Chapter Ten

Quentin enjoyed taking Reginald to his study for an after-dinner drink. Tom was sometimes invited, but knew from experience that he would not be drawn into the conversation. The last one he had attended was in 1925, when Reginald was 17, and Tom 15.

“So, my boy,” said Quentin, pouring a large cognac for himself, a small one for Reginald, and a glass of water for Tom. “Do you know that today, a great treaty was signed between England, France, Italy and Germany, at Locarno.”

“Someone said something,” said Reginald, reaching for the glass. He quickly sunk into ‘his’ armchair, the possession of which had been the subject of pitched battles between himself and Tom in their early years, until Tom had realized that he was fighting against Reginald, rather than for the chair, and gave it up, enduring Reginald’s constant smirks of triumph whenever he got the chair without complaint – even now, six years after the end of the conflict.

“This is very good news,” said Quentin, “and I wonder if you can tell me why.”

“Well,” said Reginald, swirling his glass under his nose. “It means that Germany isn’t being just treated as a conquered nation any more.”

“Yes, very good. It will pave the way for her entrance into the League of Nations, mark my words. And it means that England, France and Italy, rather than just seeing themselves as the winners of the Great War, are now prepared to guarantee the borders of France and Belgium with Germany. And the Allies are removing the military Control Commission and the last of the occupation troops from German soil. That will go a long way towards restoring Germany’s faith in herself.”

“Why Belgium?” asked Reginald.

“Sorry?”

“Why does the Treaty of Locarno guarantee the borders of Belgium, when she’s not even a signatory?”

“Well, glance at the globe, and tell me.”

Reginald leaned forward, twirling the globe at his feet, tracing his fingers over the borders of France. “Because – because the French share a border with Belgium?”

“Yes, but why else?”

Reginald sniffed. “Don’t know.”

Quentin grinned, leaning forward. “Think defense.”

“Hm.”

“Think Maginot…”

“Oh!”

“Yes?”

“Well,” said Reginald excitedly, jabbing his finger. “The French are building the Maginot line on their eastern borders, as a defense against the Germans, but not on their northern borders, which they share with Belgium.”

“The great fear of the French,” said Quentin, sitting back with a grunt of satisfaction, “is that Germany comes through Belgium in through the north. As in the Great War.”

“Oh, so if Belgium is invaded…”

“Compromised,” corrected Quentin.

“Sorry?”

“Say ‘compromised.’ It’s more sophisticated. ‘Invaded’ sounds like you’re still playing with lead soldiers.”

Reginald shrugged. “All right, then if Belgium is compromised, then England has to come to the aid of France.”

“Which means that Germany will have to think twice about coming at France through the north. So France can focus on its defenses in the East, against Germany itself.”