Page 140 of The Gathering Storm

The church choir came on Christmas Eve to sing carols under the tree, and Bibi and Mimi seemed to know some of the tunes, and sang along with their own words. And they were familiar with the notion of hanging up stockings by the fireplace in the nursery. John Burton explained to Alec that many of what had become traditions were German in origin, including the tree and the stockings, brought over in Victorian times by Prince Albert. The Yule log, the holly and mistletoe were older, English and pagan.

Polly didn’t know, because Nanny didn’t tell her, of the tears that followed the hanging of the stockings, prayers, and being tucked up in bed. Bibi crept into Mimi’s bed, and they cried themselves to sleep. They didn’t remember their mother, but Papa was dead, and Tante was far away, and however kind people were to them here, it was not home.

But Christmas morning brought fresh wonders, the magically filled stockings, a walk with Alec, Martin and John and a snowball fight, then the magnificent Christmas dinner of gilded goose and plum pudding. And then, by the blazing log fire in the Great Hall, it was time for presents.

Everyone had wrapped something for the little refugees, but without doubt the star present came from Polly, though she let it be Alec’s present, to strengthen the bond between them. One of Fand’s daughters had had a litter in October and the whelps were old enough to leave their mother now. Polly picked out a large, confident one, and Alec gave it to Mimi and Bibi, ‘For your own, to share.’

The memory of that Christmas for her was of the children sitting on the floor by the fire with the puppy tumbling and scrambling over them, and their high, happy laughter at its antics. She told them his name was Kai – a traditional Morland hound name, and easy for them to pronounce.

John Burton had been doubtful about the wisdom of the gift. ‘What happens when they go back to Germany? They may not be able to take it, and that will mean more heartbreak for them.’

She gave him a level look. ‘Who knows when they’ll be able to go back? The way things are going, there’ll be war next year, and they’ll have to stay here. And by the time that’s over, they’ll be old enough to cope with leaving a dog behind. It may be the least of everyone’s worries.’

Richard and Cynthia were invited to Tunstead Hall for Christmas, and he was eager for them to go, wanting a change and a rest for his wife, who he thought was looking peaky. Cynthia didn’t want to leave her mother, but Hannah and Leah were invited by the Pullingers, a family who lived in the same building – Mrs Pullinger was Jewish but not observant, like Hannah and Samuel. The two families had often had Christmas together, which they celebrated with a large piece of beef followed by Apfelstrudel and songs around the piano.

So Tunstead it was, and they arrived to find Emma and Kit, Oliver and Verena and their children there, so the house was gloriously full and rang with the sound of happy laughter. Robert and Joan had been invited but had preferred to go to Joan’s people. Charlotte was there without Launde, who was on his way back from Switzerland.

Everyone was interested in the work Richard and Cynthia had been doing, and Richard tried to let Cynthia answer the questions, but she was still too shy, so he had to do the talking.

Kit was very amusing about a dinner he and Emma had been summoned to in Prince’s Gate, the home of the American ambassador. ‘I couldn’t think why they wanted us, since we’re not really in diplomatic circles, but it was soon obvious that we were there to be pumped about Wally Simpson – was she really so elegant and witty? Was she really worth giving up the throne for?’

‘You’re wrong,’ Emma said. ‘The real reason we were there was so that Mrs Kennedy could boast about their having spent a weekend at Windsor Castle.’

‘Nonsense – she could have boasted about that to anybody.’

‘She probably has. It was our turn, that’s all,’ Emma said imperturbably.

‘What did she say about the King and Queen?’ Oliver asked, amused.

‘She was very gracious about the Queen – said what lovely skin she had,’ said Kit. ‘In my experience, when a woman praises another woman’s skin, she means that woman has nothing else going for her.’

‘Oh, no! Too cruel!’ Violet said. ‘I’m sure she didn’t mean that.’

‘Well, she’s thin as a rail, and Her Majesty is nicely plump,’ Kit said, ‘and I heard her murmur something about having had nine children while the Queen’s only had two, so I drew a conclusion.’

‘There was mention of a return match,’ Emma said. ‘Their Majesties to dine at Prince’s Gate. Mrs K said she was sure they had to go to so many banquets they’d be sick of them, and would be longing for a simple meal. So she’s planning to give them “good, plain American food”, as she put it.’

‘Shad roe, baked ham and strawberry shortcake,’ Kit said with glee. ‘Just like Bryanston Court! You remember, darling, the first time Wally served hot dogs and cold beer to the Pragga Wagga, as he then was?’

‘Oh, those Bryanston Court suppers!’ Emma sighed. ‘She said the same thing, that he’d appreciate good plain food—’

‘—while the fact was he’d have eaten a chewing-gum sandwich if she’d been on the other side of it,’ Kit concluded for her. ‘Dear me, how long ago it all seems now,’ he added, with a sigh. ‘Long ago and far away, and they are so forgotten, it’s hard to believe they were real, not just a fairy story.’

‘Hmm,’ said Oliver. ‘I’ve heard that Ambassador Kennedy has said he thinks David would have made an excellent king, and it was a pity more wasn’t done to keep him, because he knew how to get on with Hitler.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard that, too,’ said Kit. ‘He thinks Britain ought to be bypassed and an understanding reached between the United States and Germany. He thinks Hitler has the answers to world problems.’

Avis intervened, seeing Richard’s wife looking very small and vulnerable. ‘Violet had a letter recently from Jessie,’ he said, firmly changing the subject, ‘with some very good news.’

Violet took the cue. ‘Yes, it seems that Polly is getting married. The wedding is set for March, and the person she’s marrying is dear Lennie Manning.’

‘Tremendous news!’ Oliver said. ‘I’m so glad Polly’s found someone at last. She’s been a widow for far too long.’

‘Yes, and Lennie Manning!’ Kit said. ‘Not only a very nice person, which is good for her, but he’s a real movie tycoon, which will be good for us.’

‘How so?’ Oliver asked, amused.

‘Why, because Morland Place will be filled with movie stars and directors and we’ll naturally be invited for Saturday-to-Mondays to meet them.’