‘Don’t you agree, Blackie?’ Emma asked.
Rousing himself from his introspection, Blackie muttered, ‘I’m sorry, Emm, I missed that.’
‘I was just saying to David that when you look around this restaurant you’d never know there was a war on. The women are elegantly dressed and bejewelled, very glamorous looking, and the men are smart, too.’
‘That’s true,’ he replied. ‘On the other hand, those somewhat weary-looking Royal Air Force officers over there at that end table give the game away, don’t you think?’
After the waiter had poured a tasting of champagne for Emma she took a sip of it and nodded; he then filled the flute and departed.
Blackie picked up his glass, touched it first to Emma’s and then David’s, and said, ‘Cheers! Here’s to old friends.’
The two of them responded to Blackie in unison, and after a sip of the icy-cold sparkling champagne, Emma announced, ‘I will never forget the date.’ As she spoke she looked pointedly at Blackie and then at David. ‘It will go down as one of the most important and memorable dates in the history of England. Wait, I’d like to amend that…the most momentous date in the history of our country.’
‘Now which date are you talkin’ about, me darlin’?’ Blackie asked, peering across the dinner table at her, frowning. ‘I’m afraid I’m not following you, Emm. Are you, David?’
David shook his head, also puzzled. ‘I’m sorry, Emma.’
Emma gave them both the benefit of her lovely, incandescent smile, that famous radiant smile not seen by either of them for a very long time. She explained, ‘Friday May the tenth, 1940. Yesterday’s date, to be exact. You know as well as I do that something truly wonderful happened last night. Winston Churchill walked into Number Ten Downing Street as the new Prime Minister, thank God, and at long last. Now I am absolutely positive we’re going to win this war!’
‘Aye, Emma, you’re quite right in what you say, Winston’s the best man for the job, and some job he’s got, to be sure. We are in great peril. And we are facing a long road, and it’s going to be a bumpy road, but he’ll pull us through. We’ll beat the Jerries, so long as Churchill is our leader. The country’s behind him, even if the politicians in Westminster are not.’
‘I endorse that,’ David remarked with a quiet authority. ‘I must admit, I thought we’d be stuck with Neville Chamberlain and his ridiculous talk of appeasement. Who can appease Hitler? He’s voracious for power and world domination.’
Blackie nodded in agreement. ‘He wants all of Europe. And England as well. I’ll tell you both this, and you mark my words: he’ll invade our little island home…at least he’ll give it a try.’
‘He will never succeed!’ Emma cried, cutting across Blackie. Picking up her champagne glass, she added, ‘Let’s drink a toast to the man who can stop him. Here’s to Winston Churchill!’
Crystal clinked against crystal, and the three of them repeated his name with genuine enthusiasm and belief. Like Emma, Blackie and David had always supported Churchill and had wanted him back in power for years. He was the only man they trusted in the British government, the only man they believed could lead them to victory against the Nazis.
After a moment, Blackie said slowly, ‘To think how they’ve ignored Winston, all those bloody idiots in the government. He’s been warning all of them about the threat of Hitler for years, and not one of them paid any attention. He was a voice in the wilderness, and all the bloody politicians did was cling to the coat-tails of Neville Chamberlain, who would have led us all to doom if he’d remained in office much longer. Just think on this: he makes a pact with Hitler, whose armies have already trampled down half of Europe. It’s not believable. And there’s another thing. Nobody here has done a bloody thing about rearming the country. We’re not prepared for war at all. We have no arms, well very few, not many bombs and certainly not many planes. Truthfully, we don’t have much to defend ourselves with. I suppose because we’ve been led by a blind man backed up by his sycophants.’
David nodded vigorously, looked across at Emma. ‘Hitler’s armies are marching into France at this very moment, and the Gestapo will hot-foot it behind them in order to persecute and murder Jews.’ He shook his head sorrowfully, a terrible anguish entering his blue eyes. ‘And Chamberlain believes Hitler wants peace! The man’s unconscionable! Thank God he’s left office.’
Emma said in a low voice, ‘There’s none so blind as those who will not see.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
‘Do I look all right, Mummy?’ Elizabeth said, walking into Emma’s bedroom.
