The Second-last Woman in England (34 page)
And Rocastle ought to have been dismayed, or perhaps angry, at the very least concerned. But instead he had smiled.
‘Wallis, I think you’re making a bit of a mountain out of what is clearly a rather insignificant molehill,’ he had replied. ‘Do you seriously want to jeopardise my career on a whim? Mud like this, well—it sticks, doesn’t it? You must know that, better than anyone?’
What the devil had the fellow meant by that? But Rocastle had explained without further encouragement:
‘I mean, your wife moves in the best circles, doesn’t she? Opening nights, charity balls—that sort of thing? And your brother-in-law works at the Palace. Imagine the repercussions if there was gossip—oh not malicious, necessarily, just gossip, you know how people are—about some wayward family member? Oh, meant to tell you, I ran into an old chum the other day. Turns out this chum was in the same regiment as your wife’s younger brother. North Africa. Royal Tank, wasn’t it? What’s he up to these days, anyway, your brother-in-law?’
When Cecil opened his eyes Nobby was peering at him.
‘What’s up, Wallis? You got something against the boy?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I mean, you’d tell me if there was any reason I shouldn’t hire him?’
But he had known something about Rocastle and he had said nothing. He had compromised his moral standards—for what? To protect Harriet and Simon; to protect Freddie. And where had it got him? He had practically given Rocastle free rein to help himself to the proceeds of the company safe; Freddie was strutting about like a bloated peacock boasting about his new job … And Harriet despised him.
To hell with them. To hell with Freddie.
‘Look here, Nobby. I’m sorry, I really am,’ he said, suddenly facing the old man at last. ‘I do wish I had had time to speak to you as we had arranged. My wife—Mr Paget is her younger brother; it’s only natural she wishes to assist him. I really ought to have spoken to you …’
Nobby frowned at him and leaned forward. ‘Well, out with it, Wallis! Is the fellow a crook of some kind?’
‘Good Lord, no. Nothing of the sort. It’s simply that—’ Cecil paused and took another sip of the dreadful beer. ‘I’m afraid I’m not sure how best to put this. The fact is, Freddie is a decent enough young man; he’s certainly not dishonest. It’s simply that his war record is not … It’s not quite as you may have been led to believe.’
‘He wasn’t in North Africa after all?’
‘Oh, he was, for a number of years. No question of it. Fact is, though, he came home on leave—early ’44 or thereabouts—and never went back.’
Nobby sat back in his chair and regarded him silently for a moment.
‘You’re telling me he was a deserter?’
Spoken out loud like that, the word was appalling. Bald, uncompromising. Cecil looked down at the wooden table. A cluster of circular stains made by the glasses of numerous patrons pock-marked the wood. The beer was undrinkable. He felt a little queasy.
‘’Fraid so. Of course, there’s a general amnesty now. Water under the bridge and all that. And as I said, young Freddie served creditably for some years before that, and he’s a decent enough sort.’
Nobby made no comment.
‘Apologies, Nobby, for not speaking up earlier. Truth is, I didn’t get the chance. Didn’t realise things were so … advanced. Trust this won’t put you in a difficult position?’
‘I rather think it will, Wallis; I rather think it will.’ Nobby’s frown deepened. Cecil swallowed the remainder of the beer.
‘Shall I get us both another round?’
‘I think not.’ Nobby looked up sharply. ‘Now, look here, Wallis. You’re absolutely certain about this? I mean, there’s no possibility you might be mistaken?’
Cecil tried to think. He had done the right thing—of course he had, no one could question that—and yet, was it right to jeopardise a man’s career? But damn it all—to whom ought one’s loyalty be? Should he give the impression there was an element of doubt? But no, that was dishonest—and this was, after all, about honesty.
‘’Fraid not. Wouldn’t have brought the wretched thing up had I had the slightest doubt. Truth is, the MPs actually fronted up at the house searching for him. Dashed awkward.’
He had not intended to say that. No, he really would have preferred not to have said that.
