“They weren’t married?” she asked.
“Not to one another,” said Nicholas. “It was a rather scandalous affair, I’m afraid. Quite tempestuous while it lasted.”
Taking Liza’s hand, he walked her back outside and down to the edge of the cliff. His limp was becoming more pronounced as he tired from the long walk.
“This is my favorite place in the whole world,” he said, looking out at the turquoise sea.
“I can understand why,” she replied as the waves rolled relentlessly toward them. From the top of the cliff, the sea sounded like the shallow breathing of some vast, primordial being.
“You really are quite beguiling to me, Liza,” said Nicholas, moving close to her as a flock of gulls began wheeling and diving toward the rocks below. “If I wasn’t a cripple I might actually think you could come to appreciate me someday.”
“You are not a cripple,” she said angrily. “What an absurd thing to say.”
“I am,” he said, his voice hoarse against the wind. “But thank you for saying that.”
When he didn’t move to kiss her, she placed her hand behind his neck and slowly drew him down to her. His lips were soft and gentle. For as long as it lasted, the kiss erased her awareness of everything else around her. She actually shuddered for a moment before he pulled away from her.
“Your mouth is like sweet fire,” he said.
“Did Lord Byron write that?” asked Liza.
“No,” he replied. “Just Nicholas Saint John Ainsley, I’m afraid.”
“I … dreamed of you last night,” she said truthfully.
Nicholas shook his head wistfully before staring out at the sea again.
“I have dreams because without them I would not be able to bear the truth,” he said.
“Are you ever happy?” she demanded in an exasperated voice. “Truly happy?”
“Right now I am,” he said, gazing into her eyes.
“I don’t mean that.”
“I know,” he said. “Well, no, actually.”
He leaned down and kissed her again, this time with an almost fierce intensity.
“I think you’re very special, Lord Ainsley,” she said after they parted again.
“If that is the case, why don’t we go away together?” he said.
Knowing he was joking, she said, “An island in the South Seas, perhaps?”
“No,” he said. “Most of those are still held by the Japanese. I was thinking more along the lines of South America—Buenos Aires, perhaps.”
Laughing, she leaned up on her toes to kiss him again.
“Really … would you go with me?” he asked.
“I’m afraid the United States Army would frown on the idea,” said Liza.
“Resign your commission, then,” he said.
“I know you’re not serious, Nicholas Ainsley,” she said, laughing. “There is no place to run to in this world. The whole world is at war.”
“I’m so tired of it all,” he said.
She looked at him quizzically.
“I’m serious,” he said. “Do you know the conservative estimate of Chinese dead since the Japanese invaded in 1937? Ten million—mostly women and children—and it’s probably more. Do you know how many Russians have been killed? Another fifteen to twenty million so far. Add in about five million Germans, and all for what?”
“To save the world from the greatest evil that has ever existed,” she said.
“It all depends on how you define evil,” said Nicholas. “Liza, the predators are going to be in business for a long time. Do you think it will end with the Germans and the Japanese? Stalin is our murderer for now, but as soon as this war ends he’ll be striking out on his own. Wait and see how much of the world he tries to gobble up. The Chinese are going to have the biggest civil war in the history of creation, and God knows where that will lead. And wait until the British Raj ends in India. See what the Hindus and Muslims do to one another in that bloodbath. I don’t want any part of it. I just want to live the rest of my life in a place of peace and contentment.”
“If that is true, Nicholas, you never have to leave home,” said Liza, pointing back toward the distant battlements of Rawcliff.
He shook his head no.
“I want to find a place where life is worth living again … and I would like you to go with me.”
She gazed into his somber eyes.
“I know you’ve had a hard time, Nick…. you’ve been through a lot,” said Liza. “I think you just need to take a long break. You’ve already done your part.”
“And you?”
“I don’t believe in war … at least in the abstract,” said Liza. “If I ever have children, I will bring them up to abhor war as a way of solving problems.”
“Then why won’t you go with me?”
“Why?” she responded. “Good question, I suppose. Why am I fighting this war, in my own small way?”
Liza walked over to the edge of the cliff and gazed down at the small nest that one of the seabirds had burrowed between the cliff rocks. Inside it she saw a small purple egg.