Emma swung around to face her daughter. Elizabeth gasped, stood staring at her mother open-mouthed.
‘Whatever’s wrong?’ Emma asked, peering across the room at the nineteen-year-old, extremely puzzled by her reaction.
‘Nothing’s wrong, Mummy, you look absolutely and impossibly gorgeous! Whatever have you done since last week?’ As she spoke Elizabeth floated into the room on the most beautiful legs Emma had ever seen, adding, ‘Well, it’s perfectly obvious you’ve cut your hair, but there’s something else…you look so glamorous.’
Emma began to laugh. ‘It’s just the suit. I dug it out from the back of my wardrobe. And yes, I did cut my hair, but that’s all I’ve done, darling, I promise.’
‘No, it’s not, you’ve stopped wearing black. And so perhaps it is partially the suit. Pale blue has always been your colour, it looks wonderful with your red hair. And it’s perfect for today, it’s like the middle of summer outside. Tony says the worse the news the better the weather.’
‘I thought that myself on Saturday night when I went to dinner with Blackie and David. Anyway, darling girl, to answer your initial question, you don’t look all right: that’s the understatement of the year. You look positively beautiful, and if anyone’s gorgeous it’s you, Elizabeth.’
Emma spoke the truth.
Elizabeth Barkstone, Robin’s twin sister, was her daughter by Arthur Ainsley. She had spectacular, movie-star good looks. A cloud of shining black wavy hair surrounded an exquisite, delicate face, finely drawn, with high cheekbones, a slender nose, and a smooth wide brow. Black brows arched above clear blue eyes, which were large and set wide apart. She had a slender but shapely figure and those long legs that drew whistles of admiration from men on the street.
Until last year she had been studying at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, having long wanted a career in the theatre; Emma had always thought she would succeed, considering her somewhat wayward daughter to be the consummate actress.
But this past January, Elizabeth had dropped out of the Royal Academy to become a Red Cross nurse. ‘I feel I must be part of the war effort, Mummy,’ Elizabeth had told her at the time. ‘I want to do something worthwhile, especially with Tony up there in the air, fighting the German Luftwaffe.’
Emma had fully understood and endorsed this move on her daughter’s part. In December of 1939 Elizabeth had married Tony Barkstone, a great friend of Robin’s from Cambridge, who was also in the RAF. They had met through her twin brother, and fallen madly in love. Even though Elizabeth was only eighteen at the time, and Tony not much older, Emma had not had the heart to stop them marrying. As Blackie had said, ‘If he’s old enough to be sent up into the skies in a Spitfire to defend our country, then he’s old enough to get married. And so is she.’ And Emma had agreed, seeing the truth in this comment.
The wedding had been small and quiet, because of the war, but lovely in spite of this, and all of the family had been present, except for Kit, who couldn’t get leave. Edwina, who was still estranged from Emma, had remained in Ireland but had sent a wedding gift. Emma had always been saddened by the estrangement, and had long wished there was a way to heal the breach. But Edwina was nothing if not stubborn, and she would not bend. It still troubled her that she was illegitimate–to the point of loathing her mother.
Emma said, ‘I’m glad you’re wearing your uniform, it suits you very well, and you do it justice. But aside from that, I
think it’s appropriate for this afternoon. It strikes just the right note, and looks patriotic’
‘I would have felt a bit odd not wearing it, Mummy, rather out of place in a suit, or a dress and coat. I’m proud of being a nurse, doing something worthwhile. It’s a good feeling, being able to help others.’
‘Yes, it is. Now, I just have to put on my jewellery and then I’m ready and we can leave.’
‘I think you should wear blue stones today,’ Elizabeth ventured. ‘The aquamarine pin, perhaps, and the earrings to match.’
Emma paused on her way to her dressing table, glanced over her shoulder at her daughter. ‘I’m going to wear my string of pearls and pearl earrings, Elizabeth. I want to keep everything simple.’
‘Oh yes, I understand.’ Elizabeth strolled over to an easy chair and sat down. ‘I spoke to Tony yesterday. He called from the RAF station in Yorkshire where he’s gone for special training…Topcliffe. He sends his love.’
