"And I thought you were in Germany, with Brunhilde."

Jerome gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. "If you're referring to Magda, I did go to Berlin to spend time with her earlier this year. I won't be going again. Unlike you, I'm not an admirer of Hitler and I don't like what's happening in Germany and-as Magda does-I won't be seeing her again. And now, if you'll excuse me, Tom, I'm going to steer Davina into a quiet corner in order to catch up on some family gossip."

With his hand beneath her arm he propelled her as far away from Fruity as, in the confines of the drawing room, it was possible to get.

"Thank you for that, Uncle Jerome," she said, her nerves still jangling. "He made me very hot and bothered. I was well out of my depth."

"I'm not surprised. Tom is a seducer on a ma.s.sive scale. I suggest you steer well clear of him. Now, what are you going to have to drink? Do you do c.o.c.ktails-it looks as though Delia's mixing some rather lethal gin fizzes-or d'you stick to champagne?"

"I stick to champagne. And why do so many people refer to Tom as Fruity? It's doesn't suit him. It's too comic a nickname for someone who looks like a demon king."

"The answer is, that they don't," he said, amused. "The only Fruity, is Fruity Metcalfe."

"Then who have I just been talking to?" she asked, looking back to where the demon king had been joined again by Baba.

"Sir Oswald Mosley. Tom is his nickname. Far from being Baba's husband, he's her brother-in-law. His wife, Cimmie, died a couple of months ago."

Her mother, looking sensational in a dress of lime-green chiffon that fitted close to her slim figure yet floated as if in a breeze, was carrying two gin fizzes in Baba and Tom's direction. As she handed them the drinks, Davina saw Tom Mosley slide his free hand once again around his sister-in-law's waist.

If Jerome also saw what looked to Davina to be a shocking intimacy, he made no comment on it.

"Tell me how you are enjoying your first season," he said with the kind of avuncular interest in her activities he'd always shown. "In the general way of things your mother would have kept me in touch about it, but I haven't seen a lot of her lately." There was deep regret in his voice and his gold-flecked eyes were no longer on her but on her mother, who was again mixing c.o.c.ktails with great expertise. "It's something I intend to rectify."

Two weeks later Aileen Sinclair returned from Scotland. She was tall, with a square-jawed, high-cheek-boned face and a ma.s.s of dark hair. Like Fergus, the clothes she wore were good quality, but had seen better days. Her mauve-flecked tweed skirt was faded; her pink twinset had suffered far too many trips to the laundry; and her sandals were inelegantly flat and serviceable.

"We're going to make a wonderful team, Davina," she said with a wide, friendly smile and Davina knew instantly that she had at last found a friend who, unlike Fawzia, shared her pa.s.sion for helping others.

"Fergus thinks you should be taught how to give inoculations and so I have a couple of oranges with me for you to practice on. Have you always wanted to learn a little nursing?"

"Yes-though when I was very young I wanted to be a doctor. And then I realized that I wasn't clever enough."

"Then be a nurse. You could do your training at Guy's Hospital. For now, though, let's have you practicing puncturing these oranges."

And with another wide smile her new friend pa.s.sed her an orange and a syringe.

FIFTEEN.

For the next two weeks Davina enjoyed every hour of every day. Before anyone else was awake she left the house and traveled to Whitechapel on public transport. While Fawzia, with Gwen-and sometimes Jack-attended de rigueur events such as the Wimbledon tennis championship, Davina accompanied Fergus and Aileen on their tireless rounds.

At first she had thought that was what Toynbee Hall was all about.

"Heavens, no," Fergus said with a chuckle when she put her a.s.sumption into words. "Toynbee has a far broader aim. It's a social workshop on a grand scale, Davina."

They had taken a break from treating the seemingly endless stream of lice-ridden children. Fergus wrapped his hands around a mug of tea. "One of our prime aims is education. There are year-round day cla.s.ses for the unemployed-all free, of course. There are also weekly debates-often with leading political figures as speakers. Those days the hall is packed to overflowing."

He put his mug down, took his gla.s.ses off, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "One of our central tenets is that education should be a two-way street. How can politicians, for instance, fight poverty and unemployment if they never see these conditions face-to-face? By living for a few weeks at Toynbee they do so. Men with the experience of Toynbee behind them are men who can truly make a difference."

