It is perfectly quiet in the room.
A fly, buzzing, tries to get through the closed window pane and out into the air. (Any human being could tell the fly that it has no prospect at all of doing any such thing, it will just bash its insect skull against the glass! Well, flies are stupid, but human beings are clever … aren’t they?)
‘I’ve decided to marry again.’
‘No!’ says the child out loud. It sounds like a scream. Then she repeats quietly, ‘Please no, Daddy, please no, please, please don’t!’
‘You already know Miss Gerlach. She is very fond of you. And she’ll be a good mother to you. In the long run it would be rather difficult and a mistake to have you growing up in a household without a mother.’ (Doesn’t he strike a touching note? All we need is for him to claim that he only wants to get married to give his daughter a mother again!)
Lottie keeps shaking her head and moving her lips without a sound. Like an automaton that can’t stop. It is an alarming sight.
So her father quickly looks away and says, ‘You’ll get used to this new state of affairs sooner than you think. There aren’t any wicked stepmothers except in fairy tales. Well, Luiserl, I know I can rely on you. You’re the most sensible little thing in the world!’ He looks at the time. ‘I must be off. I have to rehearse Mr Luser’s part in Rigoletto with him.’ And he is already out of the door.
The child is sitting still as if numbed.
Out by the coat stand in the hall, Mr Palfy puts his hat on his artistic head. Then there is a scream in the living room. ‘Daddy!’ It sounds like someone drowning.
You don’t drown in a living room, thinks Mr Palfy, and he makes his escape. After all, he has to rehearse with Mr Luser the opera singer.
Lottie has come round from her numb state. Even in desperation, her common sense is still there and comes in useful. What is she to do? Because something must most certainly be done. Daddy must never marry another woman, never! He has a wife! Even if they aren’t living together any more. The child will never, never put up with another mother. She has a mother, she has her own beloved mummy!
Perhaps Mummy might be able to help. But she mustn’t know about this. She mustn’t find out the two children’s great secret, and she most certainly mustn’t hear about Daddy wanting to marry this Miss Gerlach!
So there’s only one thing to be done, and Lottie must do it herself.
She fetches the telephone book. She leafs through it with shaking fingers. ‘Gerlach.’ There aren’t many Gerlachs in the book. ‘Gerlach, Stefan, Dir. Gen., Vienna Restaurants Ltd., 43 Kobenzlallee.’ Daddy told her the other day that Miss Gerlach’s father owns a lot of hotels and restaurants, including the Imperial where they go to eat lunch. ‘43 Kobenzlallee.’
After Resi has told her how to get to Kobenzlallee, Lottie puts on her hat and coat and says, ‘I’m going out now.’
‘What on earth are you going to do in Kobenzlallee?’ asks Resi curiously.
‘I have to talk to someone.’
‘Well, come home soon!’
The child nods and sets off.
A parlourmaid comes into Irene Gerlach’s elegant room and smiles. ‘There’s a child wants to speak to you, miss. A little girl.’
Miss, who has just been repainting her nails, waves her hands in the air to help the lacquer to dry more quickly. ‘A little girl?’
‘Her name is Luise Palfy.’
‘Ah,’ says Miss Gerlach slowly. ‘Bring her up!’
The parlourmaid disappears. The young lady stands up, glances at herself in the mirror, and can’t help smiling at her own grave face. Luise Miller meets Lady Milford, she thinks; they are characters in a play by the German writer Friedrich Schiller. Irene Gerlach is quite well educated.
When the child comes in, Miss Gerlach tells the parlourmaid, ‘Make us some hot chocolate! And bring us some waffle biscuits with it.’ Then she turns to her guest and says, sounding sugary sweet, ‘How nice of you to come to see me! I’m so forgetful, I really ought to have invited you ages ago! Won’t you take your hat and coat off?’
‘No, thank you,’ says the child. ‘I’m not going to stay long.’
‘No?’ Irene Gerlach loses none of her kindly, if patronizing, expression. ‘But I hope at least you have time to sit down?’
The child perches on the edge of a chair and never takes her eyes off the young lady.
As for the young lady, she is beginning to think that this situation is unbearably silly. But she controls herself. Something is at stake in this game, after all. A game that she wants to win and will win. ‘Did you just happen to be passing?’
‘No. There’s something I have to say to you.’
Irene Gerlach gives her an enchanting smile. ‘I’m all ears! What’s it about?’
The child slips off the edge of the chair, stands in the middle of the room and explains, ‘Daddy said you want to marry him.’
‘Is that what he really said?’ Miss Gerlach’s laughter is as clear as a bell. ‘Are you sure he didn’t say that he wants to marry me? Well, never mind that. The fact is, Luiserl, yes, your papa and I do want to get married. And I am sure that you and I are going to get on with each other very well. Indeed, I’m convinced of it. Aren’t you? Wait and see – when we’ve been living together for a little while, we’ll have become the best of friends! Both of us are going to work hard at it. I promise you that, so let’s shake hands on it!’
Lottie flinches away, and says seriously, ‘You mustn’t marry Daddy!’
This child is really going too far, thinks Irene Gerlach. ‘And why not?’
‘Because you mustn’t!’
‘Not a very satisfactory explanation,’ says the young lady sharply. She can see that kindness is getting her nowhere. ‘Are you forbidding me to be your father’s wife?’
‘Yes!’
