A stranger to herself, p.36
A Stranger to Herself, page 36
Rosalind must be leaving for a variety of reasons, decided Violet. She’d become a strong Socialist after the war so a parliament with less than fifty Labour MPs in it, and the whole country in a depression, wouldn’t suit her. She might also be tempted by the famous French tolerance for men and women who preferred their own sex. Violet decided not to comment on Rosalind’s announcement in case she retaliated by mentioning Violet’s own renunciation of the cause they’d both believed in after the war, when it seemed that after all the sacrifice they could make a better world. It would happen, thought Violet, under the influence of her lover, but not the way Rosalind wanted. She didn’t want any argument which might upset Polly, who was unnervingly silent as the women spoke.
The prospect of more political dispute made even Diana jumpy. She bent forward and said, ‘Polly, you’re unusually quiet. I hope you weren’t upset by silly Jolyon. He’s sometimes so self-important.’
‘Good Lord, no,’ he said easily. ‘I’m used to that sort of thing. Yesterday evening I had the lefties arriving with thugs, coshes and potatoes containing hidden razor blades. Today it’s been self-righteous denunciations and stalking out. Par for the course – typical of the weak and self-indulgent behaviour of a generation unconscious of its own demoralisation. What Jolyon needs is more backbone, an aim to strive for.’
‘Quite right,’ agreed Rillington. ‘Diana, my dear, I wonder if you’d care to offer an old man a glass of brandy? I quite agree with you,’ he said to Polly. ‘It’s absolutely shocking, all these young men from good families taking to coloured shirts and sobbing about the working classes. Just another excuse for buggery, if you ask me.’ He paused. ‘Forgive me, ladies.’ He continued, ‘Too young for the war, most of them, that’s what’s the matter with them. I think you saw active service yourself.’
‘Yes. Still, that’s behind us now, thank God,’ Polly said.
Rillington and the boxer had their brandy and Violet, much as she wanted Polly in her presence, began to realise that if he had no other engagement, she might have to tell him where she was going that afternoon. Finally, to her relief, he stood up and said he had better leave to catch his train north. He bent over and kissed her as he left, saying, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then, in Preston.’
Violet left not long after. Punctually at four she was at Levine-Schreft. Quite composed, she entered Frederick’s dark-panelled office, where he sat at the same big desk his father had used, and sat down.
Frederick was pale. ‘I’d rather not have seen you at all, Violet,’ he said. ‘You’ve hurt both me and the family very badly—’
‘You kicked me out,’ Violet told him.
‘If you’re going to ask me if I’ve changed my mind …’ he began.
‘Of course I’m not,’ she told him.
‘Your affair with that man is common knowledge. You could at least show a little discretion.’
‘For whose sake?’
‘My God,’ he exclaimed. ‘For ours. For everybody’s sake. It’s not only who he is, it’s what he stands for. Are you aware there’s now official persecution of Jews in Germany? – this is a logical consequence of your friend Polly’s theories. The consequences for Levine-Schreft, the firm which has, and still is, keeping you, are serious—’
The bank’s in Vienna,’ Violet interrupted.
‘That will make very little difference …’
‘Anyway, the Waldsteins aren’t Jewish,’ Violet said. She was becoming impatient. The Levine family’s origins were a sensitive point in view of her relationship with Polly. She’d been assured that the British Union of Fascists did not share the Nazis’ views on race. She tried to believe this, but didn’t. She added, ‘I don’t know why you go on and on about Jews, Frederick.’
He looked at her coldly and said, ‘You’re a fool, Violet.’ Rather as his Uncle Leopold had done twenty years before, Frederick was making plans to protect the European banks. He and Hanno Waldstein were contracting their dealings in Austria in case a sympathetic Austrian government followed the German lead. He looked at the beautiful, well-dressed woman sitting on the other side of his desk and felt that she had not only betrayed him as a wife, but now, in quite a different way, was betraying him again. ‘You’re a fool, Violet,’ he repeated. ‘And you’re playing with fire yourself. Do you think that man will marry you? You’re very naive if you do.’
‘Shut up, Frederick,’ Violet retaliated. ‘I haven’t come to discuss all that.’ The gloves were off. Displays of rage on her part, she’d thought, would damage her cause. Now she saw his attitude to her was uncompromising. He was surprised by her waspish tone.