He gave a wry grimace. "I just wish more of this country's useless aristocracy would follow their example instead of spending their time drinking c.o.c.ktails and going to b.a.l.l.s so lavish the cost of even one would provide an adequate meal for the half of Whitechapel. How they can live as they do, in their vast houses and estates, while most British people have neither running water nor heating is beyond my ken."

At the stricken look on her face he gave an apologetic grin. "Sorry. I didn't mean to go off on a rant. It's just something I feel very pa.s.sionate about. I think we'd better start work again or we'll be here till midnight and Aileen won't want that. Usher in our next snotty-nosed patient, will you?"

Afterward she knew she should have told him about her privileged background, but she hadn't known how to bring up the subject again. There was something else, too.

Whitechapel was an area of Jewish immigrants. The language she'd heard on the streets the first time she had walked from Aldgate East station to Toynbee Hall was Yiddish. Synagogues stood at nearly every corner. And vicious attacks on Jews, by members of Sir Oswald Mosley's new and growing British Union of Fascists, were a daily occurrence.

"And it will only grow worse," Aileen had said to her gravely. "Like Hitler, his Fascist rhetoric appeals to bullies and thugs, especially when they can parade around in Blackshirt uniforms and give stiff-armed, n.a.z.i-type salutes."

Whenever Davina thought of Sir Oswald Mosley she cringed. If Fergus and Aileen were to discover that Mosley frequently dropped in for c.o.c.ktails at her home, they wouldn't want anything further to do with her.

"Have you given any more thought about applying to Guy's for nursing training?" Aileen asked her one day when they were taking a lunch break. "Fergus would have to manage without you, but we'll still be able to see quite a bit of each other. Things aren't as draconian for student nurses as they used to be. You are now occasionally allowed out of the hospital grounds."

They were sitting in Toynbee Hall's quadrangle. Beside them was a tub of brilliant orange nasturtiums and a bee was darting into the heart of first one flower and then another.

Davina took a deep breath and said, "I am going to apply, but not at Guy's."

"Not at Guy's?" Aileen stared at her, dumbfounded. "But Guy's is the most famous teaching hospital in the world! You can't possibly consider applying anywhere else. Especially not when you're a Londoner!"

"I'm not really, Aileen. Though I was born here, it isn't my home. I'm only here for the summer because ... because it's the season and my mother insisted on it."

Aileen blinked. Fergus simply said, "Your mother insisted on you being in London during the season? You're not making sense, Davina. What do you mean?"

"Season with a capital S, Fergus. It's a cla.s.s thing," she added unhappily. "Presentation at court and ... and all that."

Aileen's jaw dropped. "You mean you're a debutante? You're one of those young women whose photograph appears in Tatler}"

Davina nodded and waited for a chill to descend.

Neither Aileen or Fergus seemed upset.

"But how on earth," Aileen asked, "do you manage when you're working for such long hours every day? Don't debutantes have to go to lots of parties and to Henley and Ascot and places like that?"

With thankful incredulity Davina realized that instead of being appalled, Aileen was intrigued.

"Yes. But because I'm working here my mother has let me off the Henley and Ascot stuff. I still have to go to other coming-out b.a.l.l.s, though. It would be awfully bad manners not to."

"Dear heaven! How much sleep are you getting?"

"Not much."

Their eyes held and then simultaneously they burst into laughter.

Later, when they were packing up their medical equipment, Fergus said to her, "Just out of curiosity, Davina. Who is your father? He must be fairly well-heeled."

Secure that her background wasn't going to affect the friendship she enjoyed with the Sinclairs, she said, "Viscount Conisborough. He's a British adviser to King Fuad. That's why I can't apply to Guy's. I'm going to have to do my training in Cairo."

The Sinclairs stared at her as if she'd said she was going to have to do it on the moon. Dazed, Fergus put his stethoscope into his doctor's bag and fastened it shut.

"Ye G.o.ds," he said. "And does your father know the kind of work you've been doing this last few weeks?"

Always truthful, Davina hesitated. Since she'd begun working at Toynbee Hall and going to parties at night, she hadn't had a minute free for letter writing. "I'm not sure. I'm certain my mother will have told him. He won't object," she added as she saw the expression on Fergus's face. "I've always done lots of voluntary work."

