wearing long twenty-button gloves. The room itself was decorated with velvety crimson hothouse roses and a huge Christmas tree in the corner, lit with colored wax candles in gilded holders, and covered in artificial snow, wrapped gifts, toys, and sweets. The effect was magical.
“This way,” David said, deftly spinning her through the crowd, away from a statuesque Countess, her curves straining at ruby satin, sagging neck wrapped in yellow diamonds. “It’s a shame that once women are in a position to own jewels like that, they no longer have the necks for it,” he mused.
Maggie saw Gregory with his martini, sitting alone at one of the tables near the perimeter of the dance floor, in a world of his own.
“Gregory looks lonely,” she said, indicating with her chin.
“Already looking for a new partner, Magster?” David teased. “I’m crushed.”
She gave his arm a gentle smack. “I thought maybe there was some … frisson last night. I was wondering if anything happened.”
“Nothing yet,” David replied. “Work, you know. But maybe tonight.…”
“Do you think—do you think he’s all right? I noticed he’s drinking quite a lot, even more than he usually does.”
“He’s a veteran. He’s been through hell. And he’ll be back with the Air Force soon enough. Let the man relax and have some fun.”
“All right,” Maggie said, allowing herself to be convinced. “Then perhaps we should join him?”
“I like the way you think, my dear.” David spun her to the table.
They sat down in delicate gold chairs as the orchestra segued into Noel Coward’s “If Love Were All.” Gregory sprang to his feet. “Maggie, you look lovely,” he said, kissing her gloved hand.
“Perfect evening,” David enthused, taking a seat and motioning to a waiter with a silver tray of champagne coupes.
As the castle’s clocks all chimed midnight, the orchestra segued into “Auld Lang Syne.” Around her, the guests stopped to sing the Robert Burns words:
Her thoughts went out to John. Wherever he was.
Gregory got up and stalked away, heading for the French doors leading to the gardens.
He looked upset.
“I’ve got it,” David whispered in Maggie’s ear and then followed after.
David followed Gregory through carpeted hallways and then outside, to the North Terrace, overlooking playing fields and Eton. It was freezing outside. As his eyes adjusted to the night, David shivered in his dinner jacket. The only sound was the faint music from the party and the creak of bare tree branches blown by the wind. The stars in the dazzling darkness seemed close enough to touch.
Near a low stone wall punctuated with crenellations, David caught up with Gregory. “Need bit of fresh air?”
“It’s just that song. Lots of old acquaintance not coming back. By next year or the year after, they’ll be forgotten.”
“Or coming back strangers. A good friend of mine was shot down in the Battle of Britain. He’s back at work now, but—I don’t know who he is anymore. He’s a completely different person.”
“He is,” Gregory agreed. “Something I know far too well.”
The two men stood at the low stone wall that lined the terrace and looked over the grounds in the light of the waning moon.
“David,” Gregory said, not looking at the other man, “I think you’re very special.”
David moved his hand on the smooth flagstone so that his pinky touched Gregory’s. “And I feel the same about you.”
“If that’s the case, why don’t you come away with me?”
David laughed, a hearty laugh that rang out across the empty grounds. “Very romantic, but where could we possibly go? An island in the South Seas, with white sand and palm trees? Live on bananas and coconuts?”
“No, the Japanese have taken those islands,” Gregory said seriously. “I’m thinking more of Argentina. Buenos Aires.”
“Well, I’m afraid the British government might frown on that.”
“I’m not joking.”
David looked at Gregory’s scarred, serious face. He was not.
“The world’s at war, Gregory,” he said, shrugging. “There’s nowhere to run.”
“You have no idea what it’s like. You see the scars on my face—you have no idea how scarred I am inside,” he said.
David nodded.
“Millions of Germans are dead now. Millions of Poles, Czechs, Dutch, French, Norwegians.… Do you know how many Chinese have died since Japan invaded in thirty-seven? And what for?” he asked bitterly.
“The Nazis are evil, Gregory,” David said. “You know that. Hitler’s not just out to conquer the world, he’s set out to destroy anyone he’s declared to be ‘subhuman’—Jews, Czechs, Russians, Poles. The mentally ill. I’m Jewish and ‘like that,’ so I’d have been thrown up against a wall and shot years ago if I lived in Germany under Hitler. At least here I’m, well, relatively free.”
“With that fair hair of yours, you could pass for Aryan. And besides, it all depends on who’s defining evil. Churchill’s just as racist as Hitler when it comes down to it—and to win the war he’ll have to cozy up to Stalin—as if he’s any better than Hitler?”
“Churchill would cozy up to Satan himself if it would defeat Hitler. And I would too.”
Gregory snorted. “At some point the Americans will join, and they’ll die, trying to save us. The Chinese and the Japanese will always be at each other’s throats. The Raj will rise up and slaughter the British in India, not to mention the Hindus and the Muslims.… I’m just … done. Finished. I did my bit—and now I want out.”
After making sure they were alone, David reached up and touched Gregory’s scarred face gently. “I can’t imagine all you’ve been through,” he said.
“They’re sending me back, you know,” Gregory said. “Back to the Royal Air Force. I can still fly, so they want me up there,” he gestured to the sky. “Just the thought of getting into a plane makes me ill. I can’t. I just can’t do it.” Gregory said, grabbing David’s hand. “I mean it. I’m done. I’m leaving. And I’d like you to come with me. To Switzerland.”
“No,” David said, pulling his hand back. “I can’t.”
“You can,” Gregory insisted. “Look, invasion is certain. Churchill will be one of the first lined up and shot—and you and the rest of his staff with him. They’ll take out the present King and put the Duke of Windsor back on the throne.”
“That’s a future I’d hate to see, of course,” David said. “But that’s one of the reasons I’m staying—to make sure it
David looked up at the starry sky, Gregory’s former battleground. “Gregory, you’re a hero. You did your part in the Battle of Britain. You paid—you’re still paying—for it. It’s hard. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you. But you can’t give up.”
The other man gave a short, bitter laugh. “Of course. I’m being ridiculous. Christmas is hard for me. You must forget I ever said anything.”
“Of course,” David said. But he knew he wouldn’t. Something was wrong with Gregory. Maggie was right.
In his small, drab room in the castle’s servants’ quarters, George Poulter was getting ready for bed. The door opened. “Audrey!” he hissed. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“It’s our last night,” she said. “Then we’ll be out of here.” He was silent as she sat next to him, pressing herself against him. “It will be fine. That’s why I came. Tomorrow will be busy, and we won’t see that much of each other. I just wanted to talk with you.”