‘Give him mine the next time he phones,’ Emma murmured. ‘I wrote to him the other day, to all of the boys, in fact. Kit, Robin, Bryan, Randolph, Mark and Ronnie…the whole gang.’
‘You’re just amazing, I don’t know how you do it all. Running the stores, Paul’s companies, and everything else that’s under your control. By the way, I forgot to ask, how’s the Little Tadpole?’
Turning around again, Emma said softly, ‘She’s fine, and I do wish you wouldn’t call Daisy that. You know, it’s not really a very nice name, and I’m surprised she doesn’t resent it.’
‘Oh Mummy, darling, don’t be so silly! She knows it’s a joke from the days when she loved to play with the frogs in the pond at Pennistone Royal. Anyway, it was Paul who started calling her that, not me.’
‘I know.’ Emma smoothed her hands over the immaculately tailored Lanvin suit, picked up her handbag and said, ‘Well, let’s be off, we don’t want to be late for the House of Commons. Aunt Jane wanted us to arrive by one-thirty, no later than one forty-five. This is Winston Churchill’s first speech in the House as Prime Minister. We must not miss a single word.’
They sat together in the gallery. Three beautiful women: Emma Harte, Elizabeth Barkstone and Jane Stuart Ogden, wife of William Ogden, Conservative Member of Parliament for South-East Leeds. Quite a few pairs of eyes turned to stare, and all of those long stares were full of admiration.
When Jane had heard from her husband earlier in the day that Winston Churchill was to speak in the House that afternoon, she had telephoned Emma to invite her to hear him. It was May the thirteenth, Whitsun bank holiday Monday, and the House of Commons was packed.
Emma was amazed at the reception Neville Chamberlain, the outgoing Prime Minister, was given when he came in. It seemed to her that everyone was cheering, and applauding, so much so it was like an ovation. How can they? she asked herself in total bafflement. This man has led us into an abyss of disaster with his policy of appeasement, his reluctance to rearm, his blindness to events in Europe. We are at peril because of him. He has been a disaster for this country and for its people.
These dire thoughts fled, and were replaced with the utmost admiration, when she spotted Winston Churchill entering the Commons chamber. Emma waited for an even greater acclamation than Chamberlain had received, but sadly it was not forthcoming. It struck her that Winston was not particularly well received by his colleagues, and later Jane would tell her that the cheers for him mostly emanated from the Labour and Liberal benches, not his own Conservative Party.
It infuriated Emma that Churchill was being treated in this shabby and mean-spirited way. They just didn’t understand, did they? Did not understand either this man and what he stood for, or the mood of the country. The people wanted Winston back, and thank God now they had him.
When Winston Churchill began to speak, Emma Harte leaned forward eagerly, listening to his every word most attentively.
That marvellous voice rang out, mesmerizing in its effect:
‘I would say to the House, as I said to those who have joined the government, that I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat. We have before us an ordeal of the most grievous kind…You ask, what is our policy? I can say: it is to wage war, by sea, land and air, with all of our might and with all the strength that God can give us: to wage war against a monstrous tyranny, never surpassed in the dark, lamentable catalogue of human crime. That is our policy. You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word: It is victory, victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory, however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival.’
Tears filled Emma’s eyes, so moved was she, and it took her a moment to bring her emotions under control. This man, whom she instinctively understood was a great man, perhaps even the greatest man in England today, never failed to touch her with his extraordinary words, the sentiments he expressed. No wonder the ordinary man and woman in the street loved him, believed in him, wanted him to lead them.
Later, over tea on the terrace of the House of Commons, Emma turned to Bill Ogden and said softly, ‘I don’t understand it, Bill, why is there this…well, animosity I suppose is the best word, towards Winston Churchill? It seems to me they should be rejoicing that he has become Prime Minister.’
