Chapter Two #3
‘A lot of folks dabble, but stop before going to the next level,’ he said. ‘Are you one of those?’
‘I don’t dabble. I plunge in headlong.’
‘Are you free Wednesday evening?’
‘As far as I know. Why?’
‘Maurice Dobb is having a small get-together at his house. You should come.’
‘What’s the occasion? More economics?’
He smiled.
‘The next level,’ he said.
London, 1947
‘And that’s how I almost became a communist,’ said Iris.
She had decided in the morning to tell Gwen more about Tony during their walk to work, and her partner listened without interruption the entire time.
‘The get-together with this Dobb person was a recruitment?’ she asked at the end.
‘A recruitment disguised as a party,’ said Iris. ‘A Party party. A mix of dons and students. There were relatively few freshers, even fewer women, so I was flattered to be invited, and the subject of much attention, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘Tony stayed by my side the entire time,’ Iris continued. ‘My gallant protector and sponsor.’
‘This was a secret society of some sort?’
‘Oh, not that party. I mean, there were plenty of secret societies about, and I daresay half the guests that night were members of the Apostles as well, but Cambridge back then – they said that one out of every five students was with the socialists, and one of every five socialists joined the communists, so there was nothing unusual about any of it.’
‘But you weren’t seduced. Politically, I mean.’
‘No. There had been an incident the year before that bothered me. A Russian physicist on the faculty had gone back for a visit to his family, and the Soviets wouldn’t let him leave.
I couldn’t see affiliating myself with anything associated with them after that.
So I chose after a few more exploratory meetings not to join the CP. ’
‘How did Tony take that?’
‘He was disappointed, but we remained friends.’
‘Only friends, though? It never went any further?’
A quick flash of memory …
She sat at the head of the bed, her back against the headboard, her legs drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped around them.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked softly.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said disconsolately. ‘I don’t seem to be able to manage it.’
‘We didn’t get that far,’ said Iris. ‘I thought we would, but we didn’t.’
‘Do you wish you had?’ asked Gwen.
‘Not now,’ she said. ‘Given how things went later, it’s a good thing that it didn’t.’
‘What happened later?’
Once again, she sat across from him in the Whim. Their last time together there, the end of 1936. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
‘Come with me,’ he urged her.
‘You must be mad,’ she said.
‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘It isn’t about joining the Party, it’s about fighting against fascism. That’s something you and I both agree on. A bunch of us are going – Cornford, Julian Bell, Dave Guest, Bruce Cater, others. The crème de la crème, or maybe I should say la crema de la crema.’
‘Your accent is terrible.’
‘And you speak Spanish better than any of us. That’s another reason you should come.’
‘To be what?’ she snapped, finally looking at him. ‘Your interpreter? Your camp follower?’
‘I didn’t mean it like that. But with your abilities …’
‘My abilities,’ she said. ‘I’m reading History and Modern Languages, I’ve never fired a gun in my life, and I don’t want to shoot at anyone. Or be shot at.’
‘Not all of us will be on the front lines,’ he said. ‘The International Brigade is going to be largely in support operations. You could drive an ambulance, or make bandages, or sandwiches, or something.’
‘Easy for you to say,’ she said. ‘You’ve got your privilege to fall back upon if you don’t finish school. I haven’t.’
‘You can finish when you get back,’ he said. ‘It shouldn’t be long.’
‘You have no idea how long it will be,’ she said.
‘Maybe not,’ he said. ‘But Spain is where the fight is going to be.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ she said. ‘Which is why I’m spending the Lent Term in Berlin.’
‘You are? To do what?’
‘To get to know the real enemy,’ she said. ‘Spain is just the prologue, Tony. The real war is coming from Germany.’
‘Not if we nip fascism in the bud, and we will if enough of us join. Come with us. With me.’
‘I’m sorry, Tony,’ she said, reaching across the table and taking him by the hand for a moment. ‘Good luck, and goodbye.’
‘And that was that,’ said Iris.
‘He survived, though,’ said Gwen.
‘He did. The others – Cornford, Bell, Guest, Cater – all of them were killed there, along with many others. Cornford left behind a mistress, a baby son, and some heroic poetry.’
‘You sound bitter about it.’
‘It was a fools’ war,’ she said. ‘The International Brigade never stood a chance. And they were just as prone to infighting and backstabbing in their own ranks as anyone, as it turned out.’
‘You said you saw Tony when he returned. What was he like then?’
‘We had dinner. He wouldn’t talk about what happened there. He barely spoke at all. He told me he was going to Singapore to teach. Then, when we were parting, he said, “You were right, Sparks. About everything.” And that was the last time I saw him.’
‘What do you think he’s like now?’ wondered Gwen as they arrived at the building holding their offices.
‘I can’t imagine,’ said Iris. ‘Take all that he had already gone through, then add seven years in the Far East, fighting the Japanese. Maybe he can talk about things now. But first, we have to meet his pre-selected match.’
