The Tightening String Read online

  Mrs Eynsham couldn’t write shorthand, like Martha and Lucilla and the other regular monitors; but she had a good verbal memory, and knew French and German well; she had occasionally helped in this assignment before, and even her daughter, let alone Martha, always passed her notes as adequate. At dinner her husband asked where Lucilla was? She told him, and that she was taking the evening turn of duty. David Eynsham grumped. ‘That child ought to stick to her last.’

  ‘She doesn’t often miss, David. And I think the Weiss-bergers are some of the more reputable of her friends.’

  ‘Well better than that creature Milton – who’s chasing her, I hear. I don’t trust him, or his girl-friend Sonia – if she still is his girl-friend. They say she’s taken up with von Schaffhausen since Lucilla wiped her eye with Geoffrey. I mean to tell H.E. to be rather careful about briefing her.’

  ‘I wish you would—’ and she told him what Lucilla had observed at the bathing-pool two days before.

  ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me at once? Two days ago! – the very day the Ities came in. Really, Rosina!’

  All conversations with David were like that nowadays, Rosina thought sadly, as she walked along the yellow street to the Legation through the warm night; the scent of flowers from hidden gardens made the air sweet. The night-porter let her in when she explained her errand – latterly the big wooden doors of the porte-cochere were kept locked after dark. He was a tall cheerful creature called Tom, a middleweight boxer; after some assaults on the King’s Messengers who were taking the diplomatic bags down to the train, escorted by rather frail and elderly porters, Sir Hugh had applied to London for two new ones, and specified that they must be high-class boxers. They were – Tom in particular.

  The moon was high as she crossed the courtyard; some lights were still on in the Chancery to her right, and in the glass-windowed passages which the Office of Works had added all round the first floor of the old building when they built on a third storey to house the kitchens and pantries, and the servants’ quarters. She passed through the iron gates into the second archway, and turned right along a passage to the bathroom where the wireless set was housed; the door was open, and as she appeared at it Ginny Coombe, the girl she was to relieve, rose from the cork-topped stool – but perched on the rim of the bath sat Sonia Marston, smoking a cigarette.

  ‘All right, Ginny – I’ll take over now’ Mrs Eynsham said. ‘Good evening, Miss Marston.’ She sidled past that young woman’s long legs, seated herself on the stool, and took her block and pencil out of her bag.

  ‘Good night, Ginny. Good night, Miss Marston’ she said very firmly – the two young women went away, and Rosina Eynsham applied herself carefully to the knobs on the huge aluminium receiver – their one real contact with the outside world, there in the enclosing sack.

  It always gave Mrs Eynsham a sense of mystery and amazement to hear news crackling along the air all over the Continent, in endless different languages. She could only understand four – English, French, Italian and German; though she could recognise Hungarian, Rumanian and Czech she always cut these out, since she couldn’t follow them. Dutifully she tuned in to the B.B.C, and picked up the news in French and German – nothing much there. She made some notes on her pad. Then, as Lucilla had bidden her, she began twiddling the knobs to try to get Radio Toulouse. Mrs Eynsham wasn’t really very good at dealing with a wireless set; in her vague searching of the air she was suddenly arrested by the words ‘The Highland Division’ in English, in that curious sub-American accent which was later to become so notorious. She held the knob still, and listened carefully.

  ‘Most of the Division’ the voice went on, ‘surrendered to the German Commander at ten-thirty this morning at St-Valéry-en-Caux. The surrender was made by General Fortune, commanding the Division. The English prisoners amount to something over 30,000; this is not counting those who were surrounded and captured some days ago on the Somme, near the coast, among whom were the 7th and 8th Battalions of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders. The Black Watch was among the regiments which surrendered this morning, and …’ The horrible voice went on, intoning the name of regiment after regiment.

  Mrs Eynsham listened appalled. She was half-incredulous, but the facts were so detailed that it sounded as if they must be true. She knew General Fortune personally, and that he was commanding the Highland Division; knew too that many of the regiments mentioned formed part of it. But where was this news coming from? While the curiously monotonous voice went on about the ‘disaster to one of Britain’s crack divisions’ she scribbled down the time, and the place of surrender, the names of regiments and so on, listening all the while; at last the voice said – ‘This news comes to you from Deutschland-Sender Hamburg,’ and ceased.

