The Morning Gift

‘I’m going to walk over the mountains into Switzerland,’ she said. ‘I’ve done it before when I was staying there. You go over the Kanderspitze; it’s only a few hours. I did it with one of the boys from the farm and the guards didn’t even turn round!’

‘For God’s sake, girl, that was before Hitler and all his devilry. The Swiss are armed and on the alert. Next thing they’ll shoot you for a spy.’

‘No, they won’t. I promise I’ll be all right. Then when I’m safe in Switzerland I’ll make my way to the French border and swim the Varne – it’s a tributary of the Rhône and it’s not at all wide; I’ve looked it up on the map. After all Piatigorsky swam the Sbruch with his cello over his head to get away from the Russians so I ought to manage with a rucksack. I’m a very good swimmer because of my Aunt Hilda . . . Do you remember she did this breast stroke where she never actually moved and I got used to pushing her across the lake. And once I’m in France all I have to do is contact my father’s cousin. He’s got a boat and he’ll take me across the Channel, I know, so –’ She broke off. ‘What are you doing? You’re hurting me! Let me go!’

Quin had opened the door; his hand gripped her arm; he was pulling her out of the train.

‘Will you be quiet,’ he said furiously. ‘Climbing the Kanderspitze, swimming the Varne . . . you’re like a child of ten. Do you think this is a girl’s adventure story? “Ruth of the Remove”? The world’s on the brink of – oh, to hell!’

She was down on the platform now. Tightening his grip as she struggled, he reached out for the rucksack which a peasant lady, approving of masterful males, had taken from the rack. The guard, scowling at the commotion, closed the door and raised his whistle to his mouth.

‘You have no right,’ said Ruth. Still fighting him, twisting her head, she saw her train draw away, gather speed, and vanish.

‘Get me a taxi,’ Quin snapped at a grinning porter.

‘I’ll never forgive you for this,’ she said.

‘That is something I shall have to live with,’ said Quin and pushed her into the cab.

It had been a mistake to introduce the word morganatic into a conversation that was already going badly. Quin had had a sleepless night and spent the last forty-eight hours bullying, bribing, cajoling and confronting a series of officials or he would not have done anything so stupid, the more so as they were speaking English. Ruth’s Aberdonian accent was only vestigial now, she was entirely fluent, but over the concept of a morganatic marriage, this over-educated girl had clearly met her Waterloo.

‘Who is he, this Morgan?’ she asked.

‘He isn’t anyone,’ said Quin, sighing. They were sitting in a café in the Stadtpark and he was almost certain that at any moment someone would start playing Strauss. ‘The word morganatic comes from the Latin matrimonium ad morganaticum – a marriage based on the morning gift. It’s a gift given the morning after the bridal night with which the husband, by bestowing it, frees himself from any liability to the wife. Like Franz Ferdinand. His wife didn’t have any of his titles or responsibilities.’

If he had hoped to dispose of the subject by mentioning Austria’s most unpopular archduke, he was unfortunate.

‘But you say we wouldn’t have a bridal night, so Morgan doesn’t come into it.’

Quin drained his glass of schnapps and set it down. He was not a man for headaches, but he had one now. ‘Yes, that’s right. Ours would simply be a marriage in name only. A formality. I’m merely pointing out that there are many ways of dealing with marriage other than the conventional –’ He broke off. It was as he had thought. At least a dozen ladies in braided uniforms had come on to the bandstand. Not just Strauss, but Strauss played by women dressed like Grenadier Guards.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Are they going to play Strauss?’

‘Yes,’ said Ruth happily. ‘They’re the All Girl Band from the Prater – they’re terribly good!’ And looking at him incredulously: ‘Don’t you like waltzes?’

‘Not before tea.’ He frowned, mastering his impatience. By day, he and Ruth, speaking only English, could pass for foreign visitors, but she was still sleeping in the museum and it was only a matter of time before someone gave her away.

‘Look, Ruth, let’s not waste any more time. I’ve got to get back to England, you want to go there. The consul here will marry us – it’ll take a few minutes, it’ll be a mere formality. Then you’ll be put on my passport as my wife – in effect you become a British subject. When we get to London we go our separate ways and dissolve the marriage on the grounds of –’ He stopped himself just in time. Non-consummation on top of morganatic marriage was not something he was willing to discuss to the sound of Strauss with this obstinate girl.