Mrs Billington, their sole employee, was already at her desk when they arrived.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ she said. ‘You have three interviews scheduled before lunch. All women. We need to bring in some new male blood – we’re running low.’
‘You’re making this sound unnecessarily vampiric,’ said Gwen.
They went into their shared office and unpinned their hats.
‘Did you really feel that way about marriage back then?’ Gwen asked as they sat behind their desks.
‘I was young, full of myself and suffering from delusions of grandeur,’ said Iris. ‘I had all sorts of big ideas. That’s what university is for.’
‘And now?’
‘Not so young and constantly confronted by the smallness of reality,’ said Iris. ‘And now marriage is our business, so let’s get to work, partner.’
The nine-thirty appointment was Miss Calpurnia Ford, a twenty-five-year-old switchboard operator from Balham.
‘I was engaged,’ she informed them after they took her preliminaries.
‘But he was so changed when he came back from the war. He knew it, I knew it. He said he was still willing to go through with it because he had made a promise, but I didn’t want to be a woman someone had to go through with it with to get married.
So I released him, and I think he was relieved.
I know I was. But I had waited for him all that time without, you know, going out and meeting anyone, and we ran in the same circles and knew all the same people, and I couldn’t face any of them any more, so here I am. ’
‘And here we are,’ said Sparks. ‘Let’s talk about what sort of man you’re looking for.’
When she had left, Iris glanced over at Gwen, who shook her head.
The ten-thirty was Virginia Barton, a studious-looking librarian in her early thirties from Bayswater.
‘I don’t like people much,’ she said. ‘That’s the problem. I don’t like crowds, and I don’t like parties, so meeting men is a chore.’
‘Is that why you came to us?’ asked Mrs Bainbridge.
‘Yes,’ said Miss Barton. ‘Because I also don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life.
It’s so dispiriting. I’m not looking for anything romantically earth-shattering, nor do I want children.
Just someone to sit with at the end of the day, with quiet conversations and books or listening to music by the fireplace.
Someone I can grow old with. Is that asking a lot? ’
‘We don’t promise results or guarantee happiness,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘But we also don’t expect people to settle for less than they desire. Ask for all that you want with us, Miss Barton, and we’ll do the best we can.’
When she had left, Gwen leaned back in her chair.
‘She’s going to be a real challenge,’ she said. ‘But she’s not our special emissary from the Brigadier.’
‘Agreed on both points,’ said Iris. ‘I wonder if she’s even coming today.’
The eleven-thirty was lively, a petite twenty-three-year-old with a mass of blonde curls.
‘All right, my name’s Evelyn Lowle, but you got that on the form, I suppose,’ she said. ‘I’m from Manchester, but you got that from hearing me talk.’
‘We do,’ said Sparks. ‘What brings you here?’
‘Sitting across from you? Or meaning London?’
‘Why don’t you start with London?’ suggested Mrs Bainbridge.
‘I followed a boy here, silly little fool that I was,’ she said.
‘He was a year ahead of me at university, and we were madly in love. He gets done, comes to London to seek his fortune, then I come here a year later seeking him, only when I see him, there’s nowt there any more, you know?
And I find out he’s moved on to a proper London girl, and I’d cut all my ties back home, so I was stranded here.
So I was having a proper strop for a good while, but then I said to myself, “Evie, quit skriking and give your head a wobble. He’s not the only fish.
” The problem is, I don’t know anyone in London. So I came here.’
‘I see,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘What was your life like in Manchester before you went to university?’
‘Working class all the way,’ said Miss Lowle. ‘Dad’s a bookkeeper, Mum teaches piano. She fancied I’d go to Royal Manchester or one of the other conservatoires one day, but hearing nowt but piano students non-stop in the front parlour made me lose interest in it pretty early.’
‘I’m remembering all of my early piano lessons now,’ said Mrs Bainbridge with a laugh. ‘Which piece was the straw that broke the camel’s back for you?’
‘Oh, I don’t even remember any more,’ said Miss Lowle. ‘I’ve blocked that part of my life.’
‘What sort of man are you looking for?’ asked Sparks.
‘Don’t know, rightly,’ she said. ‘I guess I’m looking for someone who is looking for me, so I’m open to possibilities. What do you think?’
‘I think that you’re laying on the accent a little thick,’ said Sparks. ‘You don’t have to throw in every bit of Mancunian slang you know in the first two minutes.’
‘Also, the piano teacher mum is a nice touch,’ added Mrs Bainbridge. ‘But you’d better be ready to name a few pieces in case the question comes up.’
Miss Lowle looked back and forth at the two of them in astonishment. Then the look was replaced by a sly smile.
‘Wow. He told me you would be the tougher one to fool,’ she said to Mrs Bainbridge. ‘But I couldn’t get by either of you, could I?’
‘Who told you?’ asked Sparks.
‘The Brigadier, of course.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Sparks.
Lowle looked confused for a moment, then her face fell.
‘Gosh, I’m doing it all wrong,’ she said. ‘I’m supposed to give you the password. Shandy.’
‘Much better,’ said Sparks. ‘Let’s talk.’