"I've heard of Conisborough." They were ready to leave the cramped little room that had served as their clinic. "He's a financier, isn't he?"

Davina was taken aback. "Yes," she said, alarmed. "But he's just as much committed to a life of service as you and Aileen are. It's a different kind of service, of course. Yours is to people and my father's is to his country. He serves the British government in Egypt-and does so often under very difficult circ.u.mstances-because his work is in the best interests of Britain."

Fergus nodded, though he didn't look convinced.

"And is your mother Lady Conisborough who is the famous American high-society hostess?" he asked, finally picking up his doctor's bag and leading the way to the door.

"Well, she is American," Davina said as they stepped out into a narrow cobbled street, "and she does have a lot of friends. I hadn't realized she was famous."

With the air of a man trying to get to the bottom of things, Fergus said patiently, "Davina, is your mother the Lady Conisborough who is friends with Sir John Simon, the foreign secretary? And with Winston Churchill, who used to be chancellor of the exchequer and is the only person in the government who realizes what a risk to our peace Hitler is? The Lady Conisborough who is known to be a longtime friend of the Prince of Wales?"

"Yes," Davina said doubtful of the reaction this was going to meet with. "How do you know so much about my mother?"

"The whole of the country knows about your mother. Han-nen Swaffer, at the Daily Sketch, writes about her every chance he gets. Nothing on earth would induce me to read Tatler, but you can bet your life that her photograph is in it nearly every month. She's acknowledged as being one of the country's greatest beauties. Didn't you know?"

"No," she said, feeling a little foolish, "I didn't. And if my mother does, she wouldn't take it seriously. She's too busy being interested in other things to care about her looks."

One of the things her mother was very interested in was Aileen Sinclair's plan to open a free clinic for women.

"Tell me more about it, Davina," she said, sitting in bed with a breakfast tray across her lap. "Is it to be a general-health clinic?"

"No." Davina seated herself on the edge of the bed. "It's to be a clinic to help the women who have nine or ten children, and can't afford to feed them, from having any more."

Her mother had been in the process of pouring herself a cup of coffee, and now spilled it over the embroidered tray cloth.

"Land's sakes, Davina! You're a single young woman of eighteen! You can't be fitting women with diaphragms! Your father would have ten fits!"

Davina giggled. "I wouldn't be doing anything like that. I'm not qualified. And besides, by the time the clinic is up and running the season will be over and I will be back in Cairo."

Her mother looked relieved. "What is the clinic going to be called, honey? Because if it's called a contraceptive clinic, or a family planning clinic, a lot of men won't let their wives be seen entering it."

Glad that her mother was so unshockable, Davina mopped up the spilled coffee with a napkin and said, "Aileen intends calling it simply the Free Clinic because apparently men do kick up a fuss when their wives are given the power to have only the children they want. It's a fuss I don't understand when they are living in such dreadful poverty that half the babies die when they are only a few weeks old. Parts of Whitechapel are just as bad as parts of Cairo."

Her mother said nothing, but looked grim. Davina didn't know if it was because her mother disapproved of the fact that her daughter was familiar with such parts of Cairo, or because she was thinking of the women who, living in tenements with no running water and no sanitation apart from a lavatory that had to be shared with thirty or so families, gave birth in unutterably squalid conditions.

"I'd like to meet the Sinclairs, Davina," Delia said thoughtfully. "They sound as if they could do with financial help to get their free clinic idea off the ground. Why don't you bring them to Cadogan Square this evening? Early. I'm dining with Margot at eight."

Davina had great reservations about asking Fergus and Aileen to Cadogan Square. She couldn't imagine either of them feeling comfortable when they were greeted by a butler and waited on by maids and footmen. But if her mother was going to sink some money into Aileen's free clinic, Davina knew she would have to invite them.

"My mother would like to meet you both," she said when she met them in the dreary little room that was to serve as their clinic for the day.

Fergus quirked an eyebrow and for a dreadful moment Davina thought he was going to decline the invitation. Then Aileen said, "Well, that's only natural when you're spending each and every day with us. If I was your mother, I would want to meet us as well!"

The three of them traveled by tube from Whitechapel to Kensington and then walked from Sloane Street to Cadogan Square.