  So it came from Germany! But who would be broadcasting in English from Hamburg? In June 1940 ‘Lord Haw-Haw’ was not very familiar to English listeners abroad; and it was only in August that he was identified by the B.B.C. as William Joyce, the Irish-American. To Mrs Eynsham, hearing him for the first time, the whole thing was as puzzling as it was alarming. Thoroughly disturbed, she bethought her that she hadn’t yet got Radio Toulouse; she did so eventually, but too late for the news bulletin. She tried the B.B.C. again – still nothing there. At eleven-thirty, cramped, stiff, and anxious, she switched off, clipped her notes together, locked the outer door of the Bulletin office and re-crossed the courtyard, wondering as she went if she ought to contact the Minister and report this to him. By now the Chancery windows were all dark; at the entrance she rang the night-porter’s bell to be let out; when Tom appeared she held out the keys and her notes – ‘Put these on Miss Beckley’s desk, Tom, please.’

  But at that moment there was a second ring, and Tom, instead of taking the keys and notes, hurried over to unbolt the big doors and admit the Minister’s car. The little pavements in the porte-cochère were barely two feet wide; Rosina squashed herself against the wall to let the car pass, but of course she was clearly visible in the headlights; and as Sir Hugh got out – ‘What on earth are you doing here at this hour?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve been monitoring.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Spoiling your child! Any news?’

  ‘Well I’m not really sure.’ He was struck by the hesitant phrase, and a certain distress in her voice. ‘I suppose I couldn’t see you for two minutes? It’s rather late, I know.’

  He opened the glass door and ushered her into the hall.

  ‘Are those for Tom?’ he asked, glancing at the keys and papers still in her hand, while the porter hung in the doorway.’

  ‘Oh yes – for Miss Beckley, Tom’ she said for the second time; the man closed the door and went away.

  ‘Rosina, you can always see me, as you very well know, for as many minutes as you like’ Sir Hugh said then. ‘And for Hungary eleven-forty-five is early, not late! Come up to my study and have a drink, and tell me what’s been upsetting you.’

  The Minister’s study was a large comfortable room next to the drawing-room; besides his desk and some steel filing-cabinets ranged along the walls it contained several comfortable armchairs and a long table on which, together with some red diplomatic boxes, stood a tray of drinks.

  ‘Whisky?’

  ‘Oh yes, please.’

  ‘I know you like soda, and ice’ Sir Hugh said, unscrewing a Thermos ice-bowl and squirting from a syphon into her glass. ‘What a comfortable woman you are, with these wholesome appetites!’ He filled his own glass and sat down, pushing a small table with ash-trays and a cigarette box in between their two chairs. ‘Now, what is it?’

  Rosina told him what she had just heard. ‘And you see it was so detailed – mentioning the Black Watch and the Camerons and all the rest, and General Fortune having made the surrender. Do you think it can be true? The B.B.C. never said a word about it.’

  ‘I’d better have a word with the M.A.’ the Minister said, getting up and going over to his desk. This was of course furnished with a telephone; but because micr
ophone installations were suspected the instrument was housed in a wooden box lined with thick baize, to prevent ordinary conversations in the room being overheard. He lifted the lid of the box and asked for Colonel Morven.

  Colonel Morven was out, the Legation operator said after a brief pause.

  ‘We must just wait till tomorrow, then’ Sir Hugh said, replacing the lid over the telephone.’ It does sound rather disturbing.’

  ‘So many things are disturbing’ Rosina said. ‘When I went into the wireless room tonight Miss Marston was sitting on the edge of the bath; obviously she’d either been listening in with Ginny, or pumping her. She oughtn’t to, ought she?’

  ‘Certainly not. Wonder how she got in? I’ll speak to Tom about that – and to Martha too. Those new children are so silly; they’re sent out to us knowing absolutely nothing. Journalists have no business in the Bulletin office.’

  ‘Least of all Sonia, I feel – though perhaps Geoffrey Milton got her into the habit.’ Sir Hugh laughed, rather shortly, at that. ‘No, but listen – I’m not gossiping for gossip’s sake, but two days ago when we were down swimming before breakfast Lucilla saw her out in the middle of the pool, having a heart-to-heart with von Schaffhausen. The very day that Italy came in!’

