The Storms of War by Kate Williams Page A

its way.
    Rudolf gave a jovial smile, but his voice was strained. ‘Eight?’
    Jennie shook her head again.
    ‘Five?’
    She stared at the floor.
    ‘Come on, girl, tell us. How many?’
    At last she looked up. ‘None, sir.’
    ‘None?’ Now Rudolf shook his head. ‘That cannot be. They must be there. They must be.’
    Celia sat, her smile fixed. Her shoulder was hurting. The pale icing on the cake in front of them was melting, as if it might fall down the side, on to the plate. It would spoil soon, not be nice at all. Mrs Rolls always complained that she was forced to bring the food outside too early, but Rudolf wanted it to be on display when the children arrived.
    ‘They must be,’ Rudolf was saying. ‘The parents surely have made a mistake. They must have thought we would collect them from the village. Yes, that’s it. Jennie, ask Smithson to go to the village and fetch them. I am certain they are waiting by the green.’
    ‘Father—’ Michael began.
    Emmeline broke in. ‘Yes, I’m sure Papa is right,’ glaring at Celia and Michael. ‘A mistake has been made.’
    The cameo was trembling at Verena’s throat. ‘Yes, Smithson could walk up to the village while Jennie waits here in case any arrive. Let us do that. Go back and tell Smithson, thank you, Jennie.’
    The girl turned and began her long walk across the garden.
    ‘Well,’ said Rudolf. ‘What a little error. What a small mistake.’ He gave them a wide smile. ‘We shall have to put the party back by twenty minutes. If any of you would like a brief walk while we wait, please do. Perhaps we might take some of the sandwiches.’ He held out a plate to Verena. ‘My dear?’
    Verena took a sandwich containing cucumber. She fingered it. ‘The bread is not light,’ she said. ‘When Mrs Rolls makes bread in summer, it is not light.’
    Rudolf was looking out towards the gate. Michael put his head in his hands. ‘We are like puppets!’ he said. ‘Dressed-up puppets in finery.’
    Emmeline gave him an angry stare, even though he was not looking. Celia almost wanted to pat her sister on the knee.
    Rudolf smiled again. ‘These look like excellent sandwiches. But I shall not indulge just yet. I shall take a short walk to verify that everything is in order for when we must begin once more.’ He stood up and headed towards the games tables, his back bent slightly as he made his way across the grass. The bright flowers shone in Celia’s eyes.
    Michael looked after him. ‘Papa fools himself,’ he said. Verena turned quickly to face him and then manoeuvred herself up, grasping the chair as she did so. She stood and followed Rudolf, her green skirt trailing in the grass.
    Michael’s head was still in his hands. ‘Why do you say such things?’ spat Emmeline.
    ‘It’s the truth.’
    ‘What would you know?’
    ‘All you care about is what Sir Hugh might think. This whole thing is ridiculous. Everybody hates us.’
    ‘Stop it!’ said Celia. ‘Stop saying it.’
    ‘You as well.’ He stood up. ‘I’m leaving you all to it.’ He hurried off, and they heard the door slam as he entered the house.
    ‘Go on,’ said Emmeline. ‘Aren’t you going to run after him like you always do?’
    ‘I’m waiting with Papa and Mama. I hope the children will come.’
    ‘Of course they will.’ Emmeline reached up to adjust her hat, and gazed out, her face calm. Her eyes looked larger than ever. Celia could almost imagine that you might trust in her beauty so much that it would make everything fine and happy once more, which, she supposed, was what men thought when they picked women like Emmeline. ‘We must wait. Things come to those who wait. We’ll look back in the future and smile at the mistake we made this afternoon in sending the children to the green.’
    I’m afraid,
Celia wanted to say, but you couldn’t say anything like that to Emmeline. She supposed there must be sisters who told each other such things, confided their inner secrets, were