As they approached the splendid porticoed entrance Fergus made a sound in his throat that, for a Scot, could mean anything and which Davina suspected was disapproval at the private wealth the house signified.

Bellingham opened the door and Davina was acutely aware that though she'd always taken a butler for granted, Fergus and Aileen most certainly did not.

"Fergus and Aileen, let me introduce you," she said, trying to put things on as casual a footing as possible. "Bellingham has been the butler here since before I was born. Bellingham, Dr. Fergus Sinclair and Mrs. Sinclair."

"How do you do. Sir. Madam." Bellingham inclined his head and at that moment the doorbell rang again and this time a footman opened the door.

To Davina's delight it was Jerome.

"Davina, my dear," he said, and immediately gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "What a pleasure to find you here-and what a rarity. I understand you've more or less exchanged Kensington for Whitechapel?"

Happy for the opportunity to introduce Fergus and Aileen to the person she loved more than anyone else in the world, apart from her real family, she proceeded to make introductions. "Sir Jerome is an MP, an old family friend," she said to Fergus and then, to Jerome, "Fergus and Aileen are resident volunteers at Toynbee Hall. It's an-"

"I know exactly what Toynbee Hall is, thank you, Davina. I'm speaking there on the Liberal Party's stance on trade unionism next week."

Jerome, resplendent in a beautifully tailored dinner jacket, shook hands with Aileen and Fergus. "You get to the debates, do you, Dr. Sinclair? It would be nice to see you there next Wednesday." And with easy familiarity he steered Aileen and Fergus toward the drawing room's double doors.

Davina could hear the sound of laughter and the clink of gla.s.ses. As the realization dawned that her mother was throwing one of her early c.o.c.ktail parties Davina's horror knew no bounds. All she could think of was that the three of them needed to leave immediately.

"Uncle Jerome!" she called after him. "Please stop!"

It was too late. The footman threw open the double doors and Jerome squired Fergus and Aileen into the drawing room as easily as if he'd known them for years.

Several eyebrows rose, not so much at the leather elbow patches on Fergus's jacket as at Davina's cotton day dress. Where Fergus was concerned, nearly every one of her mother's friends dressed similarly when at their country estates, shabby good-quality tweeds being de rigueur, and it was easy for everyone to make the a.s.sumption that Fergus had driven straight up from the country.

The way she and Aileen were dressed was, however, a different matter. Her pink-and-white candy-striped dress and Aileen's Sunday-best floral were grossly inappropriate.

Her mother, wearing a midnight-blue, seductively cut lame dress, her hair fashionably upswept, gave a cry of delight and headed straight toward them.

Any discomfort the Sinclairs might have felt vanished within seconds. They were charmed by Delia's American informality and her warm welcome.

"I've so much I would like to talk to you both about," she had said immediately. "I've been wondering if Toynbee Hall organizes holidays for disadvantaged children? My husband's family home, Shibden Hall, is in Norfolk, within sight of the sea. We've had tenants in it for most of the years we have been in Egypt, but their tenancy came to an end some months ago. That being the case, it occurred to me it would make a cracking good holiday home for deprived children. What d'you think, Dr. Sinclair?"

Fergus was bowled over as most men were on first meeting her mother. He said, "A feasible idea, Lady Conisborough? I think it's an absolutely grand idea!"

"Then let's talk about it more over a drink." And tucking a hand through both Fergus's arm and Aileen's, Delia led them away from Davina and across the room, introducing them to various people as she did so.

Davina said apprehensively to Jerome, "There's no chance of Sir Oswald Mosley dropping by, is there? If there is, I have to get Aileen and Fergus out of here PDQ."

"Not a hope. Delia went to one of his public meetings with Baba and said it was like a Nuremberg rally. Banners, martial music, and black-shirted thugs giving short shrift to any hecklers. Mosley started raving about the Jews. Delia told him later that as a large number of her friends were Jewish he might find it more comfortable not to visit Cadogan Square again. And he hasn't."

He shrugged his shoulders unhappily. "I wish everyone had the same reaction, but they don't. Sylvia and her husband have become hard-line converts. It makes it hard on Jack. The last thing his career needs is for him to be linked politically with the British Union of Fascists."

Vastly relieved that Sir Oswald Mosley wouldn't be making an appearance, Davina looked around the room.