‘That’s a trunk call.’
‘It is, I’m afraid. But I will be brief, I assure you.’
The harbourmaster took a hard look at James, as if he were worried that he had taken in some kind of lunatic. In a bid to reassure him, James added that the man he needed to telephone was the master of his Oxford college. And so, after a convoluted conversation with a telephone operator and multiple clunks and clicks, he heard his own voice meet down a crackling line with that of Bernard Grey, scholar, broadcaster and guiding sage of the British intellectual left. James pictured him as he had glimpsed him just before he sped away from Oxford, in the muddy green uniform of a commanding officer of the Local Defence Volunteers, the cloth as thick as carpet. The image still struck him as ludicrous.
‘Professor Grey, it’s Dr Zennor.’
‘James, you sound terrible. Where in God’s name are you?’
‘I’m in Liverpool.’
There was a hesitation, followed by, ‘Ah. I see.’
‘I’m here because Florence has taken our son Harry on a ship bound-’ He stopped himself. ‘What do you mean, “I see”?’
‘You followed Florence to Liverpool. Did you see the ship off?’
‘No, I missed it by twenty-four hours. I don’t understand. How do you know about the ship?’
‘Are you all right, James? You sound distressed.’
The calm, consoling voice had precisely the reverse of its intended effect; James felt his initial politeness congealing into cold anger. ‘Yes, I am distressed rather. My wife has fled thousands of miles away from me and taken my child with her. And while this has come as an enormous shock to me you seem already to be in the picture. So in fact “distressed” barely begins to cover it, Professor Grey.’
‘James, I think you had better return to Oxford where we can discuss all this in person. In my lodgings. You could dine afterwards at high table. We are to be joined tonight by William Beveridge. Do you know his work? Excellent ideas on the appropriate allocation of citizen rights to those with what he calls “general defects”. Unsentimental fellow and the detail is a bit wobbly but-’
‘I have no intention of returning to Oxford, Master. I want to find my wife and my child and I now know they are nowhere near Oxford.’ He seized on the mental recording he had made and which was now playing back in his mind. ‘And what do you mean, “all this”?’
‘I’m sorry James, I’m afraid you’re not making much sense.’
‘You said “all this”. We can discuss all this. What did you mean by that?’
‘Oh I see. You don’t know.’
‘Know what?’ On hearing a moment’s silence, James repeated the question, shouting it this time. ‘I don’t bloody know what?’ Through the glass of the harbourmaster’s office door he could see secretaries’ heads turning and staring. For all his efforts, he was once again the crazy man who had been found sleeping rough.
Eventually Bernard Grey began speaking, his voice low and regretful, as if he had been forced into saying something he had hoped to avoid. ‘I sincerely thought someone would have informed you of this by now. At least Virginia if no one else.’
‘Master.’
‘Your wife and child are on a ship together with twenty-five Oxford mothers and approximately one hundred and twenty-five children. They are on their way to Yale College, which has graciously offered them a place of refuge during the war.’
‘Yale? In America? But she’s going to Canada.’
‘Canada is a stopping-off point. I believe they are to be accommodated at the Royal Victoria College in Montreal for a few days, before travelling by rail to New Haven in the United States.’
‘Yale,’ James repeated, uselessly. ‘In America.’ Whatever the precise geography, this seemed so much more remote. Canada at least was a dominion of the British Empire, under the same King and fighting the same war. But the United States? For the first time, he wondered if he would ever see his wife and child again.
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus on this moment and on the words he had just heard, ‘How long have you known about this?’
‘It’s been in the offing for several weeks.’
‘Several weeks!’ He had tortured himself with the idea that Florence had been plotting behind his back for weeks, and now here was Grey telling him that his worst fears had, in fact, been utterly realistic. ‘Several weeks,’ he said, letting the weight of that amount of time hang in the air for a while. ‘No one told me.’
‘It would appear not.’
‘Why? Why in God’s name-’
‘I’m afraid-’
‘Florence is my wife, Master Grey. Harry is my son.’
‘No one told you, James, because we knew what you would say.’
‘“We”? Who’s “we”?’
‘All I-’
‘You mean you were involved in this?’
‘I played a very minor role. Many others were far-’
‘I don’t believe this. Lots of you were involved, were you? Many others, you say. What, in a secret plot to take my wife and child away from me?’
‘Now, James. Calm down.’
‘Don’t you tell me to calm down,’ James said, spitting out the words. ‘You’ve just told me you conspired in the break-up of my family, sending them half way across the world. So, no, I will not be calm. I want to know why you did this. Why you and all these “many others” plotted against me like this.’
‘You see this is exactly what we were afraid of.’
‘There you go again: we.’
‘This ranting and raving. This paranoia. This is what scared your wife out of her wits. This is what scared her away. You’ve been like this a long time now, James. It explains why… you’re in this situation.’
That stopped him, the way Rosemary’s words had stopped him yesterday. What she had said then and what Grey said now sounded too much like the truth. Whatever help these others had given Florence, no one had forced her onto that ship: the decision to leave him, and to travel an ocean away, had been hers. More quietly than before, he spoke again. ‘And I suppose there were meetings, to iron out all the details?’
‘Yes, of course. The families involved, mothers mainly, met several times to make preparations. Helped by various university officials of course. Discussing visas, legal guardianship, that sort of thing.’
‘I don’t suppose these meetings were on Thursday evenings by any chance, were they?’
‘They were as a matter of fact, yes: 5 pm at Rhodes House.’
So that’s why she had missed the last two walks with Rosemary and her Marxist Girl Guides. She was with other mothers, planning her escape — not to Norfolk or Bedfordshire, like other evacuees, but to America.
‘And who else knew about this? About Florence I mean?’
‘James.’
‘No. Go on, who’s this “we” you mentioned?’
‘I’m not sure this is healthy.’
‘Don’t worry about that. I’d like to know.’ He was trying hard to sound reasonable, as if they were no more than two Oxford dons trading college gossip.
‘Virginia, of course. Myself. Other concerned friends.’
‘Rosemary Hyde?’
‘I don’t think it’s necessary to mention any names, James.’
‘And why did this group of “concerned” friends believe that the one person who could not be trusted with this secret was the husband and father of the woman and child concerned? Why was that then?’
‘To repeat myself: we knew what you would say.’
‘And what was that?’
‘We knew you would say no.’
He couldn’t argue. Of course he would have said no. The very idea of his family becoming evacuees across the Atlantic, he could not have discussed it, let alone approved of it. He believed a move to Herefordshire or the
