Page 94 of The Gathering Storm (Morland Dynasty #36)

‘I’m afraid so. I am shockingly in love with her, and apparently she loves me too, so would you mind terribly much if I took her off your hands? I promise to take the best possible care of her, and look after her person, her mind, her heart and her career with equal diligence.’

A slow smile spread over Lennie’s face. Now he thought about it, it was obvious that Rose would have to have an older man she could look up to, not some Dean Cornwell or Romano Ortez pretty-boy in love with himself and with nothing to offer beyond his looks.

Rose was a smart young woman, and canny, too, when she wasn’t distracted.

Van Kerk was clever, charming, sensible, good at his job – and generally no end of a man. He was just right for her.

He turned to Rose. ‘You do know how lucky you are, don’t you?’

‘Oh, I do, believe me, I do. So you don’t mind? You think it’s all right?’

‘I think you’ve chosen the best man you possibly could. I’m delighted for you both. When are you going to do the deed?’

‘As soon as possible,’ Van said. ‘Just waiting for your good offices.’ He looked at Rose. ‘January all right with you?’

‘You will give me away, won’t you?’ Rose asked Lennie.

‘I’ll give you away and dance at your wedding. And then I shall be going.’

‘Going?’

‘Like you I couldn’t think of the right way to tell you. But this seems to be the moment for big news. I’m going to England to marry Polly and live at Morland Place.’ Rose looked stricken, and he went on, ‘To borrow your words, there isn’t anyone in the world I could love as I love her.’

Rose pulled herself together. ‘I suppose I should have realised. Oh, Uncle Lennie, I’m going to miss you like anything!’

‘You’ll be too happy and busy to miss me – married to Van and working on your new movie.’

‘I shall anyway. You will come back sometimes, won’t you?’

‘I’m sure I will. And you can come and visit me. But with your husband and your career and a houseful of lusty young Van Kerks, you’ll have trouble finding the time.’ He bent to kiss her cheek, and she clung to him for a moment. ‘What a happy ending for all of us. Like something out of Hollywood.’

‘Oh, Lord,’ said Van Kerk, ‘don’t say that!’

Richard had been out all day, and returned home late to find Cynthia waiting for him in the hall.

The sound of Hannah’s and Leah’s voices came from the kitchen, along with clashing pans.

There was a smell of soup in the air, but to him, the flat in Earls Court always smelt of soup.

He and Cynthia were still living there, she being reluctant to leave her mother at that time.

The house in Ealing languished unused, and he worried occasionally about damp and possible leaks, but Earls Court was more convenient for him for the office and for meetings in Town.

‘Something wrong?’ he questioned his wife’s pensive look.

‘Oh – no,’ she said. ‘Let me take your coat. Is it still snowing?’ She brushed at the shoulders.

‘No, it’s stopped. That fell off a tree as I went past.’ He removed off his hat, and she took that too, but stood holding it and his coat. ‘What’s the matter? There’s something on your mind.’

‘Oh.’ She shook herself and hung the things up.

‘Mummy had a telephone call this morning. From an old friend, Mrs Margolies. She’s working with the Movement for the Care of Children from Germany.

Well, she was with the Central British Fund for German Jewry, but they’re all grouped together now for—’

‘Yes, I know – for bringing Jewish children over here. I heard about it on the wireless. What about it? Was she looking for a donation?’

‘She wants Mummy to help. And Mummy really needs something to do, to take her mind off things.’

Richard laid a hand on her arm. ‘Her husband died. Your father. It’s all right to grieve.’

‘We do, and we will. But this is an emergency, Richard. All those children … It’s something we can do, don’t you see? In a world of hate, it’s a little bit of love we can show.’

‘We?’

‘I want to help too.’

‘Of course you do. Where do I come in?’

‘Oh, to give your permission, of course.’

‘You don’t need my permission!’

‘But it will take us away from the office work.’

‘There isn’t much of that, and enough people to do it.

It’s the quiet time of year. To be honest, I don’t think there’s going to be much call in future for holidays on the Continent.

And there’s not much happening with the holiday village, with the winter weather and Christmas coming up, so you won’t be needed.

You couldn’t really think I would object? ’

She hesitated. ‘It’s – it’s publicly associating ourselves with Jews. There are people who won’t like that. It could affect the business in the future.’

‘I don’t believe it. Look here, darling, do you want to help with this children thing? Well, then, do it. What does it actually entail?’

‘Well, you know Sir Samuel Hoare put out an appeal on the Home Service for foster homes for the children? It seems they’ve had over five hundred offers, and now the Movement needs volunteers to go and inspect the homes to see if they’re suitable.

