Free The Quality of Mercy by David Roberts Page A

wanted to hear – Germany rehabilitated, part of the family of nations once again – you understand. The Führer decisive, responsible, a new Bismarck . . .’
    ‘But . . .?’
    ‘But it all went wrong . . . the Jews . . .’
    Mandl tried to hush him. ‘Lord Edward does not want to hear about all that, Putzi.’
    ‘No, I am interested. We cannot make out whether Hitler wants war or . . .’
    Putzi embarked on a long, ill-thought-out monologue on the Führer’s political ambitions at the end of which Edward was beginning to wonder what this wreck of a man had to offer Liddell even if he did decide to remain in England. He drank and smoked cigars while still making time to wolf down caviar, a steak and a very sweet pudding. Edward hoped he was not going to be asked to pay for the meal – Liddell had said nothing about expenses – but in the end Mandl picked up the bill.
    Putzi was lonely, Edward gathered. He wanted to be invited into high society but so far he had received no invitations of any consequence. Unity Mitford had taken him to one or two parties but, reading between the lines, Edward gathered that he had not been a success. He had wanted to meet Unity’s parents, Lord and Lady Redesdale, but, apparently, they did not like the look of him and had refused to invite him to stay for the weekend. Harold Nicolson had taken him to the House of Commons and he had lunched with three or four Members of Parliament on the right of the Conservative party but that wasn’t enough. He seized on Edward as a means of cracking his social isolation and Edward began to realize that he would get nowhere until he procured him an invitation to one of the great country houses. He knew that Gerald would never have him at Mersham and he decided he would get Liddell to put pressure on Mountbatten to invite him to Broadlands.
    It was a considerable relief to Edward when the meal ended. He tried to get away but this proved more difficult than he had imagined. Putzi had been introduced by Harold Nicolson to a cabaret club called Murray’s which Edward had heard of but never visited. It had a dubious reputation but was popular with some of the young men about town who liked ‘slumming’. It was in this Soho basement that Edward now found himself about eleven thirty when he would much rather have been at home in bed or, better still, with Verity.
    Putzi – apparently already a temporary member – was made welcome and, to Edward’s embarrassment, they were given a table on the edge of the dance floor. Percival Murray, the owner, whom Putzi addressed as ‘Pops’, was unctuous and signalled two scantily dressed ‘dancers’ to come over to the table. Edward, feeling very out of place, watched as Mandl and Putzi fondled them. Mandl seemed quite unconscious of the impropriety of behaving in such a way with his wife present. It showed a contempt for her which made Edward angry and ashamed.
    He saw him stuff banknotes into the pocket of the waiter who reappeared with what passed for champagne. Edward took one sip and almost choked. It wasn’t long before Joan was recognized as the star of Last Night in Vienna and she was applauded by several of the men sitting with girls at other tables, two or three of whom demanded autographs. She obliged, looking gloomier than ever but this did not seem to bother her admirers. In the end, Joan told Edward they should dance, solely in order to free herself from the mêlée she said, unflatteringly.
    ‘I know this sort of place,’ she growled in his ear. ‘We have them in Vienna. It’s little better than a brothel.’
    ‘I can’t stand much more of this,’ he responded, ungallantly. ‘Would you like me to take you back to Claridge’s?’
    Mandl seemed not to care that Edward was taking his wife back to the hotel and his pride was stung that the possessive husband did not see him as a threat. He hoped it was because Mandl imagined English gentlemen did not behave badly, which he knew to be