“Everyone might have their own reason,” she said. “Mine is simple: because Adolf Hitler and his acolytes set out to destroy whole peoples—Jews, Czechs, Poles, Russians—people he called subhuman. He has perpetrated the worst evil this world has ever witnessed, and he needs to be eradicated along with every person who shares his ideas.”
“Well, that is a very passionate view,” said Nicholas.
“Anyone who fights Hitler and what he stands for is a hero in a just cause.”
“I see.”
“You’re a hero, Nicholas. You did your part … and paid dearly for it.”
“I had hoped...” he began, and then stopped. “It was ridiculous, really. Please, forget I ever brought it up.”
His hands suddenly felt very cold.
“Perhaps we ought to get back,” she said.
“Yes, you’re right,” he said.
They closed the door of the cottage and walked back up the rose-lined path toward the castle.
CHAPTER 27
C
harlie Wainwright was waiting for them in the front hall, a goblet of amber liquid in his right hand. Apparently, the hair of the dog had settled his stomach enough so he could begin another round of drinking.
“We were about to send out a search party for you two,” he said. “Where have you been?”
“Exploring my realm,” said Nicholas with a grin. “Why? What is so important?”
“The King, my lord,” replied Charlie, raising his glass in a mocking toast. “King George the Sixth has arrived with his retinue of fawning noblemen and not-so-noble women. They have armed themselves to the teeth and gone out to shoot anything with wings and a heartbeat. I regret that there will be less birdsong in these parts by tomorrow morning.”
“Lord Ismay told me last night that he might be coming today,” mused Nicholas.
A manservant in black approached them, bowed his head once to Nicholas, and said, “My lord, I regret to inform you that your mother has had another attack, and was taken to hospital an hour ago.”
From his body language, Liza concluded that it was probably a familiar refrain. “Dr. Thackaberry has asked you to join him there as quickly as possible.”
The servant bowed his head again and stepped back two paces.
“Yes … well, she has had them before, hasn’t she, Derrick?” said Nicholas.
“Dr. Thackaberry said he thought it was very serious this time,” persisted the manservant.
“Unlike the last few times, I suppose,” said Nicholas with a trace of bitterness in his voice.
“You have to go, old man,” said Charlie, who was standing close enough to hear the exchange.
“Yes, of course,” replied Nicholas.
Turning to Liza, he said, “I shan’t be long if I can help it. Have them bring my car around, will you?” said Nicholas to the manservant.
“Yes, my lord,” he said.
“Charlie,” said Nicholas, putting his hands on the bigger man’s shoulders, “please see to this extraordinary creature. Make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble after dinner.”
“I shall take that oath gladly,” said Charlie with mock gravity.
Nicholas gave Liza a rueful smile and said, “Well, my dear Liza … enjoy the evening. The King awaits you.”
As he began limping toward the front entrance, Liza wondered whether she should offer to go with him. Then she remembered his mother’s hostile attitude toward her that morning, and remained silent as he went out the door.
She followed Charlie down the hall into the library. The fox hunters were back, their scarlet jackets blazing red in the glow of the big fire. One of them was triumphantly waving a piece of bloody fur above his head. She saw that the champagne and whiskey were flowing again as booming laughter echoed toward her through clouds of cigar smoke.
While Charlie headed off to get a drink, she noticed Des Sullivan standing at the edge of the boisterous crowd. Just as on the previous night, he was watching the revelers with obvious disdain. Feeling very much out of place, Liza headed upstairs to her room.
Tired after the long walk, she lay down on her bed and quickly dozed off. When she awoke, it was dark outside and someone was knocking on the door. She opened it to find Helen Bellayne standing in the hallway with a lovely fawn-colored dress over her arm.
“This is the dress I wore last night,” she said. “If we exchange them, no one will notice the difference.”
“Of course,” said Liza, with a grateful smile. “You are a very wise woman.”
“No, I’m just a survivor,” said Helen Bellayne.
Going to the closet, Liza retrieved the blue evening dress she had worn the night before, and exchanged it for the other.
“Are you finding our typical English country weekend much fun?” asked Helen.