‘Indeed many Members are, Emma. As I am, and quite a few of my colleagues.’ Bill sat back in the chair, steepled his fingers together, looking reflective. ‘You know, Emma, Churchill has been a Member of the House for forty years, ever since he was elected Conservative Member of Parliament for Oldham in 1900. It’s a very long time, and in those years he’s made countless good friends. But also enemies. It’s a funny sort of place, peculiar in some ways, and certainly it’s full of free-floating…emotions. I think that is probably the best way to describe what I mean…feelings of competitiveness, anger, jealousy, hatred, scorn, not to mention that old bugaboo, ambition. And, of course, there are political differences. One of the worst things of all is…envy.’
‘It was the Labour and Liberal benches who were the most enthusiastic, led by Atlee,’ Jane pointed out to Emma.
Bill nodded. ‘Indeed, Jane. But I never thought for a moment that Clem Atlee would vote for Edward Halifax to be Prime Minister. Although I like Halifax personally, he wouldn’t have been right for the job–too much of the order of Chamberlain. Winston was the only choice in my considered opinion.’
‘Do they envy him because of who he is?’ Emma asked, determined to understand.
‘To a degree, perhaps,’ Bill responded. ‘He was, after all, born in a palace not a pigsty. Blenheim Palace, to be precise. Son of a lord, Lord Randolph Churchill. Grandson of a duke. And a direct descendant of that greatest of generals, John Churchill, the first Duke of Marlborough. So he’s truly of ducal descent, enough to cause a bubbling bit of envy in many a chap here. As it so happens, Churchill is the most aristocratic Prime Minister we’ve had in thirty-five years. And yet, Emma, as you well know, his real power and authority do come directly from the people. One of the reasons he is Prime Minister today is because of popular acclaim…they love him.’
‘But why don’t some of the other politicians see that?’ Emma asked, her puzzlement still apparent.
‘Blind as bats, Emma my dear,’ Jane murmured.
‘Perhaps not that exactly,’ Bill interjected. ‘It’s partially because their eyes are turned inward upon themselves…and on their ambitions, their desires and needs and dreams. In my opinion, I don’t believe Churchill has paid too much attention to that ducal heritage of his, not when it comes to his career, at any rate. He’s been too single-minded and driven to succeed to dwell on that. I know, and from him himself, that he’s always been utterly convinced he was a man of destiny. I know I am right in saying it is a conviction which has never wavered.’
‘I’ve heard that about him.’ Emma took a sip of tea, then continued, ‘And of course he is indeed a man of destiny, we know that now. It’s his destiny to lead us to victory…Why, his destiny has become a fact.’ r />
‘Why have you always been such an admirer of his? Such a strong supporter?’ Jane asked as she refilled everyone’s cups.
‘Partly because of my father,’ Emma explained. ‘You see, his great hero, when I was growing up, was John Churchill, the first Duke of Marlborough. He thought he was the finest general we’d ever had. And because of this fascination with the general, my father became interested in the general’s descendants. He’d read a lot about them in the newspapers and magazines that Cook gave me when I worked at Fairley Hall. He was an admirer of Lord Randolph when he was a Member of Parliament, because he loved his wit.’
Emma looked from Jane to Elizabeth, and smiled at her daughter. ‘When my mother, your grandmother, gave birth to her first child, my father was delighted it was a boy and not a girl. Because he’d set his heart on naming his first child after Lord Randolph’s son.’
‘Now I understand,’ Elizabeth exclaimed. ‘Uncle Winston is named for Winston Churchill.’
‘Yes, he is,’ Emma said.
Much later that evening, just before Emma went to bed, she took out her diary, and recorded the events of the day. Carefully, in her neat and gently sloping handwriting, she gave the details of her visit to the House of Commons to hear Winston Churchill speak. And then she wrote:
Parts of his speech moved me to tears, He has suck a command, of the English language, He convinces. And he inspires; he is the inspiration of this country. He has come to power in the most dangerous of times and he has inherited an unholy, mess, but somehow he will prevail, He makes me feel safe. And very proud’
Emma closed the diary and put it away. Then she went to bed. She knew that tonight she would sleep well because at last they had a valiant and determined leader. And a promise for the future.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Over the years Emma had mostly walked to Harte’s in Knightsbridge, weather permitting. But of late it had become mandatory. She needed to traverse these familiar streets to reassure herself that all was well in this great metropolis of London, a city she had lived in half her life, and which she loved.