Page 31 of The Gathering Storm (Morland Dynasty #36)
McArthur walked briskly, though not briskly enough for James, who wanted to run.
They passed to the echo of their own footsteps through the labyrinthine corridors, under the bare lights, past the anonymous doors behind which who knew what horrors were being perpetrated?
His senses were stretched to painfulness for a shout from behind to signify a change of mind – a challenge, a clumping of boots, and a detaining hand on the shoulder.
Down flights of steps, and into a large entrance hall, where the armed guards stared at them.
But no-one stopped them, and they stepped out into the street.
It was daylight. The sky was overcast, the light grey and muted.
James could not determine if it was morning or afternoon – and, of course, in June it stayed light until ten or later, so it might even have been evening.
Just ahead, at the kerb, was a large black car into which, he saw with vast relief, Charlie and Fern were just climbing.
James was squashed into the back with them.
Charlie, the always immaculate, smelt of sweat; Fern was white and exhausted-looking and her hair was disordered under her hat.
They looked at each other but didn’t speak.
McArthur climbed into the front and the driver set off at speed without waiting for a command.
McArthur twisted himself round to address them.
‘We’re getting you straight out of the country.
Once the Russkis get suspicious, they don’t give up easily.
They’ve let you go for now, but they could easily decide to re-arrest you tomorrow, so we have to get you over the border tonight. I have your passports here.’
‘We had all the permits,’ Charlie said. He sounded dazed. ‘Why did they suddenly turn on us?’
‘They’re paranoid. Think the whole world’s against them.
’ He grimaced. ‘As well it might be. You took a hell of a risk coming here, Mr Bedaux. I recommend you consult the Department of State or your local embassy before you visit any more unstable countries. We’ve been lucky to get you out at all, and we’re not out of the woods yet. ’
The last words dropped James back into the nightmare.
He hunched in the seat for the rest of the journey, waiting for the official cars to come roaring up behind them and force them over, the glaring headlights, the loudspeaker.
Feverishly, he imagined guns and truncheons.
No-one in the car spoke; the tension was palpable.
They arrived in the grey light of a Russian White Night at a remote airstrip: a rough field surrounded by pine woods, a tarmac runway, a wooden hut and a windsock, the smell of dry grass and resin on the light wind.
A small aeroplane was waiting, its propellers already turning.
McArthur shook their hands and got straight back into the car.
They hurried up the steps to where a tall, thin young man waited to receive them.
He saw them to their seats and strapped in, even as the plane began taxiing, and lurched into his own seat facing them as it hurled itself into the air.
‘Just under two hours to Stockholm,’ the young man said. ‘I’ve got a flask of coffee and some ham sandwiches – I don’t suppose the Soviets fed you. Just sit back and I’ll get them to you once we’ve made our height.’
James was already ‘sitting back’, pressed into his seat by the climb. He clutched the arm rests. Stockholm? his mind queried, somewhat wildly. But then, Ham sandwiches! it said, and for the moment that seemed more important.
At work on Monday morning, Charlotte was radiant. ‘Milo’s back,’ she said exultantly. ‘He came round to Ridgemount Gardens last night with flowers and a bottle of champagne, and took us all out to dinner. We ate at Driscoll’s, and went on to the Kit-Cat for dancing.’
Basil was piqued. ‘But why was he away so long? And why didn’t he write to you? A few paltry postcards for the woman he loves – supposedly.’
‘No “supposedly” about it. Why are you being so beastly?’ Charlotte said, but her smile was undented.
She was too happy to take offence. ‘He was too busy to write, and in any case, the sort of places he had to be, there was no handy stationery shop or a nice red pillar box on the corner. Do stop being objectionable, because we’re going to dinner at Mummy’s tonight to celebrate and you’re invited.
Molly and Vivian too, of course. The glorious thing is that he says he’s made enough in commission for us to get married. He’s going to talk to Avis.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Basil smiled, to let her think his objections were over. The prospect of eating at the Belmonts’ was alluring, but he still didn’t trust Launde.
Charlotte went out, and he returned to studying the positions vacant in the morning newspaper he had brought from home.
Robert did not attend Violet’s dinner for Charlotte and Launde, but she had expected that – it was very short notice and they were much engaged in the evenings.
But her old friend Freddie Copthall, who had known her children all their lives, was in Town and came with his wife Cordelia.
