Night Over Water - Ken Follett [61]
In truth they had rejected him in the mid-thirties, but until now he had been able to turn a blind eye to that, and pretend to himself that one day they would come to him in their hour of need. That was why he was so awful, she supposed: he was living a lie. His crusading zeal had developed into obsessive mania, his confidence had degenerated into bluster, and having failed to become the dictator of Britain, he had been reduced to tyrannizing his children. But he could no longer ignore the truth. He was leaving his country, and—Margaret now realized—he might never be allowed to return.
On top of all that, at the moment when his political hopes were unmistakably turning to dust, his children were rebelling, too. Percy was pretending to be Jewish, Margaret had tried to run away, and now even Elizabeth, his one remaining follower, was defying him.
Margaret had thought she would be grateful for any crack in his armor, but in fact she felt uneasy. His unvarying despotism had been a constant in her life, and she was disconcerted by the thought that he might crumble. Like an oppressed nation faced with the prospect of revolution, she felt suddenly insecure.
She tried to eat something, but she could hardly swallow. Mother pushed a tomato around her plate for a while, then put down her fork and said: “Is there a boy you like in Berlin, Elizabeth?”
“No,” Elizabeth said. Margaret believed her but, all the same, Mother’s question had been perceptive. Margaret knew that the appeal of Germany to Elizabeth was not purely ideological. There was something about the tall blond soldiers, in their immaculate uniforms and gleaming jackboots, that thrilled Elizabeth at a deeper level. And whereas in London society, Elizabeth was thought of as a rather plain, ordinary girl from an eccentric family, in Berlin she would be something special: an English aristocrat, the daughter of a pioneering Fascist, a foreigner who admired German Nazism. Her defection at the outbreak of war would make her famous there: she would be lionized. She would probably fall in love with a young officer, or an up-and-coming party official, and they would marry and have blond children who would grow up speaking German.
Mother said: “What you’re doing is so dangerous, dear. Father and I are only worried about your safety.”
Margaret wondered whether Father really was concerned for Elizabeth’s safety. Mother was, certainly; but Father was angry mainly at being disobeyed. Perhaps underneath his fury there was also a vestige of tenderness. He had not always been harsh: Margaret could remember moments of kindliness, and even fun, in the old days. The thought made her terribly sad.
Elizabeth said: “I know it’s dangerous, Mother, but my future is at stake in this war. I don’t want to live in a world dominated by Jewish financiers and grubby little Communist trade unionists.”
“What absolute twaddle!” Margaret said, but no one was listening.
“Then come with us,” Mother said to Elizabeth. “America is a good place.”
“Wall Street is run by Jews—”
“I do believe that’s exaggerated,” Mother said firmly, avoiding Father’s eye. “There are too many Jews and other unsavory types in American business, it’s true, but they’re far outnumbered by decent people. Remember that your grandfather owned a bank.”
Percy said: “Incredible that we went from knife-grinding to banking in just two generations.” Nobody took any notice.
Mother went on. “I agree with your views, dear—you know that. But believing in something doesn’t mean you have to die for it. No cause is worth that.”
Margaret was shocked. Mother was implying the Fascist cause was not worth dying for; and that amounted almost to blasphemy in Father’s eyes. She had never known Mother to go against him like this. Elizabeth was surprised, too, Margaret could see. They both