‘I see,’ said Nobby gravely. ‘Well, that rather puts the thing beyond any doubt.’
Caruthers stood up, gathering up his newspaper.
‘I’d better be off. Meeting my good lady at Covent Garden in half an hour. She’s making me sit through
Giselle
again. Daren’t be late.’ He paused. ‘Thanks for the chat, old man. Sorry we couldn’t have had it earlier but … no matter.’
When he had gone, Cecil remained where he was for some time. He could buy another beer, but the effort seemed immense. And the end result hardly justified it. He could go home now, there was nothing stopping him. He had achieved a great deal this morning. A great deal.
It was a shame about Freddie. A real shame. But they ought to have allowed him time to talk to Nobby first. It need not have got this far. He had done the right thing, no one could question that he had. It was best for all concerned.
He got up, put on his coat and left the pub.
And for four days, nothing happened.
On Sunday he and Harriet attended a charity luncheon in Knightsbridge, then set about discussing the arrangements for a Coronation Day party. On Monday Cecil went in to the office and sat through a tedious and lengthy meeting with two representatives of the Cairo office, and on Tuesday he made the important decision to scale back operations on the Argentinean route. By Wednesday he had almost pushed the meeting with Caruthers out of his head: perhaps Caruthers had not, in fact, taken the thing too seriously and there would not be any repercussions after all.
Well, so be it. A large part of him was relieved. A small part thought Freddie damn well deserved what he got!
On Wednesday evening he arrived home at the same time as Julius, who, judging by his muddy appearance, was returning from pre-season cricket-net practice.
‘Double maths tomorrow,’ announced Julius grimly as he pulled off his coat. ‘Followed by Latin vocab, and it’s rumoured Mr Alexander’ll be handing out the results of last week’s mid-term paper.’
‘Oh, I feel quite certain you’ll have acquitted yourself adequately,’ Cecil replied, pleased the boy had volunteered this information when increasingly he appeared not to wish to divulge anything of any significance to either of his parents. (Oh, for the days when mid-term papers were one’s only concern!)
Cecil had by now hung up his coat and arranged his shoes precisely side by side on the shoe rack. He paused in the hallway, listening. There were voices overhead. Curious, he started up the stairs.
‘Don’t see how you can possibly know that,’ Julius retorted. ‘Sometimes one thinks one’s done quite badly in a test, then one’s pleasantly surprised … Other times you just know you’ve done really badly and nothing can save you.’
Cecil paused at the bend in the staircase in time to see Julius furtively nudge his father’s shoes with his toe until they were no longer precisely side by. Then he took off his own shoes and placed them neatly on the rack.
Cecil was about to comment on this when he heard voices again, coming from the drawing room. He looked up. One of the voices was Harriet’s, but it was difficult to make out the other as a car chose that exact moment to idle loudly in the street outside.
‘And really, what rot it all is!’ continued Julius, following his father up the stairs. ‘As if one needed to know Latin verbs in order to pilot a plane!’
Cecil began to reply that, actually, Julius, you’ll find that a basic grounding in the classics is pretty damned useful, not to say essential to one’s—
But outside the car finally revved up and drove away and the street fell silent.
‘Do you know what that old bastard
did
—’ ‘It’s Uncle Freddie!’
Julius thrust past him on the stairs, crossed the landing and flung open the drawing room door.
‘Hello, Uncle Freddie!’
Cecil hesitated, then, with a growing sense of foreboding, followed. Freddie was standing at one end of the mantelpiece, but he spun around at Julius’s entrance. Harriet stood in the centre of the room, her face pale, a loose strand of hair falling over her eyes and a vivid spot of red visible one on either cheek. She looked over Julius’s head and for a moment her eyes met Cecil’s. He looked away.
‘Julius. Wait outside, please!’ he ordered.
‘I don’t see why—’
‘I said wait outside!’
‘Oh, all right then. I’ve got things to be getting on with, anyhow,’ and Julius sauntered off.
