all the way from Mount Olympus in Greece, had been carried into the stadium in the hand of a tall German athlete. The flame had burned continuously throughout its twelve-day journey. Thirty thousand members of the Hitler Youth and the German Girls were crammed into the stadium. The scene resembled the biggest military tattoo the world had ever seen. At the moment Hitler took his place in the stand, thousands of spectators cheered their ear-splitting acknowledgement of his presence. Right hands were raised in salute towards the diminutive figure in brown uniform as they shouted in unison two words: “Heil Hitler.” Julian had felt as if he was witnessing the Second Coming of the Saviour of the world.
However, a man not only of a different nationality but a different colour had stolen the Olympic show and confirmed Julian’s horror at the intensity of Nazi Germany’s racism. Jesse Owens, or “Ovens” as the Germans pronounced his name, was a black American from Alabama, whose limbs covered the ground at lightning speed. The grandson of a slave, his skin clashing with the Aryan paleness of the German competitors, Owens won a sensational four gold medals in the sprint and long jump. The word was that Hitler had hidden his fury at the result by rationalising Owens’s triumph. Athletes with monkey-like features owed the strength of their limbs to their tree-leaping antecedents, Hitler had declared to the press.
Julian stubbed the cigarette out with a vehemence that made May jump. “You have no idea how happy I am to be home again,” he said reaching for her hand.
“And you have no idea how happy I am that you have come back,” May replied cautiously as she allowed him to stroke each of her fingers in turn.
For a moment they looked at each other, both unsure where the conversation was going next.
“Will you tell me all your news, then? What’s been happening at Cuckmere?” he asked, gently releasing her hand and reaching again for his packet of cigarettes. “Any news of Joan? And how is Florence?”
“I haven’t seen as much of Lady Joan now that she is staying in the hospital for tests. But whenever Mrs. Cage and Cooky and Mr. Hooch and I visit her we still try everything we can think of that might wake her,” May said. “We have played music to her, shown her photographs, read to her, sang to her, whispered to her, even, in occasional moments of exasperation, shouted at her.”
“Does anyone think she will recover?” Julian asked looking truly saddened.
“The doctor thinks she may spend years in a coma. I hope she doesn’t know enough to feel lonely. Her sister came down to Cuckmere but left without even going to the hospital to see her.”
“Her sister?” Julian asked, surprised. “You mean Myrtle? The avid reader of Time and Tide, otherwise know as the Sapphic Graphic?”
May could not help laughing. “Yes, how do you know?”
“Joan told me all about her. I once met the magazine’s editor, Lady Rhondda. She had ditched her living arrangements with a perfectly good husband for a strapping young woman.”
“Well, maybe Lady Myrtle was inspired by Lady Rhondda,” May said, still laughing. “I would say that Vera is certainly on the strapping side.”
“Vera? Where does she come into it? And tell me about Florence? Did you manage to ask her about the belt?” Julian asked.
He wanted to hear everything, as May had hoped he would. So she told him how the day after Lady Myrtle’s disappearance she had suggested they celebrate Florence’s return from Pagham by baking a cake with raspberries from the Cuckmere fruit cages. To begin with, Florence had been subdued, still stuck in that strange mood in which she had left for her holiday, but with the promise of a bike ride and a swim in the river she had gradually recovered her good humour. The belt had been nowhere to be seen. They had not been able to find Vera anywhere in the garden to ask if they could go into the locked cages. In fact, no one had seen the gardener for days but she was a free spirit and the Cuckmere community was used to her disappearing at the drop of a hat. A knock on the open front door of her cottage remained unanswered.
“I wasn’t that keen to go in,” May explained to Julian, “but Florence said we must if we were to be given the key.”
“I think you enjoy being wrapped round little fingers,” Julian said. He