The Edge of the Fall Read Online Free PDF Page A

London with Mr Janus, Celia’s tutor at the time.
    Rudolf, with his German name and background, was interned in the Isle of Wight along with hundreds of other men. And so there was only Verena and Celia left, her mother letting the house crumble around her, weeping her time away. Celia dreaming of Tom, her childhood companion for as long as she could remember.
    And eventually Celia had left Verena, too, borrowing Emmeline’s birth certificate and signing up for the war effort, driving ambulances full of terrified, half-dead men in Etaples. It was thereshe heard that Michael had died. Died bravely , said the letters from his superiors. They’d come back in a sea of darkness.
    She’d thought of Tom, clung to the idea of him. And when they were both back at Stoneythorpe she’d told him she loved him. It pained her to remember it. He said he’d never love her, never want to – he had just spent time with her because he had to, as a servant. He told her to find a new world, new people. Everything went grey.
    In 1917, walking though Leicester Square, Celia had met Michael’s university friend, Jonathan, whom she hadn’t seen since before the war. They’d gone out together, eaten and danced. She’d had too much to drink, offered herself to him, thinking that might dull the pain of war and rejection. But he’d said no, said she wasn’t like other girls, talked instead of marriage.
    And it was that night, outside in the snow, when Jonathan had told her the truth about Michael’s death. Her brother hadn’t died in battle, he’d been shot by his own men for failing to go over the top.
    She remembered falling, feeling nothing but falling, holding on to one thought: that what really happened to Michael must be her secret and her family could never know. She clutched it close to her now, her heart sick with the truth.
    â€˜I’ll have to stand to see anything,’ said Emmeline, crossly, still fretting over their position. ‘Surely the authorities could have arranged the seats better.’
    Celia was drawn back to the present.
    Looking at Emmeline now, Celia could hardly believe that she was once going to be Lady Bradshaw, the wife of the local aristocrat, presiding over hunt balls and fetes.
    Now she and Mr Janus lived in a tiny flat in Bloomsbury, Mr Janus always plotting revolution, the pulling down of the upper classes, Emmeline nodding along, the supportive wife. He was away for a few days – an important meeting, he said. He’d never have come anyway. ‘It’s mass performance to keep you obedient,’ he said.
    â€˜It looks much like it did for the Diamond Jubilee,’ said Rudolf.‘I could barely see a thing then either. And the hotels cost a fortune too.’ He’d almost perfected his English accent now. As Verena said, it was important.
    They’d booked places in the Savoy, quite in advance, but when they arrived, the manager had told them it would be twice the original price. Even though they were two less than they’d said. Louisa was supposed to be sharing with Celia but she’d come down with a terrible headache yesterday afternoon and had decided to stay behind at Stoneythorpe. Then Arthur had received a letter about an urgent business matter that he had to go to Winchester for. Still, the manager said, the price was the same and it didn’t matter if the party was smaller. These were exceptional circumstances.
    The restaurant was crammed so tightly you could barely walk between tables and it was so short staffed that Emmeline had stood up and declared, ‘I shall serve myself!’ Even walking to the Mall this morning had taken them almost an hour, the crowds were so thick. People were in holiday mood, men in uniform, arm in arm with girls. Surely, Celia wanted to say to them, surely you’re just pretending to smile. Yes, we won the war. But look at us.
    She gazed at the men, marching in red