Page 107 of The Gathering Storm (Morland Dynasty #36)

‘I hear his name mentioned now and then,’ Basil said. ‘When there’s talk of rearmament. One of our biggest concerns, apparently, is that if we started conscription tomorrow, half of them would only have broomsticks to practise with.’

‘I understand it was the same in the last war,’ Richard said. ‘So the longer we can put off the fateful day, the better.’

‘Oh, good Lord, look at that!’ said Basil. A smart woman was passing with a small dog on a lead, and strapped on the dog’s back was a small square bag. ‘Do you think that can possibly be a gas mask for the dog?’

Charlotte came home from a little desultory shopping to find all the evidences of a husband’s return: open doors, voices, a man’s overcoat and hat left on the hall table. A maid, scurrying from one room to another, curtsied in flight and gasped, ‘Oh, my lady, his lordship’s back.’

Charlotte shed her hat and gloves and, in the absence of anyone to take them, added them to the delinquent heap, and tracked Milo down to his bedroom.

He was talking to his man, Foley, and didn’t notice her at first. There were piles of clothes on the bed, drawers and wardrobe doors were open, and Milo was bright-eyed and evidently wound tighter than a clock spring.

‘You’re home,’ she said, to gain his attention. ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’

He said, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to send a telegram. Sudden change of plans. Thank you, Foley. Make a start elsewhere – I’ll ring for you.’

Foley collected one of the piles on the bed and backed out with no more than a half-bow to Charlotte as he passed.

When they were alone, Milo crossed the room to catch her by the upper arms and kiss her hard but briefly on the lips.

It was one of his distracted kisses that she had come to recognise – rather like a man patting a dog when his mind was elsewhere.

‘How are you? Well?’ he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. He turned away and was rummaging in a drawer before she could draw breath.

‘What’s going on? Milo – what’s happening?’

He turned back, frowning, and made a visible effort to clear his mind for her.

‘The British and French talks in Moscow have collapsed. Molotov has presented Schulenberg with a draft non-aggression treaty. And a trade treaty is under discussion – Soviet agricultural produce and oil against German machinery and military equipment. It looks as though the Soviets have decided the Germans aren’t bluffing – they’re throwing in their lot with them.

So it’s time for us to go, while we still can. ’

‘Go? Where? And who’s “us”.’

‘You and me, dear wife,’ he said. ‘To Switzerland.’

‘ Switzerland? ’

‘A very civilised country. You’ll love it. Everything’s new and clean. Electric trains. Every modern convenience. Everyone speaks English. And, of course, they’ll be neutral, and given that everyone deposits their surplus cash there, no-one, not even Hitler, will dare attack it. So you see?’

‘No, I don’t see,’ Charlotte said. ‘What are you saying? That we’re going there, you and me? For a holiday?’

‘No, darling, for the duration of the war, which I’m sorry to say looks like being a long one.

So we’ll take everything with us. I’ve already taken the precaution of moving most of my assets out there – you may thank me later for my foresight!

’ He grinned. ‘I shall leave enough here for a base for when we come back, but I’m selling this house.

We’ll find something else if and when we need it.

’ He cocked his head at her. ‘It’s not as if we’ve been here long enough for you to get fond of it, so don’t look like that. ’

‘I’m not looking like anything,’ Charlotte said. ‘I’m just trying to understand.’

‘Oh dear, you’re being very slow,’ he said.

He came back across the room, took hold of her upper arms again – she realised suddenly that she’d never liked that gesture – and said, with exaggerated clarity, ‘Try to concentrate, dear. We are going to live in Switzerland for the next few years, where it’s safe and I can carry on my business without the interruptions that will inevitably occur if we remain in this country while it’s at war.

I’ve got aeroplane tickets to Zürich booked for Thursday, so that gives you two days to pack.

I know you haven’t flown before, but Swiss Air uses nice, reliable American planes, Douglas DC3s. You’ll be perfectly safe.’

She extracted herself from his grasp. ‘No,’ she said.

‘No what?’ He wrinkled his brow in his endearing puzzled smile. He often used it on her when she didn’t want to do something, as if he didn’t understand how anyone could diverge from his utterly rational course. He always got his way.

‘No, we’re not going to Switzerland.’

