“We all miss you so much, Violetta,” my mother told me. “It’s such a pity that you are shut away down here, particularly as…”
I knew she meant that they had lost Dorabella, too.
Gordon took my father off to see something of the estate and it was a pleasant visit; but Matilda made it clear to my parents that old Mr. Tregarland was very loath to let Tristan go away just yet.
“He is afraid something might happen to him,” she explained. “You see, there has been this terrible accident to Dermot following close on the other tragedy. You understand what I mean. You know that you are welcome here at any time. You must come to us for Christmas.”
My mother said they would be delighted to do that.
“We must see Violetta and our little grandson,” she added.
Concern about the world situation increased during that September.
I said to Jowan, when he and I were riding together, that I was weary of the names of Adolf Hitler and the Sudetenland.
“That is how we all feel,” he replied. “But the situation is grave. War could break out at any time.”
“There are many people who think we ought to keep out of trouble.”
“You will always have the ostrich types who think that if they bury their heads in the sand and do not look, the trouble will go away.”
“Do you think there is going to be war?”
“It is difficult to see how it can be avoided.”
This matter was constantly discussed over meals. Gordon and my father could not stop talking about it. James Tregarland listened intently and now and then offered an opinion. He had changed since Dermot’s accident. That old, rather cynical amused expression had gone. He seemed older, more serious. He must care for Dermot in his way. He rarely saw Tristan. I supposed babies had little interest for him. He sometimes asked me about him, because I suppose he knew that I, with Nanny Crabtree, was with the baby more than anyone else. He had done this since the time Tristan had come near to having pneumonia.
It was while my parents were at Tregarland’s that September that there were significant moves on the Continent.
Germany’s recalcitrance over Czechoslovakia was coming to a head and we were on the brink of war. The Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, flew to Munich in order to confer with Hitler. And after that there was a certain relief.
Chamberlain and Daladier of France had made a pact with Hitler. He was to have the Sudetenland which he so coveted, and there would be no interference over this. For this concession, peace was to be ensured in our time.
Chamberlain flew back from Munich. There were many pictures of him at the airport. He was surrounded by reporters eager to know the results of the conference.
The Prime Minister was depicted waving a piece of paper in his hands, while quoting the well-known words of Disraeli. He told the waiting reporters that this was “Peace in our Time. Peace with Honour.”
There was general rejoicing throughout the country.
My parents went home with promises that they would come down for Christmas.
“And perhaps,” my mother said to me on parting, “by that time old Mr. Tregarland will have decided that Tristan is old enough to make a railway journey to see his grandparents.”
Jowan was not optimistic about the pact with Hitler.
“I don’t trust him,” he said. “He wants the whole of Czechoslovakia, not merely the Sudeten territory. And after Czechoslovakia…what next?”
“If he tries to take more, what then?”
“I don’t know. We have delayed too long already, but there will have to be a halt somewhere. I had heard that as soon as Chamberlain returned he went into conference with the Cabinet and made plans for rearmament.”
“That means…”
“That he does not trust Hitler.”
“Do you think he has made this pact…?”
“To give us time? Maybe. Hitler is armed to the teeth for war. We are far from that. But we shall see. Germany is thriving. She has come a long way from the privation which followed 1918. It may be that they will be content with what they have. I think if they are wise they will settle for that. They have got away with it so far. England and France have stood by, but, of course, they cannot do that indefinitely, and another step might change the picture.”
“So much…to depend on one man!”
“There is some magic in him. He has bewitched his people. They stand firmly beside him.”
“He has done terrible things to the Jews.”
“He is a monster, but a monster with a mission.”
“I think of Edward’s wife, Gretchen. She is beset by anxieties.”
“I know, and well she might be.”
“How I wish that she had brought her family here!”
“It is what is called the eleventh hour now, I believe. But cheer up. It may not happen. Don’t you find that in life something we fear never comes to pass and all our anxiety has been for nothing? When you went away, I thought I would never see you again, and look, here you are, and we have our meetings.”
He looked at me earnestly. “That was an unnecessary fear. At least, I hope so.”
“I like to think that these meetings will continue,” I said.
“You mean that…sincerely?”
“But of course. Sometimes I feel they are an escape to sanity.”
“I’m glad,” he said.
I believed that he understood what was in my mind. He knew that I should never accept the fact that I had lost Dorabella until I had proof that she was dead.
Christmas came and went. I was pleased to see my parents again. I had a letter from Richard. He had ceased to suggest that I return. I think any prospect of a serious relationship between us was fading away. He was disappointed in me and I think I was in him. It had, in a way, been a choice between him and Tristan. I had given my word to Dorabella and I supposed that, even in death, she was closer to me than anyone else.
There were times when I was faintly regretful that I had lost Richard, but others when I felt relieved. If his affection had failed on that issue, it could not have been very firmly implanted. I was beginning to see that we should not have been well suited to each other.
Poor Dermot’s condition had not improved and the doctor had hinted that it could be permanent, although naturally Dermot had not been told this. He had changed. The carefree young man had become moody. I could understand that. He was not a man with inner resources. He had enjoyed an active life. He liked to travel, to be with people. I was sorry for him. He was often melancholy during those dark days of winter.
The climate in Cornwall is a little milder than elsewhere in England. Snow was rare but the rainfall was heavy, and sometimes the winds would blow at gale force from the southwest. There were sunny days now and then, and Jack would wheel Dermot out in his chair and take him to the gardens, help him from the chair, and he would sit for a while on one of the seats looking down on the beach. I always thought that was not a good spot to be, where he could see the rocks on which Dorabella’s bathrobe had been found.
His father would sometimes sit with him. That showed a change in the old man. I was glad and liked him better because I realized that he really cared for his son.
March had come and the first signs of spring were in the fields and hedgerows. The news suddenly grew more serious. The respite since those days when Neville Chamberlain had returned from Munich brandishing his little piece of paper and declaring there was to be peace in our time was over.
Hitler disregarded his promise and marched into Czechoslovakia.
This was alarming. It confirmed that which many people had thought possible and what must have been in the mind of the Prime Minister when he had returned from Munich and had immediately set about rearmament.
Now even those who had been opposing preparation for war realized the necessity of doing so.
Where would the German dictator turn next? The policy of appeasement was over. There could be no more standing aside. The Prime Minister had a meeting with the French premier and an agreement between the two countries was announced. They would support Poland, Rumania, and Greece if Hitler should attack them.