Page 156 of The Gathering Storm

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The flat was too big and too empty. Richard couldn’t sleep. There was no-one to cook meals for him, so he took to eating at a café on the Earls Court Road on his way home. He had too little to do to tire him out. The holiday-village scheme was dead for the foreseeable future, the European driving holidays had stopped, and ever fewer people were hiring cars, chauffeured or un-chauffeured. He sold the house in Ealing without regret – it had never seemed like home to him – and that eased his finances. With the Air Ministry compensation he now had capital but not much income. He didn’t like to turn off staff, and kept everybody on, thinking the situation would resolve itself anyway, when the war started. Two of his drivers had left already to volunteer, and others were talking about seeking other work.

When he lay awake at night, he mostly thought about Cynthia bravely managing not to cry as they said goodbye. They had gone first of all to a distant cousin who lived in the Williamsburg district of Brooklyn. Since the Williamsburg Bridge had been completed in 1903, a large number of Polish Jews had moved across from the Lower East Side, and there was now a substantial community of them in Williamsburg. There were Jewish associations, Jewish baths, synagogues, bakeries and kosher butchers; familiar foods, familiar accents, familiar ideas that made Hannah and Leah feel safe, and Cynthia feel that they were now amid a community that welcomed them and did not think them hateful. Cousin Sala said she would help them find an apartment of their own, and that it would not be difficult. Thanks to Samuel’s foresight, they had plenty of accessible money. And if they had to stay a long time, there was plenty of work in the area, if they wanted to boost their income, in a multitude of offices, schools, restaurants, shops, aid bureaux – even the mustard factory.

So he was not worried about their immediate safety and comfort. Williamsburg seemed a nice place, and the Nevinsons had several families nearby who regarded themselves as distant relatives. It was even just a short trip across the bridge, by bus or subway train, to Manhattan and all its multiple pleasures, if they felt settled enough to consider enjoying themselves. As he travelled back to England and London and the dreary preparations for war, he even envied them, and wondered if he ought to have stayed. When he kissed her goodbye at Sala’s door – he had forbidden them to come to the station – her tears wetted his lips. He felt her heartbreak, and wondered, as he knew she was wondering, if they would ever see each other again. He felt that in some indirect way he had broken his promise to Samuel. But he had a duty to his country, and to a wider morality. If war came, it would be to defeat Hitler and his mad territorial ambitions; but it would also be to punish him and his followers for their hateful anti-Semitism. He owed Samuel that, too.

It took several sleepless nights of soul-searching, but he decided in the end to leave the Earls Court flat. He couldn’t live there alone, without them. But it had been Cynthia’s childhood home and he didn’t quite like to sell it, so he let it, furnished, putting their personal effects into storage. He was prepared to move into lodgings – all he wanted was a bed and someone to cook for him – but he had mentioned his situation when he rang his mother down in Derbyshire to tell her he was back from the States. And the following day he received a message from Uncle Oliver’s secretary asking him to call in at his consulting rooms in Queen Anne Street.

Oliver got straight down to business. ‘Your mother rang me last night. She told me about your wife and mother-in-law going to America. My condolences – but I can’t say I blame them. Tell me, did that other matter resolve itself?’

‘Not entirely,’ Richard said. ‘Mr Young said there was nothing physically wrong with her, but anxiety about the war, the terrible news coming from abroad …’

‘I understand,’ Oliver said. Richard thought that probably he was the only one in the family who really did. ‘Now, your mother tells me you are virtually homeless and about to move into lodgings.’

‘The flat’s too big for me on my own,’ Richard. ‘And I’ve never learned to cook.’

‘But it’s absurd for you to rough it when your favourite uncle lives in an enormous house in Pall Mall. So I want to offer you a home with me.’ Richard opened his mouth to protest and Oliver lifted a hand. ‘I promised your mother I’d make you accept, so please don’t make a liar of me.’

‘It’s very kind of you, Uncle, but I don’t think I’m cut out for that sort of life any more.’

Oliver gave him a sympathetic look. ‘You mean you wouldn’t be in the right frame of mind for society banquets and glittering ton parties every night? My dear boy, what sort of life do you think I lead?’

‘Well, I—’

‘I quite understand that you want to be independent. As it happens, there is a very nice little apartment in the garden wing – just a bedroom, sitting-room, bathroom and small kitchenette – and the offer comes with a housemaid who will pop in to clean, deal with the laundry, and cook an evening meal for you as and when required. It’s not needed by us at the moment, and it’s yours for as long as you need it. I should add that there’s no requirement to see anything of Verena and me if you don’t want to, but you’ll be welcome to join us as often as you like – and I do hope that you will sometimes accept an invitation. After eighteen years of marriage we get very bored with each other’s conversation, you know.’

Richard laughed. ‘I am absolutely sure that’s not true! This really is very kind of you – above and beyond.’

‘Nonsense! The least I can do. Now, have I addressed all your nonsensical objections? Do you accept?’

‘I accept, with the greatest gratitude.’

‘When will you move in?’

‘Today, if I may. I have everything packed up.’

‘Excellent. Call at the main house for the key. And you will dine with us this evening – that’s a command, not a request. It’s the least you can do. The children want to see you. It’s just a family dinner, so we won’t dress.’

A few months ago, Richard reflected, he’d had a house, a business, a wife, and a child on the way. Now he had none of those things. His life seemed to be going backwards.

Barbara’s third child was born on the 28th of June. Thanks to the convenience of the telephone, Helen was able to hurry down and be there the same day. Jack followed on the Friday night, and Basil arrived on the Saturday morning to stay for the weekend.

It was a girl this time. Freddie was happy. ‘I hoped we’d have one. I began to think we could only produce boys.’

‘It’s nice to have a variety,’ Jack said. ‘One girl and two boys, the same as Helen and I had.’

‘You’re assuming they’ll stop there, Pa,’ Basil said.

‘Oh, I don’t think I want to put Barbara through it all again,’ Freddie said, taking him seriously. ‘Three is enough. Though, of course, it’s up to Barbara.’

‘I’d stop there if I were you, Babsy,’ Basil said, when he saw his sister alone for a few minutes. She was looking remarkably unruffled this time, as if having a baby was as easy as shelling peas. Perhaps, he thought, it was a matter of practice. ‘It’s not as ugly as your first two, but you can’t depend on improvement every time. What if it’s a parabola and you’ve reached the apogee?’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Barbara said, gazing at the baby’s face with satisfaction. ‘She’s beautiful.’

‘Of course, all babies are beautiful to their mothers. I expect even you were.’

‘Oh, don’t be horrid!’ she said, without heat. ‘You’re just trying to tease me, and I won’t be baited. Do you want to hold her?’