Cecil went into the drawing room and closed the door behind him, going immediately over to the fireplace, where he stood with his back to the empty grate. They both regarded him silently.
‘You haven’t told the children my dirty little secret, then, Wallis?’ demanded Freddie.
‘Freddie. How are you? No, I have certainly not told the children!’
‘All too shameful, is it?’
‘Freddie!’ said Harriet, and she took a step towards him, her arms outstretched almost as though she would embrace him, then she hesitated and her arms fell to her sides. Freddie seemed not to notice, or to care.
‘Well, I’m terribly sorry to turn up like this and embarrass you, but I wonder has it occurred to you what it’s been like for me? What I’ve been through—’
‘No!’ retorted Cecil, cutting him off. ‘And frankly I do not wish to—’
‘Nine years I’ve been moving from place to place, using a different name, trying to avoid running into someone who might know me—’
‘It was your choice, Freddie—’
‘Hiding every time I saw a policeman, a soldier, an Englishman. Moving to a new town simply because I thought I’d seen someone from my old regiment. Terrified I’d trip myself up on my own lies, that I’d give myself away with some slip—’
‘It was your choice!’
Perhaps that was too much, perhaps he had gone too far, for Harriet’s face registered dismay.
‘Cecil!’ she gasped.
‘We have done everything in our power to help you—’
‘
Help
? Exactly
how
—’
‘We could have contacted the authorities nine years ago, but we did not. Against my better judgement, I can tell you. And not for your sake, for Harriet’s.’
‘Freddie, just tell me what’s happened, for heaven’s sake!’ said Harriet.
Cecil turned away and faced the window. In the street below two nurses in capes hurried past in the direction of the hospital to start their shift.
‘That old bastard Caruthers, that’s what!’
Cecil closed his eyes and was glad he was facing the window.
‘Your old pal, Cecil, took me into his office—all nice and friendly, just a fireside chat, doncha know? Then he lays it out to me: sorry, old boy, don’t know how to tell you this, but I’ve found out your dirty little secret, and frankly it’s simply not on. Can’t have chaps like you working in a distinguished firm like this. Bad luck and all that, but pack your bag and leave the premises. Oh and here’s a letter terminating your employment just to make it all official and above board.’
‘Oh Freddie …’
It would have been better to have worked late at the office; to let this little scene play itself out without him.
‘Hardly had time to settle into my new desk before I was out! The old bastard all but had me frog-marched out of the building and thrown onto the street.’
‘But the amnesty! He has no right—’
And how
dare
Harriet sound so close to tears? Was this the only thing that mattered, her blasted brother!
‘He’s got every bloody
right
, Harri. Men like him are born with the right, didn’t you know? They play with people’s lives the way they played with tin soldiers when they were little boys in the nursery.’
A floorboard creaked loudly on the other side of the door and Cecil looked up sharply, catching Harriet’s eye. Freddie appeared not to have heard it.
‘I actually thought, it’s all over,’ he said, pacing the room. ‘I thought; this is it, I’ve done my time. I’ve paid for my mistakes, and now, finally, I can live a normal life.’
‘Cecil, you must call Nobby, you must talk to him—’
He could not turn and face her. There was nothing he could say. Outside, a small green sports car driven by two young men pulled up alongside the nurses.
‘I don’t know how he found out, Harri. I don’t know how the
hell
the old bastard found out!’
‘Cecil, you
must
call him! I can’t believe Nobby would do this if—’
After a brief exchange, the two nurses climbed into the car and were driven away. Perhaps, after all, their shifts were not due to start soon. Perhaps it did not matter to them if they arrived on time or not. Perhaps it no longer mattered what anyone did.
‘For
God’s
sake, Harriet, it’s got nothing to
do
with me. Don’t you understand? I want
nothing
to do with this!’
He left the fireplace, crossed the room and flung open the door, finding himself face to face with Julius. The boy returned his gaze wordlessly.