And to make the numbers even, she had invited the twin daughters of Lady Partridge for Henry and Basil.
They were well-behaved girls, a little sandy like their father, but not unattractive – actually, she wouldn’t mind at all if Henry took a fancy to one of them.
‘I’m so glad,’ she confided to Freddie later in the evening, ‘that Launde can now marry Charlotte, and she can give up her job. Living with two other girls in a flat – it’s so unsuitable.
’ Freddie nodded sympathetically. Violet remembered in a warm rush how comfortable it had always been to confide in him, and went on, ‘If only Holkam hadn’t died bankrupt.
Charlotte ought to have had a proper Season and married someone we knew.
And Richard and Henry would have gone into the army or the diplomatic corps, instead of getting mixed up with commercial activities. ’
Freddie thought about it. ‘But if he hadn’t popped off, you wouldn’t be married to Belmont now. And, do you know, I suspect the boys don’t mind at all being mixed up with cars and aeroplanes.’
She looked at him admiringly. ‘You always think of the right thing to say. You’re such a comfort, Freddie.’
He blushed at the compliment. ‘Machines, you know. Chaps love ’em. Always wanted to drive a steam engine m’self. When I was young.’
‘Did you really?’
He nodded solemnly. ‘Would have given anything. Too late now – never happen. Pity.’ He sighed and stared for a moment into the distance, and in a flash of sympathy she saw him on the footplate of a great steam-gushing, gleaming beast, his hand on the shining brass lever, ready to unleash all that power and hurtle off to the horizon.
The vision faltered when she tried to imagine the railway overalls and greasy black cap.
Freddie’s dress was always point-device.
His reverie lasted only a moment. He shrugged it off and said, ‘But then I’d never have had Cordelia and the girls. So it all works out in the end.’
‘How are the girls?’ Violet asked, and his eyes lit as he embarked on what, not even second to the prize pigs he bred, was his favourite topic.
Milo came up to Basil after dinner when coffee was being served.
He had been in lively spirits all evening and had been making his way round the room, his laughter lifting over the other voices as he told amusing anecdotes of far-away places and outlandish customs. Now he had reached Basil, who had been talking to the younger and less sandy Miss Partridge.
She plainly had as little interest in him as he had in her, and at Milo’s approach she took the chance to slip away.
Milo looked straight into Basil’s eyes. ‘Have you got something against me, Compton?’
Basil hid his surprise. ‘Why should you think that?’
‘You’ve been giving me black looks all evening. Is it something I’ve done?’
‘Only you know what you’ve done. I’m afraid the rest of us are in the dark. Including Charlotte.’
Milo gave him a hard grin. ‘I think I begin to see where the hitch lies. You wanted Charlotte for yourself. Sorry, old man, but these days females choose for themselves, and she chose me.’
‘You’re wildly amiss there, Launde. I see Charlotte as a sister, that’s all. No, it’s you who intrigue me.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it. I like to be intriguing. For the rest, I’m happy to supply any information Charlotte’s step-papa requires, but I’m damned if I see why I have to answer to you for anything.’
Basil saw by the glitter in Milo’s eye and the tightness of his jaw that he had annoyed him. He really had nothing against him except an instinctive dislike, so he had to leave it at that. ‘Idlest of idle curiosity,’ he said. ‘Nothing better to do than wonder about other people’s goings-on.’
‘Perhaps you need another job,’ Milo retorted. ‘One that keeps your mind busy.’
‘Oddly enough, I’ve thought that myself,’ Basil said, as Milo stalked away.
Charlotte, flushed and pretty, came up to Basil later, and said, ‘I saw you chatting to Milo. I’m so happy you’ve made friends with him.’
‘If you’re happy, I’m happy. Has your step-papa had the customary “Come into my study, young man” talk with him?’
Charlotte laughed. ‘I expect he’ll have a discreet word, for form’s sake, but he’d never be stuffy about it. And Milo’s been making love to Mummy all evening and softened her like putty. He’s so good at getting people on his side. I suppose that’s why he’s so successful at what he does.’
Basil let an opportunity to say, ‘And what exactly is that?’ pass, and instead asked, ‘When’s the wedding to be?’
‘In the autumn, to let the memories of Robert’s and Richard’s fade. We don’t want to be in competition.’
‘Good thinking. And shall I be invited?’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘As long as you behave yourself.’