works, and toast the honourable example you have set us all. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, Sir Anthony Travers.'

All assembled raised their glasses and repeated, ‘Sir Anthony Travers.'

Bridie brought the glass to her lips. Across from her, Tim looked so sad, and his shoulders were slumped. The glass was in his hand, at his lips. He didn't drink, but brought the glass down and just held it. What was the matter with him?

Now Sir Anthony spoke, ‘I thank you all, and you,
Auberon. I feel I am not an example.' He stopped. Tim was looking at him, his shoulders rigid now. Behind him she could see Potty. Did he touch Tim's shoulder? No, there was no hand there now. Sir Anthony continued, ‘I feel that I have been remiss. I have been busy supporting this, that and the other, and somehow I have found little time for my family.' He held out his hand now. ‘Annie, would you come and help me cut the cake?'

Bridie looked for her mother, and they lifted their eyebrows at one another. Annie? At last. ‘You see,' Sir Anthony admitted, ‘I have been blind to many things, so focused have I become on my need to change the world.' He laughed, and so did others, who knew of his urge for peace. Did they also know how many of the Club were fascists? Probably not, because today they weren't wearing their badges.

Sir Anthony said, ‘I asked Annie and Harry to bring the boys this evening, though I fear they have been bored beyond tears.' He raised his glass to the boys, who shook their heads, like the little gentlemen they were. ‘I want to say, though I have said it before, that they are the most wonderful family. I am proud of Harry and the way he has created a valuable role for himself; I am proud of Annie, for running the Neave Wing as she does, and my wonderful grandsons.'

Harry was standing next to Annie now. They both looked pleased but confused. Well, Bridie thought,
they're not alone. James whispered, ‘I do wish they'd cut the ruddy cake.'

She grinned suddenly. Trust James to break the moment. He had changed since his return, but not that much. He was just more grown up. Sir Anthony said, ‘Now to cut this magnificent cake, made and iced by the clever Bridie Brampton.'

He cut the cake now, with Annie's hand on his. The temporary staff moved in, to cut the rest, and circulate to the tables, as people headed back to their chairs. Harry set the band playing, and suddenly, as Bridie moved across and tried some crumbs, everything was wonderful, because the cake tasted just as it should. As good as any her mother had made, and Sir Anthony had called it a magnificent cake, and what's more, he had praised Annie.

As the coffee arrived dancers took to the floor, including Tim, who led out Penny. They danced and Penny floated as though on gossamer wings. Bridie wanted to kick her feet from under her. She hadn't realised Tim was a good dancer, but why would she? He usually said he couldn't. He had yet another new skill, then.

She turned on her heel, fury and jealousy raging. She bumped into James. ‘Shall we?' he grinned, bowing.

‘No, we shall not.' She swept through the glass doors which opened to the terrace. Two couples were dancing out here. She stormed past, and out onto
the lawn, breaking into a run and only stopping beneath the branches of the cedar tree. She heard James panting behind her. ‘Crikey, we used to slow down so we could reach the beck together, but you'd outrun us both now.'

She stared back at the Hall, loving it, waiting for it to work its magic and soothe her. She said, ‘We're not those children any more. That won't ever happen again.'

‘No, Bridie, you're wrong, it did. Tim waited for me, that day when you shouted for the dogs. He waited and we reached it together. Bridie, you have to let it go. We're not a police state yet, people have a right to be what they want to be.'

‘I can't. I won't, and how can you say that?'

‘Because I love you. Because you're just so stubborn. Because you prattle about democracy but you won't live it.'

She shook her head. ‘I won't live it, not for this. He goes to Berlin. He supports cruelty and evil. He pitches up at that damned meeting house where they spout their prejudice, their hate. He has dinner with that horse-faced woman. He dances with her daughter.'

James waved his finger at her. ‘That's it, though. He dances with her daughter. Have a good look at yourself, Bridie. Perhaps he's made his choice and it's not you. But I'm here.'

She stalked off, calling back, ‘Oh James, don't be daft. You're my friend, my cousin, and so is he. We
all belong together, which is why he should be here too.'

Tim led Penny back to her mother, and obeyed Potty's minute gesture. They had not been in contact for a while, as Tim had been instructed to lie low after helping the Gerbers to escape, and he was curious to know what Potty had to say now. He followed him out onto the terrace, but it was too crowded. Potty strolled out towards the cedar tree, passing Bridie on the way. ‘Evening, Bridie,' Potty called.

‘Oh shut up,' she shouted at Potty, stalking past him and Tim.

Potty stopped, and stared after her. ‘Goodness,' he said to Tim. ‘Lovers' tiff – look at young James, striding towards the ha-ha at a rate of knots.'

Tim looked from James to Bridie's retreating figure. Oh God, he hoped not, because he wanted to be the man she chose to love. Potty called him, ‘Come along. We have things to talk about. And isn't she rather young for you?'

Tim shook his head. ‘There's something about Bridie that was born strong, bold and old. She might say a lot, but it usually needs saying, and it's always the truth, unlike us, Potty, and I'd die for her. Now, what did you want to say?'