‘Whatever you feel like discussing, Violet,’ he said coolly, ‘I should like to talk about your present behaviour. Can’t you stop flaunting yourself, with Pamela about to be married?’
‘I’m not flaunting,’ answered Violet, ‘and I’m surprised to see you kow-towing to the Christian-Smiths’ notions of respectability. Which brings me to my point.’
‘What?’ asked Frederick sharply. ‘What now?’
‘It’s simple,’ Violet replied. ‘I want my daughter Joanna to live with me. A young girl should be with her mother.’
‘Never,’ Frederick declared. ‘I’ll never allow Joanna to live with you. You’re corrupt, a thoroughly bad influence—’
‘Do you think Pamela’s been corrupted then?’ asked Violet.
‘Pamela had a household – myself, my mother, your sister, Allie. What would Joanna have? Only you and that evil man – unmarried, without honour. I dread to think what would become of her.’
‘I want Joanna. I want a decent income, enough to keep a decent household for her to live in.’
‘Out of the question,’ Frederick said.
But Violet knew that she needed money, and the air of respectability Joanna’s presence would give. Servants had tended to the children while Allie had taken over the duties of their mother. But Joanna was docile and good-natured, and now she needed her, a harmless, well-brought-up girl of twelve in her school hat – needed her giggling schoolgirl friends with their passion for cocoa and buns, films (Frankenstein, King Kong, anything with Marlene Dietrich) and their silly crushes on Ronald Colman and Douglas Fairbanks. She thought, too, that once Joanna was in a new, larger house, Allie, her sister, friend and helper, would return. She needed all that.
‘Joanna comes to me,’ she told Frederick.
‘I refuse,’ Frederick replied. He stood up. ‘If that’s all you’ve come to say …’
‘If I don’t get Joanna and a decent settlement from you, not the present meagre allowance, then, Frederick, then,’ she threatened, ‘let me tell you you’ll regret it.’
Frederick, pale and tense, drew a deep breath. ‘I took you out of the gutter—’ he began.
‘That was a long time ago,’ said Violet, ‘and I don’t suppose even you would like to be seen throwing your wife, and the mother of your three children, back into it.’
‘Sometimes I wouldn’t mind,’ said Frederick bitterly. ‘But I don’t intend to do anything so dramatic. I intend to deal fairly with you, Violet, and that is all. I haven’t any more to say.’
Violet leaned back in her chair and regarded him steadily. She had trained herself not to move her face about too much – it was low-class to grimace and it created wrinkles. She said, ‘A divorce would be very unfortunate for everybody at present, with Pamela’s marriage coming up, not to mention this remarriage of Caroline’s, especially to a man whose brother she dumped when he lost his leg. One way and another this is not the right time for the Levines to have to deal with an unpleasant divorce case. In fact, the Christian-Smiths could pull out. I gather the weddings will be close together and both will be fairly elaborate.’
Frederick stared at her. ‘Well, Violet, you’ve never been an angel, that’s true, but this takes the cake – you’re prepared to wreck Pamela’s marriage, break your own daughter’s heart to get what you want. I thought my disillusionment with you couldn’t go any further. You’re unspeakable – my wife, the mother of my children. Also, of course,’ he added, more coolly, ‘there’s absolutely nothing you can do. The only person who could start divorce proceedings is me – against you. And you already know I don’t intend to do that.’
There was a silence. Violet continued to sit quietly in her chair, Frederick behind his desk. ‘Well, Violet,’ he said finally, ‘I think this unpleasant little interview is over, don’t you?’
Violet shook her head. ‘No, Frederick, it isn’t. This morning I visited solicitors, Henry and Watkins, in Beauchamp Place. You may check if you want to. I’ve discussed starting divorce proceedings against you, for adultery.’
‘I’ve not been unfaithful, Violet,’ he said, ‘and therefore you have no case.’
‘Oh, I have,’ she assured him.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. To sue me for divorce you have to cite someone – the woman I’m supposed to have slept with. There’s no one to cite. I think you must be insane.’
Violet licked her bottom lip. She said, ‘Allie.’