The smile disappeared, like a rabbit down a hole. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘How could you even think it? If there’s going to be a war, we’re not running away and leaving our country in the lurch. We’re staying to fight and defend it with whatever strength we have.’

‘Oh dear. In the first place, this is barely my country. My forebears were Irish. In the second place, what on earth do you think you could do in a war, Lady Launde?’

‘Lots of things,’ Charlotte said hotly. ‘Women served in the last war, and they’ll be needed more than ever this time.

There’ll be all sorts of voluntary services.

Or I can join the ATS, or be a nurse, or even join the Land Army.

Don’t tell me there’s nothing I can do. I’m not some fragile doll, you know. I’m a capable, educated woman.’

‘I know you are. That’s why I want you with me,’ he said, in a more conciliatory tone. ‘I’ll be working for victory over there, you know, not just sitting on my rear enjoying myself. I’ll still be carrying on my business, and you can help me. Did you think I was just abandoning the old country?’

‘That’s what it sounded like a moment ago,’ she said, a degree less forcefully. Had she misunderstood him? But he’d said— ‘You said this wasn’t your country.’

‘ Barely my country was what I said. You must make allowances for my love of rhetoric – you know what I’m like, Charley! Anything for a bon mot . I don’t always mean every single syllable.’

He was smiling, charming her, and it had always worked before. Why wasn’t it this time? Because, she thought, this was too important. ‘I’m still not going. I don’t know how you can even ask me.’

‘Because you’re my wife, and you go where I go. Haven’t you read your Bible?’

‘Don’t bring religion into this.’

‘It’s already in. We were married in church, as I remember.

For better or worse until death. I’m going, and you’re coming with me, and there’s nothing more to say.

Now I suggest you find Tasker and start your packing.

I won’t be dining in tonight, so there’ll be nothing to interrupt you.

I have to go and see Leslie Burgin at the Ministry of Supply and try to put some steel into his backbone.

Then I’ll try to catch Sam Hoare, and one or two others, so I’ll dine at the club.

’ He dropped a kiss on her forehead and turned away to go on with what he had been doing.

She stared at his back, fighting tears. She thought back over the time she had known him, and wondered what he had ever felt about her.

He had declared love many times, of course, but words came easily to him.

As he had just said, he didn’t always mean every single syllable.

What she knew about him, really knew, was that he was single-minded in the pursuit of his primary aim: to restore the fortune his father had lost, to restore the earldom of Launde to its former glory.

And where did she come in? She looked back on how they had first met.

He had eavesdropped on a conversation between her and some friends in a Lyons Corner House, had followed her and scraped an acquaintance.

She was the daughter of an earl, great-granddaughter of a duke, and had the status and connections he needed.

Had he known that from the beginning? Had he chosen her for that reason? Had he used her all along?

It had been fun at first, when they didn’t have much, and had muddled along.

But for a long time now she had been discontented, seeing little of him, running his house and acting as hostess to his dinner parties when he was at home, being the wife he needed on his arm to make the right impression on the world.

She had been more than discontented, she realised: she had been unhappy.

She was, she felt now, a useful piece of kit to him, nothing more.

That was why he’d not wanted children. They didn’t fit into the plan yet.

When they did, he would order them from her as he might order a pair of boots from Lobb’s: two sons, she supposed – an heir and a spare.

Possibly a daughter, if he saw a use for one – to make a marriage with someone who would benefit his plan.

All this rushed through her mind in a flash, leaving her feeling cold and calm. I am not loved , she thought, but I am his wife. I will give him one more chance . ‘I am not going to Switzerland,’ she said quietly and clearly.

He turned with an exasperated look. ‘You are, Charlotte. Make your mind up to it.’

‘I am staying in England, and you can stay with me. But if you go, that is the end of it.’

‘The end of what?’ he said impatiently.

‘The end of us.’ She swallowed, and continued bravely: ‘I will divorce you.’

He looked at her in silence for a moment.

He seemed surprised, but not shocked. She thought he would say something patently disparaging along the lines of Hysterical women, don’t really mean it, think better of it tomorrow, take an aspirin and lie down .

But at the end of his scrutiny, he said, ‘If that’s what you want. ’

In that silence he had been calculating, she realised: deciding the possible damage and whether he could do without her. Her resolve hardened. ‘It seems to be what you want.’