“It almost seems like a Hollywood movie,” said Liza, “with everyone delivering rehearsed lines.”
“That’s actually a fairly good analogy,” said Helen. “But I hope it isn’t true of Nicky. He seems very smitten with you.”
“No, he is quite unrehearsed,” agreed Liza, smiling as she thought of their time together.
“Charlie told me to tell you he’ll pick you up for dinner at eight,” said Helen. “Right now, he’s sleeping off his afternoon revelry.”
“I wish he wouldn’t drink so much,” said Liza. “It seems so pointless.”
“Charlie is a very unhappy young man,” said Helen, opening the door to leave. “He was in love with my niece, Jocelyn, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” said Liza.
It was nearing eight-thirty when she finally heard Charlie’s ferocious knock on the door. Opening it, she saw that he was hung over again, although this time he had put on proper evening clothes.
“Sorry I’m late. I was told I would be banned from dinner if I wasn’t dressed appropriately for His Majesty,” he said as they made their way downstairs. “Had to hunt up this outfit from Quentin.”
When they arrived in the dining room, Liza saw that the King and his retinue were sequestered at a separate table. The King was wearing the navy, gold-braided uniform of an admiral of the fleet, and his entourage seemed to laugh uproariously at every witticism he shared with them. She looked around for Nicholas, but he was not at any of the tables.
The rest of the guests were on their best behavior, indulging in low, muted conversations as if they were chastised children afraid to upset their parents. Charlie barely said a word to her, renewing his attachment to the claret bottle as they worked their way through the interminable courses.
Liza kept glancing toward the parted entrance doors, hoping to see Nicholas come limping through. As dessert was being served, Lord Ismay rose to his feet at the King’s table. A hush fell over the room.
After first apologizing for the unavoidable absence of Lord and Lady Ainsley because of her sudden illness, he expressed his gratitude for the King’s “bestowal of his presence on this simple gathering of old friends at Rawcliff.”
The King stood for a moment to accept their hearty applause before sitting down again to finish his chocolate soufflé. A half-hour later, the orchestra in the great hall struck up a Strauss waltz.
The King and his consorts rose from their table and began to saunter slowly toward the great hall. As the last member of his party went out the door, there was a pent-up roar from the rest of the guests, and they rushed to follow the exodus like excited schoolchildren after school lets out.
Liza stayed close to Charlie as he followed the rest of the throng into the hall. Suddenly realizing that his glass was empty, he began looking around for the closest bar. Liza chose that moment to slip into his arms. With a red-faced grin, he began bearishly moving her around the crowded dance floor. The first song hadn’t ended when someone tapped him on the back and moved to cut in.
“My turn, Wainwright,” said Des Sullivan.
As Charlie reluctantly let her go, Sullivan took her in his arms and effortlessly swung her off. Whatever else he was, the man was a good dancer, Liza conceded. Looking up at him, she noticed a small bruise over his left eye, along with a raw scrape across his left jaw line. He had tried to cover the abrasions with face powder.
“Did you say the wrong thing to someone, Mr. Sullivan?” she asked.
“Someone chose to say the wrong thing to me,” he said in his familiar lilting brogue while pulling her uncomfortably closer. The fingers of his right hand slid slowly down her back.
“Don’t hold me so tightly,” she demanded.
“You’ve been spoiled by Nicky … impoverished as he is, or soon will be.”
“Impoverished?” she asked, bewildered.
“Don’t tell him I told you,” he said. “In spite of everything, the poor idiot still believes in love.”
“You don’t believe in love?” asked Liza.
“Love is a disease … a weakness … nothing more than an invention of the poets,” said Sullivan. “Do you think our caveman ancestors chose their women based on love?”
“You would know,” she said.
He gave her a leering grin.
“You’re a Jew,” he said, “not a stupid captive to two thousand years of self-righteous Christian morality.”
“Even a Jew has a sense of morality on occasion,” she said.
“Fidelity is contrary to the laws of nature … and so is monogamy,” he went on. “The ancients had it right, you know. Bacchus and Dionysus—Gods for drinking and screwing.”
“With your attitude toward women, Mr. Sullivan, you should be at least a field marshal,” she said, her face inclined toward his.