Frederick fell back in his chair. ‘Allie!’ he exclaimed. ‘What in God’s name are you talking about? There’s never been anything between myself and Allie. You know that. How can you be so vile? How can you even contemplate speaking of your own sister in that way? And as for citing her in a divorce case – my God. My God, Violet.’ He sat back and said, as if to himself, ‘I ought to throw you down the stairs of this office.’
Violet stood up. Handbag in hand she said, ‘I’d advise you to talk this over with Henry Sturgess. I think he’ll see it from my point of view. The choice is yours – Joanna and a settlement, or an appalling scandal.’
Frederick slumped with his elbows on the desk, his head in his hands. Violet went out and shut the door. As she went through the outside office she looked at Sturgess, who could never hear what went on in Frederick’s office, and never stooped to eavesdropping. Nevertheless, the long years had given him an almost uncanny instinct for understanding what was happening out of his sight and hearing. Now he looked at Violet and knew she had won something from Frederick he did not want to part with, something more important than money. The details, thought Sturgess, would soon emerge.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Levine,’ he said.
‘And good afternoon to you, Mr Sturgess,’ responded Violet, and left with her head high and her back straight.
As soon as she had gone Sturgess got up and knocked on Frederick’s door. Frederick straightened in his chair and said only, ‘I’m going home, Sturgess. I’ll be in early tomorrow.’
‘I’ll be here at eight, Mr Levine,’ said Sturgess.
When Violet got back to Bramwell Street at five thirty she was feeling better than she had for many months. She knew she’d won. She had been fairly sure from the beginning she could strike a nerve by saying she would cite Allie in the divorce. Apart from everything else, she’d always been aware that Frederick’s feelings for Allie had been stronger than those of an ordinary brother-in-law. There was some hidden guilt she could work on there.
When she was told by the maid that Allie was upstairs in the drawing-room Violet felt a sudden fear. Could Allie know what she’d just done? Had Frederick telephoned her office? She went upstairs, reassuring herself that Frederick would never do any such thing. He would pay up like a gentleman, hand over Joanna, and the only person in the world who would ever know the details of what had happened between them would be Henry Sturgess, and even he might never know the whole truth. When she opened the drawing-room door, and Allie, dressed in the navy-blue costume she wore to work, turned from the window, Violet became more frightened. Allie’s face was pale and furious. Her gold hair seemed to be giving off glittering sparks. Frederick must have told her. Violet quickly began to compose her defence. She’d deny everything and say Frederick had got it all wrong – she’d play on Allie’s tenderness for Frederick and his for her, she’d say anything.
‘Donald’s in hospital,’ Allie cried.
Violet, in the doorway, was taken off guard. This was not the accusation she’d expected.
‘He’s in hospital with a broken arm and a cracked skull. He’s been unconscious since last night, when Polly’s blackshirt thugs beat him up at that meeting in Hammersmith. They don’t know what’s going to happen to him. They must have made him a special target because of the paper he works for.’
‘Well, I’m sorry, Allie,’ Violet said hotly, ‘but it’s not my fault.’ She quickly shut the door, so that the servants wouldn’t hear. ‘I didn’t beat him up, did I? It was obviously a free-for-all.’
Allie cried, ‘Violet, I’ve had enough of it. I’ve come to tell you that as long as you’re associating with that bully-boy of yours, I don’t want to see you any more. I don’t know how you can bear to touch that man. It’s perverse. Poor Don’s lying in hospital now. He might never wake up, do you understand? No good’ll come of associating with Polly – and this time – this time, when it all goes wrong, don’t expect me to come and pick up the pieces. I’ve done that once too often.’
She slammed out of the room, out of the house, and Violet sat down shakily. A few minutes later, however, she realised her solicitor must be ready to go home, so she stood up and rang Mr Watkins of Henry and Watkins, and gave him a clear and accurate account of her conversation with Frederick that afternoon.
‘So you imagine he’ll agree to some proposals, Mrs Levine?’ enquired Watkins gently, his manner as kind as was suitable towards a lady who had discovered her husband was conducting an affair with her own sister, and of course wanted to reclaim her daughter from the man who had done something so terrible.
‘Oh, I think he’ll agree, Mr Watkins,’ said Violet. ‘But from now on, may I leave matters in your hands. I’d so much rather not deal with it myself. It’s terribly upsetting, I’m sure you can see that – almost unbearable.’
