Page 12 of The Gathering Storm (Morland Dynasty #36)

Besides, after several false alarms, Babsy was very definitely pregnant, and the atmosphere at Crossways would be too domestic to conduce to his comfort. He was used to coming first with Barbara, but he suspected the baby might oust him from his throne.

Uncle Oliver was tempting. He was immensely rich, so he could easily afford to rescue Basil.

He was also very modern-minded, practising as a plastic surgeon despite being an earl and not needing to earn a living.

But he was not a real uncle, being in fact a sort of cousin of Basil’s father, so Basil had no real call on him.

And in actual truth, he was just a wee bit afraid of him.

Then there was Aunt Molly, his mother’s sister.

He certainly had closer ties with her than anyone else.

She was a writer of detective yarns and married to a publisher; and though she would probably berate him for losing his job and make him squirm, she would not let him down.

She was obviously the best bet, though he didn’t relish having strips torn off him; and she might feel obliged to tell his mother.

He sat for a long time debating internally, until he discovered he was ravenously hungry. Hauling his suitcase, which was growing heavier by the minute, he walked to Albemarle Street, fingers crossed.

Jack Compton came home from work and found his wife Helen standing in the hall reading the evening newspaper, which had presumably just come through the letter-box.

She looked up. ‘Did you know about this?’

He looked over her shoulder at the headline: ‘GERMANY SENDS TROOPS INTO RHINELAND’.

‘Yes, everybody’s talking about it at work.

Hugh Dowding came to the factory today, and he said the Foreign Office had heard a rumour about it: something that came over the wire from an American correspondent in Berlin. ’

They read the article together, standing there in the hall, Jack still in his coat and hat. Twenty-five thousand German troops had marched into the demilitarised Rhineland zone, to an ecstatic welcome by the German population. They had met with no resistance.

‘But what does it mean?’ Helen asked.

‘It means the Germans have violated the Treaty of Versailles. And the Locarno Treaty.’

‘But did no-one try to stop them? The French? The League of Nations?’

‘Well, the French are in the middle of an election, so they don’t actually have a functioning government. Germany chose the right moment. And on a Saturday, when diplomats and politicians are all away from their desks.’

The maid was hovering, waiting to take Jack’s outerwear, and obviously listening with all her might in order to report back to the cook in the kitchen. Jack shed his coat and hat to her, and sought to deflect her attention towards domestic matters. ‘What are you giving me for dinner this evening?’

‘Mrs Dyer’s done her kidneys in wine sauce, sir.’ Ellen said.

Jack managed not to flinch at the thought of eating his cook’s kidneys, and said, ‘Jolly good. Mrs Compton and I will have a glass of sherry now, and dinner in half an hour.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Jack took Helen’s elbow and moved her towards the drawing-room.

She had been pondering. ‘I don’t understand, it says Germany claims it was being threatened by France and Russia,’ she said. ‘Surely they can’t mean the Franco-Soviet Pact?’

‘I imagine so,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t see what else it could be.’ He walked over to the drinks tray and poured sherry.

‘But that’s just a defensive treaty – that each will defend the other in case of an unprovoked attack. And even then, only after approval from the League of Nations. Or am I misunderstanding?’

‘Your understanding, as always, my love, is immaculate.’

‘So how does saying, “If you hit my friend I’ll help him defend himself,” constitute a threat?’

‘It’s obviously just an excuse,’ Jack said, handing her a glass and sitting down by the fire. ‘And after they took back the Saar last year without a word of protest from anyone, they must have thought it was perfectly safe to walk into the Rhineland.’

‘Well, they had a plebiscite on the Saar,’ Helen said, ‘with a ninety per cent vote for reunification. So there wasn’t much anyone could do about that – was there?’

‘There was a lot of disquiet at the time about irregularities – you remember, reports of intimidation by the Nazis? The League was supposed to conduct an investigation, but I don’t think anything came of it.’

‘And what is the League going to do about the Rhineland?’

‘Probably nothing,’ Jack said. He held up his glass to look at the firelight through the golden liquid.

‘Hitler took a calculated risk: people don’t want another war.

And there’s an idea circulating that the Germans were unfairly treated by Versailles.

I heard someone at work today saying that, after all, Germany was only walking into its own backyard.

