‘Hitler’s merely doing what everyone’s been thinking about,’ came from across the table. A vicar with a florid face that spoke of a life well lived.
‘He’s a brute, of course,’ from my right, ‘but one can’t argue with his underlying philosophy.’
I looked along the table for respite. Margaret was next to Vaughn, at the far end. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she was flushed, and he was smiling. Her dress was a revealing cut, designed to show off her curves, and Vaughn was having a hard time keeping his eyes on her face.
‘We seem to have it backwards,’ from my left. ‘We’re sending good people, from good families, to internment on the Isle of Man, because they have family in Germany, while we’re letting the Jews go free. And now we’re hell-bent on war, to protect them.’
‘I don’t know anyone who wants war with Germany,’ Kay said, on my right.
‘You would, if you listened more than you talked,’ I said.
That quietened them down.
I was rescued from further comment by the tinkling of a glass and the scraping of a chair on the stone floor, as Vaughn rose for a toast.
‘I’d like to thank you all for coming,’ he said, carefully looking around at all of his guests. ‘It’s heartening to be with so many friends who all believe as I do, that it’s not too late for peace.’
This was met with a round of ‘hear hear’ and even a thumping on the table.
‘As most of you know,’ he said, ‘I’ve been lucky enough to be involved in an organisation that’s been leading the charge on matters of peace. Since the early days, we’ve been a beacon of hope for fellow Christians across Europe. Good people, regardless of nationality and language, united by our common beliefs. A tribe of peace-lovers, we’ve been called in the press, as if that’s some kind of slur. Well, I accept that slur. I’m a Christian, and a pacifist, and if that means my beliefs run counter to the war-mongers in Downing Street and Fleet Street, I’ll shoulder that burden.’
He paused for the round of applause that followed.
I turned to my dinner companions to see how they were receiving the message. They were besotted.
‘I know many of you have been anxious to hear reports about our approaches to the King,’ Vaughn said. If people had been following closely before, this sealed the deal. The room was silenced. Not a fork on a plate or a chink of a glass.
‘What I have to tell you now must stay between us. I say this with absolute seriousness. There will be a time when the good news will be shared, but until I let you know that time has come, what I’m about to tell you must stay in this room.’
Vaughn looked me in the eye. Where did I fit in with his assessment that he was surrounded by friends and confidantes?
Margaret put her hand on Vaughn’s. A nice touch. Vouching for me.
‘I have it on first-hand authority that we have a supporter at the highest level in society,’ Vaughn said. ‘Theveryhighest level.’
On my left, Constance gasped. She wasn’t the only one.
‘I can’t yet reveal the name of our supporter, but I have his guarantee that when the time comes, he’ll be ready to step forwards.’
Vaughn surveyed his party. He had them hanging on his every word.
‘Until that day, we’re all to carry on doing our bit. Our supporter will be watching us closely, and when the time is right, he’s promised to join us here. Based on plans that I’ve become privy to, I predict we’ll be welcoming a guest of honour in a matter of weeks. In fact, depending on sailing conditions in the English Channel, we may be welcoming a whole succession of important guests here.’
This got a ripple of laughter, some of it genuine and some of it uncomfortable.
‘I trust you’ll join me in a toast.’
Vaughn picked up his glass, generating a rush of activity as the rest of the guests did the same.
‘To peace!’ Vaughn said.
‘To peace!’ everyone murmured.
44
The women withdrew, a procedure I’d read about in Edward Forster’s books, but hadn’t believed happened. When they were gone, Vaughn rose and suggested the men join him in the study for a snifter. In practice that meant an old duffer wearing his Boer war medals, the red-nosed vicar from across the table, sweating in his dog-collar, Freddie, Vaughn and me. Five men at an event with twice as many women. We’d learnt to live with it since the Great War. And now we were sending the next generation of young men into the same slaughterhouse. Perhaps Vaughn, with his desire for peace, had a point.
In the study, we were treated to a minute-by-minute retelling of the old duffer’s experience in South Africa. Freddie suffered through the story with the lack of grace of a schoolboy being kept after class. He was a curious sort. The type who had clearly never been taught to modify his behaviour to suit his surroundings.