  ‘Did she indeed? That’s quite interesting – though I wonder why he didn’t give her a curtain lecture about it’ Sir Hugh said coarsely, making Mrs Eynsham laugh. ‘Why the pool?’

  ‘Oh, no mikes! I must go home’ she said, getting up. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He took her downstairs, Tom let her out, and she walked home along the quiet street under the moon, hoping confidently that the Minister was letting Tom have it for admitting Miss Marston.

  The following day Sir Hugh rang her up. “Would it be very inconvenient for you to come round? There has been something on the B.B.C. – Martha picked it up – and we should like to check it with what you heard. Fairly soon? I’ve got the M.A. here now.’

  ‘I’ll come at once’ Rosina said, after a glance at her watch. Five-forty – she would just have time to get back and change for the cocktail at the American Legation.

  ‘Good – thank you.’

  In the Minister’s study Mrs Eynsham found a small group assembled: Martha, Sir Hugh, and Colonel Morven, the Military Attaché, a big, gaunt, gruff Highlander, singularly without the normal charm of his race, with a rough tongue.

  ‘Now, Mrs Eynsham, what’s this you think you heard last night about the Highland Division having surrendered?’ he began.

  ‘I didn’t think I heard – I heard, and wrote it down at the time’ Rosina replied stoutly. ‘Martha, you’ve got my notes? But first I should like to hear what the B.B.C, has vouchsafed’ she said, turning to Sir Hugh.

  ‘Of course. Precious little!’ the Minister replied. ‘Martha, would you read it?’

  Martha Beckley, who unlike most stenographers who profess to write shorthand could read her own notes back without hesitation, read out rapidly:

  ‘The following announcement was made this morning by the War Office.

  ‘One of our divisions, which was operating on the North Coast of Normandy, had its communications cut by German forces which had penetrated further to the South. A part of this division, together with other Allied troops, was eventually surrounded by superior forces. Attempts to evacuate these troops by sea were only partially successful and it is feared that a number of them have been made prisoners. The remainder of this division has been embarked and landed again in France.

  ‘A later statement says it is believed that the number taken prisoner is about 6000.’

  There was a short silence. ‘Sounds like playing something down, to me’ Martha Beckley said.

  ‘Now can we have again what Mrs Eynsham got last night’ the Minister said. ‘Just to refresh her memory.’ And Martha read out Rosina’s notes, including the names of the various regiments.

  ‘Were these all in the 51st Division, Morven?’ Sir Hugh asked.

  ‘Yes – as far as the make-up of the Division goes it’s perfectly accurate, except for the Argylls; and we know that Rommel mopped up most of them a week ago, on the fifth. But Rommel certainly didn’t take 6000 prisoners up on the Somme.’ He turned to Mrs Eynsham.

  ‘You say you heard all this in English. In an English voice?’

  ‘Well not very English – rather odd and affected, I thought. It wasn’t like an ordinary Englishman speaking.’

  ‘And it came from Hamburg?’

  ‘Yes – Deutschland-Sender Hamburg.’

  ‘H’m. All very odd.’ Colonel Morven raised his long knobbly body out of his chair.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, H.E., I think I’ll go and make a signal. I should like to get to the bottom of this.’

  ‘Do’ Sir Hugh said.

  But by the following day all the Hungarian and Austrian newspapers, which suffered from none of the inhibitions imposed on the B.B.C. by the Ministry of Information, were full of the fact that most of the Highland Division had been surrounded and forced to surrender – they gave the figure for the prisoners at nearer 40,000 than 30,000, and some of the correspondents explained quite openly the circumstances which had brought this disaster about. The English could not leave the French in the lurch – but while the Highland Division had ample transport, the French had none; this limited the rate of withdrawal to twenty kilometers, or twelve miles, a day. (Winston Churchill was to write gloomily later, in his History of the War: – ‘I was vexed that the French had not allowed our Division to retire on Rouen in good time, but had kept it waiting till it could neither reach Havre or retreat southward, and thus forced it to surrender with their own troops.’) There was more commiseration to be faced at parties – ‘These wonderful Highlanders! I suppose they were all wearing kilts? Oh, how tragic.’ The next jour was dimmer than ever. In spite of Dunkirk, Central Europe was again convinced that England was sunk; the Americans clearly weren’t going to come in, and what could she do alone? The Russians were of course practically allied to the Germans, after the signing of the Ribbentrop-Molotoff pact the previous August.

