From Cyprus the only means of proceeding to England was by R.A.F. aircraft, and places were so limited that many officers who had only a low priority had been waiting there for passages for several weeks. As Gregory had no official status he could not even get their names on the list; so he decided to see the Director in the morning and ask for another Most Secret cypher telegram to be sent. To his relief that proved unnecessary. During the night a signal came through from the Air Ministry giving them a sufficiently high priority to get them on an aircraft leaving on the 23rd.
Their flight over the Mediterranean was both dangerous and extremely uncomfortable. They were packed like sardines into the bomb bay of the aircraft, unable to see anything and scarcely able to move. For the greater part of the way the plane flew very high to avoid the attention of the enemy in those Axis dominated skies. That necessitated using oxygen masks and the discomfort seemed only a little less endurable than the violent acrobatics of the aircraft to escape attack when she came down at Malta to refuel.
As there was not half a loaf to be spared in the besieged island they had brought food with them, and while they ate it they watched an air battle almost above their heads. When the Luftwaffe squadron had been driven off they resumed their journey and after further hours of torture reached Gibraltar. There they got six hours of desperately needed sleep; then they were on their way again, still a prey to cramp and claustrophobia, as the aircraft carried them far out over the Atlantic before curving in across south-western England to land them at Hurn in Hampshire.
Stiff and bleary-eyed they staggered from their prison to find that it was nine o'clock in the morning and that a Mr. Davis had been sent down overnight to meet them. Taking Gregory aside he explained that he was an official of M.I.5, and that as an enemy alien was being brought into England he had been instructed to attend to all formalities, then take them up to London.
A wash and breakfast revived them a little, then they set off with Mr. Davis in his car. For most of the way they slept, and the worst effects of their nightmare journey had passed off when, shortly before one o'clock, their escort put them down outside Sir Pellinore's mansion in Carlton House Terrace.
The door was answered by an elderly parlour maid whom Gregory had not seen before; but she said that Sir Pellinore was expecting him and took them straight up to the library. The white-haired Baronet' was seated behind his big desk. As Sabine walked into the room his bright blue eyes opened wide with surprise. Coining quickly to his feet, he smiled over her head at Gregory, and boomed:
'Delighted to see you back, dear boy. Delighted. But I er I thought you were bringin' with you an Hungarian gentleman.'
'Surely you remember me?' Sabine smiled up at him.
'Why, bless my soul!' He stretched out a leg-of-mutton hand to her. 'You're my old friend Szenty's gel. Got mixed up with that scoundrel Gavin Fortescue in 1936, and Gregory, here, pulled you out. Of course I remember you.'
'I'm afraid I deceived you in my wire,' Gregory intervened quickly, with the object of tipping Sir Pellinore off that he did not wish to discuss his mission in front of Sabine. 'My reason for bringing Sabine with me was not the one that I gave. It's quite another story. Incidentally she has been married since you last met her, and is now the Baroness Tuzolto.'
'Well, well! No matter! I'm delighted to see you both. We'll have a glass of wine then you must tell me all about it.' Turning, Sir Pellinore took a stride towards the table on which drinks were always kept, but halted and added with a frown, 'Drat that new parlour woman! As soon as Davis telephoned me to say that you were on your way I told her to have a magnum on the ice in here by half past twelve. Suppose she is gettin' it now; but I'd best ring for her in case she's forgotten altogether.'
Returning to his desk, he pressed a bell on it, then resumed his seat and waved them to two elbow chairs facing him.
'Please sit down.' He smiled appreciatively at Sabine, and with a gallant gesture swept up one side of his fine cavalry moustache. 'So you're married, eh? Well, your husband's a mighty lucky feller. At least, he would be if he were here. Slipped by me for the moment that now you are in England you won't be able to get back to him until the war is over. And I fear that won't be for a year or two yet.'
With a wicked twinkle in her dark eyes, Sabine returned his smile. 'I lost my husband two years ago. for a time that made me very sad; but I decided it was just as well when Gregory turned up in Budapest again. As you know, we were in love with one another before the war. When we met again it was as though we had never parted. That was just as well too; as pretending to be married made it much easier for us to get away, and we had a lovely honeymoon on a barge all the way down the Danube.'
She had only just begun to speak when Gregory heard a faint noise behind them. A half glance over his shoulder showed him that it was the parlour maid coming in as quietly as a well trained servant should, carrying the magnum of champagne in an ice bucket. Not having heard her, Sabine was continuing her gay revelation; and, as Gregory could hardly stop her, he could only hope that the woman would not take in the full significance of what she was saying.
Next moment he saw Sir Pellinore's face suddenly become frozen. For a second he thought that he, too, was concerned about the maid's overhearing this wanton admission. The old man coughed loudly in a vain endeavour to drown Sabine's last sentence, then he half rose to his feet, his face a picture of consternation.
Swinging round, Gregory took in a tableau that made him gasp with dismay. The maid had her back turned. She had just set the heavy ice bucket down on the table. Owing to its weight she had needed both hands to carry it, so had left the door open behind her. Framed in the doorway stood Erika. Her face showed that she had heard all that Sabine had said.
Hell on the Home Front
Chapter 21
Erika, white to the lips, remained standing in the doorway, as rigid as if she had suddenly been turned to stone. Gregory, his eyes wide and his mouth a little open, sat staring at her, his mind temporarily paralysed. Sabine looked from one to the other, guessed with a woman's swift intuition that she had unexpectedly been confronted with a rival, then riveted on Gregory a gaze in which surprise was mingled with anger. Sir Pellinore was the first to recover and he stepped into the breach.
With the bluff jovial manner that had tided over many an awkward situation, he boomed at Erika, 'Come in, my dear, come in. Done your shopping, eh? Here's Gregory, just back from Hungary; and the Baroness Tuposo. Daughter of a very old friend of mine. Baroness, allow me to introduce you to the Countess von Osterberg. Erika, we were just about to have a glass of wine. Glad you're in time to join us.'
In a hard voice that Gregory scarcely recognized, Erika replied, 'Thank you, but I'd rather not. I… I came up only to let you know that I shall not be in for lunch.' Then she turned on her heel and walked swiftly away. The parlour maid, sensing that something was wrong, hurried out in her wake, closing the door behind her.
'Well, that's too bad! But a bigger share in the magnum for each of us, eh?' Sir Pellinore's determination to ride out the storm never faltered. Striding over to the table, he vented on the big bottle the intense annoyance he was concealing, by seizing it in a strangler's grip and wrenching out the cork in a single movement. As he poured the wine, Gregory joined him and took the first half full silver tankard over to Sabine.