Is it worth starting a war over that?’ He drained his glass. ‘More sherry?’

‘No, thanks.’ Helen watched him go over to the drinks tray. ‘Don’t spoil your dinner,’ she warned.

‘The thought of eating Mrs Dyer’s kidneys will carry me through,’ Jack said.

‘I believe it was supposed to be a hash of yesterday’s beef, but the joint wasn’t large enough, after they’d had their supper. There’ll be apple dumplings afterwards.’

‘In that case, I’m reconciled.’ Jack poured himself another glass.

He held up the decanter. ‘You’re sure?’ She shook her head and he returned to the fire.

‘The government seems to be working on the principle that going into the Continent in 1914 was a terrible mistake that cost thousands of lives, and that we shouldn’t ever do it again.

We should let the European countries work out their own problems.’

‘That’s all very well, until the bombers start flying over London, and it becomes our problem again.’

‘Well, at least we’re doing something about that,’ Jack said.

‘Dowding wants a network of spotters, with radio and telephone links, and the lines all buried deep underground so they can’t be damaged by bombs.

Thousands more fighter planes: the Hurricane will be going into production this year, as you know.

And then there’s the good old secret weapon – radio detection. ’

‘If it’s secret, should you be telling me?’

‘I can’t go into details, but the theory’s pretty well known. You remember that the biggest problem for home defence during the war was having early enough warning of enemy planes approaching?’

‘Yes. By the time our fighters made the height the bombers had been and gone.’

‘Quite. So this new idea is to send out radio signals, which bounce off anything they hit. You can tell where the thing is and how big and how fast it’s travelling and so on.

We’re pretty sure the Germans are working on the same idea – you’ve heard of this Death Ray they’re supposed to be developing? ’

‘There isn’t a Death Ray?’

‘Not outside an H. G. Wells novel.’

‘Thank goodness. The servants will be pleased,’ said Helen.

‘We think the Death Ray story is just a cover for their version of the radio detection system.’

‘And this system – will it work?’

‘There was a demonstration down in Daventry last year that impressed Dowding so much he was able to get government funding for more research. Once we get it up and running it will make all the difference. We will be able to detect German bombers while they’re still out over the sea.’

Helen’s expression changed. She stared at him bleakly. ‘You said “we will” not “we would”. You talk as if they’re really coming.’ She got up abruptly, went to the window and stood with her back to him. He was afraid she might be crying.

‘Darling—’ he said.

‘It’s all starting up again, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘The war was supposed to be the end of it. There wasn’t ever going to be another one, they said.’

He went over and laid a tentative hand on her shoulder. She wasn’t crying – she had reached an age where tears were hard to come by – but she turned an impassioned face up to him. ‘Oh, Jack, why do we keep ending up in the same place? I can’t bear it.’

‘If it comes you’ll have to bear it,’ he said gently. ‘But perhaps it won’t.’

‘I’ve heard it in your voice – you don’t think Hitler will stop at the Saar and the Rhineland. All that build-up of arms – you think we’re for it.’

‘Darling,’ he said, taking her into his arms, ‘we don’t know what’s coming.

All we know is that we can see the storm clouds gathering.

We hope and pray the storm will pass us by.

But just in case, we’d better have a damn’ good umbrella.

That’s what I and Dowding and Tom Sopwith and all the rest are working on. ’

She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Thank God I have you,’ she said.

She thought about the war, the agonising waiting to hear from Jack, not knowing from hour to hour if he was still alive.

His two brothers and his cousin Ned – who had been like a brother to him – had fallen in the war.

He had been shot down, wounded, captured twice.

He and she had survived, but their whole generation had been changed by the ordeal.

That had been their war, Jack’s and hers.

‘If it comes, it will be the children’s war – Basil’s and Michael’s. And Barbara’s,’ she said.

Jack closed his eyes. He heard the words she didn’t say: You’ll be too old to go .

It was one of those things a woman would never understand – that while he didn’t want war any more than she did, if it came he would want to go and fight, to protect her, his family and his world.

It would be hard, intolerable, to be told he was useless and must keep out of the way.

Ellen’s polite cough from the doorway interrupted his thoughts. ‘Dinner’s ready, madam,’ she said.