Mrs Margolies asked if Mummy and I would be willing to help. ’

The sounds in the kitchen had stopped, and at the end of the dark passage he saw that Hannah had come to the door, with Leah behind her, to listen.

‘I think it’s a splendid idea. In fact, I’ll volunteer as well. I dare say it will be useful for them to have someone with a car – all the homes might not be so easy to reach.’

His reward was the way Cynthia’s face lit up. ‘ Would you? Oh, I think that would be wonderful, all of us helping.’

‘I’m not sure I’d know a good Jewish home when I saw one, though – you might have to give me some hints,’ Richard said.

Hannah had come hurrying to join them. ‘Rachel Margolies says they don’t have to be Jewish homes. And she says we can’t be too fussy, given how many children there will be, and how urgent the need. All we have to see is that the homes are clean, and that the families seem respectable.’

‘I think I can do that,’ Richard said. ‘When do we start?’

Cynthia and her mother exchanged a glance, then said, at the same moment and in the same tone, ‘Tomorrow?’

And Richard laughed.

Jack and Helen went down to spend Christmas with Jessie and Bertie.

Basil preferred to stay in London, and Michael was in Malta.

And while the pull of Barbara and Freddie and their two little boys, Douglas and Peter, was strong to devoted grandparents, Barbara was pregnant again, having a hard time with morning and evening sickness, and didn’t feel up to company.

And Jack said, ‘Who knows what’s going to happen next year?’

In the hall at Twelvetrees, Jessie hugged her favourite brother for a very long time, her thoughts running on the same lines as his. Then they went into the drawing-room and a good, big fire. ‘So much nicer to look at than coal fires,’ Helen said.

‘We lost a big sycamore in the storm before last Christmas,’ Bertie said, ‘so we’ve got plenty of nicely seasoned logs now.’

The girls brought sherry and mince pies.

Thomas was home from college, having arrived just the night before, and listened intently as his mother asked, ‘Are you keeping busy?’ and his uncle Jack said, ‘Very, what with the Spitfire and the Hurricane coming off the production lines, and the Typhoon to work on. And so many new bases being set up.’

Jessie laughed. ‘You’re not a construction worker.’

‘No, but I seem to be consulted about everything. Jack of all trades.’

‘I’d sooner you were a consultant with your feet on the ground than flying.’

He smiled at her. ‘There speaks a woman. What man of spirit wouldn’t sooner be flying?’

‘Do you miss it?’ Jessie asked.

‘Yes, I miss the sky,’ Jack said. He looked at his wife. ‘You understand.’

‘Ah, you’ve remembered at last that I was a flier, too.’

‘How could I forget? But I keep my hand in,’ Jack went on. ‘Enough flying hours to keep my ticket. You just never know, do you, when it might be needed?’

‘Not at your age,’ Helen said bluntly. ‘You’re fifty-two. Your reflexes are not quick enough. It’s young men who are needed.’

‘She’s cruel, isn’t she?’ Jack said, reaching out a hand to press Helen’s to show he wasn’t really hurt.

‘But not wrong,’ Helen said. ‘You were pretty old for the last lot, darling – they all called you “uncle”. All those boys in your squadrons were eighteen, nineteen, twenty.’

There was a brief silence as Jack, Helen, Jessie and Bertie all remembered at the same moment how many of those ‘boys’ had died. And before anyone could tactfully change the subject, Thomas cleared his throat and said, ‘You really think there will be another war?’

He was addressing Jack, who, with regard to a mother’s feelings, said, ‘The government seems determined to keep us out of one.’

‘But the RAF must believe it’s going to happen, or why are they making new bases and building all those planes?’ Before Jack could answer, he said, ‘I know they do, as a matter of fact, because we had a recruiting officer come to address us at college last week.’

Helen said, very quietly, ‘Oh, no.’

‘He said this war will be a war of the air. Ground forces are all very well, but they get bogged down, and they’re vulnerable. It’s important to be agile and quick. The nation with the best air force will win.’

‘There’s a lot more to it than that,’ Bertie began.

But Thomas turned a passionate face to his parents. ‘I’ve volunteered. I was going to tell you last night but – well – things got away from me. You know, with all the chatting and kissing and everything.’

‘You’ve volunteered?’ Jessie said. ‘You have to have permission, you know. You’re not twenty-one yet.’

‘I know, but you’ll say yes, I know you will.’ He stared at them earnestly, then appealed to Helen and Jack, ‘You know how important this is. Every man has to do his duty. And I want to fly.’