Page 90 of The Gathering Storm (Morland Dynasty #36)

Alec seemed pleased about the engagement, and to Polly’s careful questions said he liked Uncle Lennie and asked would he have to call him ‘Father’ after the wedding.

Polly said that was up to him, and he should wait and see what came naturally – there was no rule about it.

But after a few days he seemed to feel differently, became anxious and silent, and finally, when Polly got him alone and ready to talk – she took him out riding, feeling it was always easier to open your mind when you were side by side and moving, rather than face to face and immobile – he confessed that a boy at school had put the wind up him.

‘He said that stepfathers always hate you, and beat you, like in David Copperfield , and turn your mother against you, and then your mother dies and you’re an orphan and your stepfather steals your inheritance and sends you to the workhouse.

’ He was staring ahead through Shady’s ears, biting his lip so as not to cry, because he was eight years old now and big boys didn’t.

Polly bit her lip too, so as not to laugh, though she wanted to cry as well. When she had control of herself, she said seriously, ‘I think you’re being a little bit silly. Nothing like that can possibly happen.’

‘Can’t it?’ he said, in a small voice.

‘For one thing, there aren’t any workhouses any more. And I’m not in the slightest bit likely to die. The mother in David Copperfield was a weak, silly woman, but I’m not, am I?’

‘Well …’ he allowed doubtfully.

‘She’d never done anything but sit around in pretty dresses and drink tea.

She hadn’t run businesses like me. So she was easy for her new husband to dominate.

I don’t see anyone being able to turn me against you, do you?

’ He didn’t answer. ‘And besides all that,’ she went on, ‘Uncle Lennie isn’t anything like Mr Murdstone.

David Copperfield had never met him before the wedding, but you know Uncle Lennie.

You’ve talked to him and gone riding with him and sat at breakfast with him, and he helped you build the wireless set. You like him and he likes you.’

Alec thought about that. ‘He wouldn’t change, through being married? You both wouldn’t change?’

‘Not a bit. We’ll just be happier than ever, and that’ll make us be nicer than ever to you.’

‘Oh,’ said Alec. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Completely, absolutely sure.’

Alec thought for a while as they rode on.

It was a chill and foggy November day, the only colour the last few leaves clinging to the sycamores, gleaming like fool’s gold through the misty greyness.

Shady had already grown his winter coat.

Polly thought they would have to have him trace-clipped if Alec was to hunt him this winter.

Finally Alec sighed, not an unhappy sigh but a concluding sigh.

‘Thought it all out?’ she asked. He nodded. ‘You’re not scared any more?’ He shook his head. She could tell he had something else to say. ‘What, then? Spit it out!’

‘Mum, do you think Uncle Lennie would buy me a camera?’

She wrote to James to tell him about the engagement, and he wrote back expressing his delight.

‘You ought to have been married long ago – it’s such a waste your being single.

’ He sent her as an engagement present a beautiful little Schiaparelli evening jacket in scarlet silk with an enormous gold honey-bee embroidered on each breast, and a promise that he would come to the wedding.

‘You’ve chosen the right man,’ he wrote.

‘I think he’ll make you very happy. And if you have some more children, it would do a lot to assuage my guilt over leaving you in charge. ’

And then a new paragraph – the ink slightly different, as if he had added it later: ‘The world is a pretty horrible place at the moment. I’m very glad that you will have someone to look after you.

And we need all the occasions of joy we can get.

Your wedding will be a beacon in the dark.

All the love in the world from your devoted brother, James. ’

Another early-morning invasion by Emil, though this time James was up and dressed. ‘What’s happened now?’ he asked, letting his friend in.

‘I’ve had a phone call from my father in Switzerland.

Your blessed country has agreed to allow unaccompanied Jewish children under seventeen to refugee to Britain without visas.

Papa says they’re talking about five thousand initially.

It’s the reaction to Kristallnacht, of course.

And, wonderfully, the Germans have agreed to let them go.

Papa’s helping to finance the operation, because of course they won’t.

And my aunt Lotti – Lotti Kaufmann, she’s only a sort of step-aunt-in-law, but she and Papa played together as children – she’s helping to organise things in Germany, and he wants me to go and assist her. So we have to go, right away.’

‘Now? This minute?’

