The Storms of War by Kate Williams

it is not the time. But you are fine, are you not; you are a great businessman, everyone respects you. And Emmeline is beautiful and for a woman it does not matter – a husband makes her his own. But what about me? In a year, I will be finished at Magdalene. Then you all want me to go in to the law. Do you think any of those firms of solicitors would employ me?’
    ‘Of course they would, Michael. With your degree.’
    ‘But they can hear a German accent.’
    ‘Of course they cannot. None of us have a German accent.’
    ‘They can see my foreign surname. They know it.’
    ‘Then they’re not good people to work for,’ said Celia, more staunchly than she felt. Michael twitched slightly, did not look at her, as if she was not worth regarding.
    ‘We should change our name,’ he said, flatly. ‘I’ve said it before. Why do we still have this name? We could be de Wills or something and be French. Or better still, take on Mother’s name, Deerhurst.’ As Michael talked, Celia thought, Rudolf grew smaller, as if he was a plant drying up in the sun.
Answer,
she wanted to will him.
Say something!
    Verena stepped forward. ‘Michael. That’s enough. I did not marry your father to stay a Deerhurst.’
    Rudolf looked up from the floor. ‘Yes, my dear, quite right. We are the de Witts. Come along, let us go into the garden and greet the children.’
    Verena gave a pale smile that was not really a smile at all. ‘If only Arthur were here. Then we would be a proper family.’
    ‘He will return soon, my dear.’ Rudolf took Verena’s arm and led them all out of the open French windows into the lower part of the garden. Michael shrugged at Celia and raked his foot on the carpet. ‘You first,’ he said, plunging his hands in his pockets, waiting by the door. She stepped out into the sun. Thompson and Smithson stood by the tables along with another footman. They bowed, pulled out chairs, and Verena, Emmeline and Celia sat down first.
    ‘The children will be here in a matter of minutes,’ said Rudolf, smiling around. ‘They will be playing and enjoying themselves.’ His face was red, expectant. Celia thought of a schoolboy waiting to receive his accolade at prizegiving. She sat upright and smiled, trying to imitate Emmeline’s carriage. On the table in front of her was a small vase of roses and carnations, pinks and reds. The flowers were perfect, billowing out their petals, not one of them drooping or browned. Jennie or one of the other maids must have just picked them. Celia put her finger out towards the flower nearest to her, fingered the pink frilled edge.
    Even the sky was still. It too was waiting.
    Fifteen minutes or so must have passed. Then footsteps were coming around the house. ‘Ah,’ said Rudolf, pulling himself up and beaming. ‘Here they are.’
    Jennie appeared at the side of the house. Celia, watching her father, saw his smile drop. Jennie was alone. Her face was red, her curly hair springing from her cap. She walked towards them, not looking at anyone.
Where is Tom?
Celia cried in her head.
Where is he?
    ‘We’re still attending them, sir,’ Jennie said to Rudolf.
    ‘Well, it is still early. Why don’t you bring around the ones who are here? Let’s let the early birds catch their worm.’
    ‘I can’t, sir.’
    ‘Nonsense, of course you can, Jennie. Just bring them round. Even if it is only ten or so, we should get the games started. The rest can come on later.’
    ‘But sir—’
    Verena broke in. ‘Now, Jennie, this is not like you. Just go back and ask Smithson to bring them, if you can’t.’
    The maid stared at the ground.
    ‘Jennie, don’t be upset.’ Rudolf’s tone softened. ‘If only a few are here, it does not matter. How many do we have?’
    Jennie said nothing.
    ‘Come now, my girl. Ten?’
    She shook her head. Celia gazed at the petal in front of her. She was watching everything in slow time. She could see it coming. Michael was tensing next to her. The great fire was on