Page 159 of The Gathering Storm

‘Yes, I read that.’

‘And the German ambassador in Moscow, von Schulenberg, is busy trying to woo the Soviets – which, after the years they’ve spent denouncing Jewish Bolshevism as the greatest threat to civilisation, would be quite funny if it weren’t so serious.’

‘But I thought we were trying to woo the Soviets,’ Richard said.

‘We are – us and France,’ said Basil. ‘With the greatest reluctance, of course. Our leaders would much rather come to an accommodation with Germany, which is at least a civilised country. And the prospect of a Soviet Union bolstered by victory is horrifying – except to my editor and the Left Book Club. So we woo, but without much enthusiasm. And it’s anyone’s guess which way Uncle Joe Stalin will eventually jump. At the moment, I understand, the Reds simply don’t believe the Germans are serious about a rapprochement, so that works in our favour.’

‘If they side with us, will that be enough?’

‘To prevent war? I don’t know. When you’ve got a madman drunk on fantasies of conquest, rational decisions can’t be relied on. There’s no doubt that Hitler’s planning an invasion of Poland – has been for months. Whether it will go ahead depends on whether he can be persuaded out of it.’ He looked at Richard. ‘Frankly, I’m not holding out much hope.’

Richard nodded, and they were silent for a while, eating, watching the endless stream of passers-by, lulled by the burbling of the pigeons, the soft background sound of conversations and the further-off murmur of traffic. The world seemed like a big, peaceful humming top, spinning on the point of Green Park.

Then Richard said, ‘There’s another one. God, I hate the sight of those things! I think it was the gas mask that was the last straw, as far as Cynthia was concerned.’

‘They’re pretty ugly,’ Basil agreed. ‘And I’ve never liked anything over my face – makes me feel panicky. I find it a bit sinister that the special mask for small children has a safety catch to stop them being able to get it off. Now that would have had me in hysterics when I was a kid.’

‘Better than being gassed, though,’ Richard said. ‘Uncle Oliver saw the effects of gassing during the war. He doesn’t like to talk about it, but when he does … Well, you wouldn’t want to go that way.’

‘No, I suppose not. How is it, living there?’

‘Altogether too easy,’ Richard said. ‘They’re so tactful. I’m welcome to come through any time, but they never bother me. One of their housemaids comes in when I’m out and cleans, and if I leave a note saying I’ll be in for dinner and what time, she cooks and serves it.’

‘You’re spoiled. If I eat in, I have to manage for myself. Sausages feature heavily on the menu. If I were you, I’d accept every invitation to dine with my dear old uncle. Have you seen anything of Charlotte, by the way? Does she visit them?’

‘I haven’t seen her at all,’ Richard said. ‘And, no, she doesn’t. She and Launde seem to live a completely separate life from everyone we know.’

‘I hear his name mentioned now and then,’ Basil said. ‘When there’s talk of rearmament. One of our biggest concerns, apparently, is that if we started conscription tomorrow, half of them would only have broomsticks to practise with.’

‘I understand it was the same in the last war,’ Richard said. ‘So the longer we can put off the fateful day, the better.’

‘Oh, good Lord, look at that!’ said Basil. A smart woman was passing with a small dog on a lead, and strapped on the dog’s back was a small square bag. ‘Do you think that can possibly be a gas mask for the dog?’

Charlotte came home from a little desultory shopping to find all the evidences of a husband’s return: open doors, voices, a man’s overcoat and hat left on the hall table. A maid, scurrying from one room to another, curtsied in flight and gasped, ‘Oh, my lady, his lordship’s back.’

Charlotte shed her hat and gloves and, in the absence of anyone to take them, added them to the delinquent heap, and tracked Milo down to his bedroom. He was talking to his man, Foley, and didn’t notice her at first. There were piles of clothes on the bed, drawers and wardrobe doors were open, and Milo was bright-eyed and evidently wound tighter than a clock spring.

‘You’re home,’ she said, to gain his attention. ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’

He said, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to send a telegram. Sudden change of plans. Thank you, Foley. Make a start elsewhere – I’ll ring for you.’

Foley collected one of the piles on the bed and backed out with no more than a half-bow to Charlotte as he passed. When they were alone, Milo crossed the room to catch her by the upper arms and kiss her hard but briefly on the lips. It was one of his distracted kisses that she had come to recognise – rather like a man patting a dog when his mind was elsewhere.

‘How are you? Well?’ he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. He turned away and was rummaging in a drawer before she could draw breath.

‘What’s going on? Milo – what’s happening?’

He turned back, frowning, and made a visible effort to clear his mind for her. ‘The British and French talks in Moscow have collapsed. Molotov has presented Schulenberg with a draft non-aggression treaty. And a trade treaty is under discussion – Soviet agricultural produce and oil against German machinery and military equipment. It looks as though the Soviets have decided the Germans aren’t bluffing – they’re throwing in their lot with them. So it’s time for us to go, while we still can.’

‘Go? Where? And who’s “us”.’

‘You and me, dear wife,’ he said. ‘To Switzerland.’

‘Switzerland?’

‘A very civilised country. You’ll love it. Everything’s new and clean. Electric trains. Every modern convenience. Everyone speaks English. And, of course, they’ll be neutral, and given that everyone deposits their surplus cash there, no-one, not even Hitler, will dare attack it. So you see?’

‘No, I don’t see,’ Charlotte said. ‘What are you saying? That we’re going there, you and me? For a holiday?’