‘You can have enough time to pack a bag, but otherwise, yes, this minute. The Germans are in favour of the scheme at the moment, but there’s no knowing when the bastards might change their minds, so every hour counts.’

‘I have a job, you know, unlike you. I’ll have to get permission from Hélène,’ James said.

‘Not permission, just tell her you’re going. This is more important than any job. Don’t stand there arguing, go and pack! We’ll get a taxi and call at Hélène’s on the way. I’ll telephone Aunt Lotti from the station to tell her what train we’re taking, and she’ll meet us at the station in Berlin.’

He urged James into his bedroom and stood fidgeting in the doorway, watching him pack.

‘You know I don’t speak German, don’t you?’ James said.

‘You’ll pick it up. I’ll teach you some phrases on the train. Anyway, I speak it fluently. I’ll be your translator.’

‘Then what am I for?’

‘Another driver, for one thing. Another body to do the paperwork. Another child-handler. Also, and specifically, you are tall, fair, blue-eyed and handsome, and you’ll appeal to the Nazi officers who have the power to make things difficult, much more than short, dark me.

Put in that blue pullover – it brings out your flaxen milkmaid complexion. And don’t forget your passport.’

Unexpectedly, Hélène made no objection. The international reaction to Kristallnacht had been instant and condemnatory, and the world of fine art, which was her milieu, contained many Jews.

After the horrors of the pogrom, it was coming to be understood that there was no future in Germany for Jewish people, and the question was only when and how they might get out, not if they would have to.

But getting out, and finding a place to go, was hard.

Hélène listened to Emil, and said at once, ‘Of course you must go, James. This may be the most important thing you ever do. But be careful, both of you. These are not rational people you will be dealing with. They can turn on you at a word. You have enough money, Emil?’

‘My father has arranged an unlimited draft on his bank for expenses for both of us.’

‘You had better have some cash to be going on with. Bring me my bag, James.’ She took out her purse and extracted a wedge of banknotes. ‘An advance on your salary,’ she said, pressing it into his hand. ‘You can stop at the bank on the way and change it.’

‘That’s too generous,’ James protested.

‘No. I would go myself if I were a man. Go save people. And come back. Your job will be waiting for you.’

It was in the taxi on the way to the station that James caught up with all the words that had been said. He turned to Emil. ‘ Unaccompanied children?’ he queried. Emil only looked at him. ‘But will the parents let them go?’

‘Wouldn’t you?’ Emil said.

On the train, Emil said suddenly, ‘You know I am, don’t you?’

‘You are what?’

‘Jewish.’

‘No, I didn’t.’ James frowned. ‘You don’t go to synagogue or anything, do you?’

‘No, but it doesn’t matter to the Nazis. To them Jewish isn’t a religion, it’s a race. The Nuremberg Laws say if you have three or four Jewish grandparents, you’re a Jew.’

James thought about it. ‘Are you scared?’

‘Not for me. You and I have two of the three safest passports in the world.’ He stared out of the window for a moment. ‘If I was German, I would be,’ he said, after a while.

Lotti Kaufmann was a woman in her forties, smart, energetic, efficient.

She was fair-skinned and blue-eyed, her face made up to enamelled perfection, her clothes fashionable but businesslike – expensive suits, silk blouses, hand-made but practical shoes – and she smoked incessantly with a short ivory cigarette-holder, using it to punctuate her speech.

Her English was excellent, as was her French.

She seemed one of those fortunate beings who could not only learn a language easily but master the idiom and accent as well.

She had been working for a Jewish refugee agency for some time, and had developed a good relationship with German officials in various positions.

‘They want the Jews out,’ she told James briskly.

‘All of them. And most of the Jews are now willing to consider going. The difficulty is finding somewhere to send them. Countries that sympathise aren’t always eager to admit them.

We had been settling a lot in Mandatory Palestine, but that hasn’t been so easy lately, with the Arab unrest there.

It’s different with children. The British are the first to offer, but there are murmurs now from Switzerland, Sweden and Japan.

The idea is that they’ll eventually go back, so it’s only a temporary resettlement.

Remarkably, almost every parent we’ve asked was willing to let their children go.

They have a high degree of trust in the United Kingdom.

But we have to work quickly. We have a window of opportunity here, boys. We don’t know when it will shut.’