  The very young find this kind of situation easier to bear than the middle-aged; they can always dance, and dancing is a peculiarly good form of narcotic. Lucilla, nervy with the absence of news about Hamish, was cross to her Mother and pert to her Father – but she was always ready to dance, and one day came and told Rosina that she was invited to a party at the Stefan Tárays three days hence. ‘They’ve got the best gypsies coming to play; it ought to be smashing. I can go, can’t I?’

  ‘Yes of course, darling.’ But for once Mrs Eynsham displayed a certain, and rather unusual, maternal firmness. Count Stefan Táray had married a sister of Endre Erdöszy’s, and she had a very fair idea of what their parties were like; when Lucilla had gone back to the Bulletin office she rang up Countess Táray, thanked her for her kindness in inviting Lucilla, and expressed the hope that she, Mrs Eynsham, might have the great pleasure of coming too? The Countess could of course only say Yes – ‘Too delightful to have you; how good of you to spare the time. I did not venture to ask you. And your husband also?’

  ‘Alas, no – he has so much work at night.’

  ‘Oh, what a pity! Alors, on Thursday, about eleven-thirty. Enchantée, Madame Eynsham.’

  Lucilla was not particularly enchanted.

  ‘Did she ask you, Mummy?’

  ‘No – I asked myself. I would rather be with you when you go to the Tárays. As a matter of fact I think she was rather flattered,’ Mrs Eynsham said astutely.

  ‘I shouldn’t wonder.’ Lucilla was also quite astute. ‘But I think it’s rather silly – you’ll only get tired, and I should be quite all right alone.’ Her Mother wisely made no reply.

  The Tárays had a big apartment on the Buda side of the Danube overlooking the river; as usual in flats in Budapest the large openings between the living-rooms had no doors, only looped-up curtains. Dancing took place in the big drawing-room, where a few chairs st
ood round the walls; the other rooms were agreeably arranged for sitting-out with easy-chairs in pairs. At first a small but very good band played rumbas, fox-trots, and waltzes; later, about 1 a.m., the gypsies arrived in their bright clothes; they played the czardas. With their advent the tempo of everything hotted up – of music, of dancing, of emotion. At one point Mrs Eynsham noticed that her daughter had not been visible on the dance-floor for some-time, and decided to make a cast round. She rose and strolled through into the next room; there the lights were on, but in the three others leading off it they had been extinguished – just the sort of thing one would expect at Countess Taray’s parties! And from one of the darkened doorways a voice, unmistakably Endre Erdöszy’s voice, suddenly and irritably pronounced in English – ‘You are like a hot-water-bottle with cold water in it!’

  Mrs Eynsham almost laughed. Endre making a pass at Lucilla, of course – and fortunately, bless the child, getting no change. She moved slowly forward and stood for a few moments, knowing herself clearly profiled in the lights, opposite the doorway whence the voice had come; then she returned to the drawing-room. As she had expecte Lucilla shortly reappeared, followed after a discreet interval by Count Endre, who proceeded to gather up another young woman to dance the czardas, at which he excelled. Lucilla didn’t; one must be born Hungarian to dance the czardas properly.

  It was not long after the Táray’s dance that an edict went out in the British Legation that all members of the staff, with their wives and other belongings, must both be vaccinated and get a T.A.B. inoculation – T.A.B. standing for typhoid fever plus Para-Typhoid A. and B. ‘You see my dear,’ the Minister explained to Rosina, ‘we might have to quit at short notice, and get down through Palestine to Egypt – and the only way to get into Palestine is a certificate of recent vaccination and a T.A.B. inoculation.’

  ‘Oh very well – of course we’ll get done’ Mrs Eynsham replied, feeling again that unpleasant in-drawing of the string round the neck of the sack. ‘What a bore, though. How do we get to Palestine? Walk?’