‘I quite understand,’ Watkins said soothingly. ‘Of course I understand.’ Poor lady, he thought, putting down the telephone.
Violet breathed out heavily. It had been a long day. She’d better get an early night. She was due in Preston to meet Polly next day. As for Allie, she thought, as she rang the bell to ask for a light supper in an hour’s time, she’d soon come round. But she was not to see her sister for almost three years, and when she did, in the worst possible circumstances.
Eleven
The Levines, June, 1991
Sir Christopher Jenkins, at the Ministry of Defence, said from his armchair opposite Robert Levine, ‘I can only tell you we’ve done as much as we’re prepared to do at present. Aurelia Jenks-Davidson is an independent-minded woman. But she’s also a responsible one. I’m sure she can handle this situation perfectly well. Nothing she’s said to me indicates that she won’t. I can’t give her orders about whom she chooses to see.’ He added, ‘Let’s remember it’s often more prudent to appear candid and not say all you know than appear to have something to hide. And this Miss Higgins doesn’t seem to be a very high-powered person—’
‘She’s in with a radical journalist – a fellow called Gottlieb, from The Mag,’ said Robert Levine. ‘That’s one of the things I don’t like.’
‘If I could have prevented Aurelia Jenks-Davidson from agreeing to meet this Higgins woman,’ said Sir Christopher, ‘believe me, I would.’ He was slightly impatient. He could hardly refuse to see Robert Levine, an influential man and a long-standing acquaintance, but he felt the matter was more concerned with Levine’s family interests than those of the government, and really demanded no more of his time. ‘She doesn’t know everything,’ he said reassuringly. ‘And as I’ve said, if by any chance things went in a direction we didn’t want them to, then, as a last resort, we always have the law. Not that I think it will come to that.’
‘There is something else, though,’ said Robert Levine.
Sir Christopher looked more attentively at the thin, intelligent face of the man opposite. Plainly this second part of the story would be more interesting than the first, probably the matter Levine had really come to discuss. ‘Well, Robert,’ he said. ‘What is it?’
‘I’m not sure if it’s strictly within your province, but I thought it might be useful to talk it over …’
‘Say on,’ encouraged Sir Christopher, deliberately relaxing in his chair. Robert Levine’s reluctance to come to the point gave him the idea he was about to hear something disconcerting. He was under orders from his doctor to keep his adrenalin levels low.
When Robert Levine, pale and completely calm, had finished his story Sir Christopher was frowning. ‘Thank you for telling me all this,’ he said. ‘It must have been most painful. But necessary. I imagine we’ll have to compose a strategy here …’
‘I hope you’ll consult me,’ said Robert Levine.
‘Of course,’ replied Sir Christopher smoothly, not meaning it at all. It was too serious for that.
Twelve
Kate Higgins, June 17th, 1991
Violet Levine, 1936
I sat in the Duke of Argyll at King’s Cross for an hour and a half, waiting for Dave. At one point I rang The Mag, but no one answered. Otherwise I watched well-dressed businessmen passing the time before catching their trains, down-at-heel men nursing their pints, the girls-together having a drink before the evening started, a couple of young girls in skin-tight shiny trousers, hoping, I think, for a couple of the businessmen to spot them and decide to get even later trains. I didn’t know what had prevented Dave from coming. Finally, I gave up and went home on two buses, caught twice in showers of summer rain. The showers were quick, but not enough to dispel the stormy atmosphere. The air was heavy, the skies purple. As if to respond to the weather, I felt threatened.
Bayswater was full of prostitutes. They were very young. Men and women were sitting apathetically in the doorways of closed shops in Notting Hill. This was a night to sit in a garden with a few friends, keeping cool, then go inside and watch the storm. I didn’t really fancy going back to Henry Thackery House, but lacked the initiative to go anywhere else, so I decided when I got in I’d write some passages for the book. I’d no proper information on some – most – points, but there were parts I could do, if only the background to the times. I’d write something, if only as a gesture. It made the book seem more real. It was, though I didn’t study the thought, my private statement that I was committed to the book, for good or ill. It was probably the last point-of-no-return I met. And passed.
