Page 146 of The Gathering Storm

It was hard to persuade Cynthia to agree to consult Mr Young. She didn’t want ‘any more doctors messing me about’ and she queried why he was only a mister and not a doctor. Richard explained that surgeons always called themselves ‘mister’. That alarmed her. ‘I don’t want an operation!’

‘I’m not suggesting one. Just a consultation to find out if there is a problem – inside. After all, you’ve never seen anyone who really knew what he was talking about. Apparently this Young fellow is the best.’

‘You want a son to follow you, I know,’ she said drearily.

He took her hands and gave them an encouraging shake. ‘That’s not what this is about. This is about putting your mind at rest. There’s nothing worse than not knowing the facts. Let’s find out, and then we can decide what to do. Or not do.’

‘I won’t have an operation,’ she said, her lip trembling.

‘No-one’s saying you will. Just go and see this man, and find out if you’re all right. You’re probably worrying about nothing.’

To Richard’s surprise, Hannah was on his side. ‘See the specialist,’ she urged. ‘Dr Saloman is a good man, a wise man, but about women’s problems he doesn’t know. And he’s getting old. There are new things being found out all the time. Go and see this young man who knows what he’s talking about.’

So the appointment was made. Richard drove her to Harley Street and sat in the waiting room, holding her hand until she was called. She had dressed in her best for the occasion, in her good wool suit with a silk blouse, smart hat, baum marten piece around her neck, leather gloves. Richard guessed she had her best underwear on underneath, though he was not privy to that information. He knew what an ordeal his wife was about to undergo, simply in being examined by a strange man. She didn’t even like him, her husband, to see her naked body.

She was in the consulting room for a long time. Richard sat in the waiting room and leafed through a copy of the Lady from the table. He read the small-ads. He got up and walked around, smoked a cigarette, sat down again and started on an article by Nancy Mitford. He looked at the clock, and smoked another cigarette. Examined the fashion drawings. His wife was tall, but even she didn’t have legs that long. And at last the inner door opened, and Mr Young looked out, smiled, and said, ‘Would you like to come in?’

He entered with trepidation, but Cynthia was fully dressed and sitting on a chair on the near side of the desk. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and her cheeks were red, but she seemed calm. Young placed a chair for Richard beside her, and went round the other side to sit down.

‘I thought you would probably like to hear what I’ve already told your wife,’ Young said, clasping his hands on the desk top. He was good-looking, Richard thought, and he’d have bet a lot of his patients fell in love with the fair curly hair, the kind brown eyes and the crinkly smile.

‘Please,’ said Richard.

‘After careful examination, I cannot find anything abnormal in Mrs Howard’s physiology.’

‘Then why did the other doctor say—?’

‘I’m sorry to say it of a fellow practitioner, but perhaps he didn’t know what he was looking at. But I assure you, this is my area of expertise. I see no reason why she should not be able to conceive and carry to term in a perfectly normal way.’

‘That’s good to hear,’ Richard said.

He turned to smile at Cynthia, and reached out a hand, but she didn’t take it, and gave him only a glance before turning her head away. There was no responding smile.

The 11th of March was a damp, windy day, but mild, and not actively raining. Lennie had slept apart from Polly that night, at her request. Her maid, Rogers, came in early with tea and toast, and went through to run her bath, with an anticipatory smile: she was an experienced lady’s maid, and it was not often that she had a chance fully to exercise her skills.

Polly had long ago decided that it would not be appropriate to her age or widowed status to wear white. She had designed the wedding gown herself, and her own Makepeace ladies had made it up. It was of pale yellow figured silk, fitted at the bodice, with long sleeves, the skirt falling straight in front, with wide pleats at the back to create a modest train. She wore a circlet of yellow and white flowers, twined with pearls, on her head.

‘You look lovely, madam,’ Rogers said, when she had finished.

‘For goodness’ sake, don’t start crying or you’ll set me off,’ Polly said. ‘I don’t look too old to be a bride?’

‘You look like a fairy princess,’ Rogers assured her. ‘Mr Manning is the luckiest man in the world.’

When she went downstairs, everyone was gathered in the Great Hall, and when Mimi stepped forward to give her a tiny posy of jonquils and winter jasmine to carry, they burst into spontaneous applause, and several of the women into tears. Bertie came forward to give her his arm. The pages and bridesmaids, all in cream silk, fell in behind, and they processed to the chapel. Daffodils had been massed on every available surface, like pools of sunshine. James was acting as supporter, and Lennie stood at the altar in sober morning suit, made resplendent by Wilma’s waistcoat, yellow and gold poppies on a background of forest green.

Polly had no idea what expression was expected of a bride at this moment, but she knew that at the sight of him and the realisation that she was really marrying him, her face had broken into a smile of delight so wide it was practically an urchin grin.

So they were married. And Morland Place rejoiced in a very traditional manner, with so much joy it must have soaked into the walls inside, as the sunshine was warming the stones outside.

The fate of Czechoslovakia was being decided even as Polly was getting married. Slovak agitation had become so violent that the government in Prague had declared martial law on the 10th of March. On the 11th Hitler sent two emissaries to Bratislava, the Slovak capital, to urge the nationalists to declare independence from the Czech republic. But they hesitated, so on the 13th he summoned Tiso, the leader of the Slovak People’s Party, to Berlin, berated him for his pusillanimity, and forced on him a document to sign, prepared by the German Foreign Ministry, declaring Slovak independence and dated the 14th. German troops were already in position on the Czech border. Hitler then summoned the Czech president and foreign minister to Berlin, and told them they must accept Slovak independence and a German protectorate, or Germany would bomb Prague. At four o’clock in the morning of the 15th, they gave in, signed away Czech sovereignty and agreed to hand over Czech military equipment.

‘And two hours later, the German troops marched in,’ said Basil, ‘and Hitler was in Prague by the evening, giving orders for rounding up anyone considered dangerous to the new order. Not even a pretence of getting consent from the people this time. This looks like a new phase – blatant occupation by force. And so Czechoslovakia has ceased to exist.’

‘You really have changed,’ Gloria said, running a finger over his bare chest. ‘Two years ago you hadn’t the faintest notion of politics or world affairs.’

He turned on his side and stroked her shoulder. ‘There are better things to talk of with a beautiful woman.’

‘Don’t do that,’ she said. ‘I’m not a silly girl. I’m quite capable of talking about world affairs, even in bed.’