‘Oh, this is really too much.’ The young lady has lost her temper. ‘I’ll have to ask you to go home now. I’ll decide whether or not I tell your father about this extraordinary visit of yours. If I don’t, it will be only so as not to put any serious obstacles in the way of our future friendship. I’d really like to go on believing in that. So now we’ll say goodbye.’
At the door, Lottie turns again and says, ‘Please leave us as we are now! Please, please …’ And then Miss Gerlach is alone.
Well, she thinks, there’s only one thing for it. The wedding must be as soon as possible, and then she must make sure that the girl is sent to a boarding school. At once! Only a stern education at the hands of strangers will do any good in this case.
‘Will there be anything else?’ The parlourmaid is standing in the room with a tray. ‘Here’s the hot chocolate, and the waffle biscuits, but where’s the little girl?’
‘Go to hell!’ says Miss Gerlach.
The Music Director does not come home to supper, because this evening he is conducting a performance at the Opera House. As usual when that happens, Resi keeps the little girl company.
‘You’re hardly eating a thing,’ says Resi reproachfully. ‘And you look really scary, like a ghost! What’s the matter?’
Lottie shakes her head in silence.
The housekeeper takes the child’s hand, and lets go of it at once in alarm. ‘You’re feverish! You must go to bed at once!’ And groaning and puffing, she carries the apathetic little girl to her room, undresses her and puts her to bed.
‘Don’t tell Daddy!’ murmurs Lottie. Her teeth are chattering. Resi piles up pillows and quilts on the bed. Then she hurries to the telephone and calls Dr Strobl.
The old gentleman promises to come at once. He is just as upset as Resi.
Next Resi calls the Opera House. ‘All right,’ they tell her at the other end. ‘We’ll tell the Music Director in the interval.’
Resi hurries back to the bedroom. The child is tossing and turning, muttering confused words that make no sense. The bedclothes, pillows and quilts are lying on the floor.
If only the doctor would come! What can s
he do, Resi wonders, make compresses? But what kind of compresses? Cold? Hot? Wet? Dry?
During the interval, Music Director Palfy, in evening dress, is sitting in the soprano’s dressing room. They are sipping wine and talking shop. Theatrical people always talk about the theatre; it’s a fact of life. There is a knock on the door. ‘Come in!’ replies the Music Director.
It is the stage manager. ‘I’ve found you at last, Director Palfy!’ says the old man. He seems upset. ‘There’s been a telephone call from Rotenturmstrasse. Your little daughter has suddenly been taken ill. The housekeeper told Dr Strobl at once, and by now he is probably beside her sickbed.’
The music director turns pale. ‘Thank you, Herlitschka,’ he says quietly, as the stage manager leaves again.
‘Oh dear, I do hope it’s not serious,’ says the singer. ‘Has your little girl ever had measles?’
‘No,’ he says, standing up. ‘Excuse me, Mizzi!’ And as the door closes behind him, he breaks into a run.
Soon he is on the telephone. ‘Hello, Irene!’
‘Yes, darling? Is the performance over already? I’m nowhere near ready to go out yet.’
He quickly tells her what has happened, and finishes, ‘I’m afraid we can’t see each other tonight.’
‘Of course not. I hope it’s not serious. Has the child ever had measles?’
‘No,’ he replies impatiently. ‘I’ll call you again early tomorrow morning.’ Then he hangs up.
A bell rings; it is the signal to say the interval is over. The opera goes on, and so does life.
At last the performance is over! Back in Rotenturmstrasse, the Music Director rushes up the stairs. Resi opens the door to him. She still has her hat on, because she has been out to the all-night pharmacy.
The doctor is sitting beside Lottie’s bed.
‘How is she?’ asks her father in a whisper.
‘Not at all well,’ replies the doctor, ‘but you don’t have to whisper. I’ve given her an injection to help her sleep.’
Lottie is lying on her pillows, breathing heavily. Her face is very red, and distorted with pain, as if the artificial sleep caused by the old doctor’s injection were hurting her.
‘Measles?’ asks her father.
‘No, that’s not it,’ murmurs the doctor. Then Resi comes into the room, fighting back tears.
‘Oh, do take your hat off!’ says the Music Director nervously.
‘Oh dear me, yes, excuse me!’ She takes her hat off, but keeps it in her hand.
The doctor looks at the two of them inquiringly. ‘The child is obviously going through a severe nervous crisis,’ he says. ‘Do you know why? You don’t? Have you at least any idea what can have caused it?’
‘I don’t know if it has anything to do with it,’ says Resi, ‘but … this afternoon she went out. Because she had to talk to someone, she said. And before she left, she asked me how to get to Kobenzlallee.’
‘Kobenzlallee?’ asks the doctor, looking at the Music Director.
Palfy quickly goes into the next room and picks up the telephone. ‘Did Luise go to see you this afternoon?’
‘Yes,’ replies a woman’s voice. ‘But why did she tell you so?’
He doesn’t answer that question, but goes on with another. ‘And what did she want?’
Miss Gerlach laughs, and it is not a nice laugh. ‘You’d better get her to tell you that!’
‘Please answer me!’
It is lucky that she can’t see his face!
‘If you really want to know, I suppose she came to tell me I mustn’t marry you!’ she replies in annoyance.
He murmurs something, and hangs up.
‘What’s the matter with her?’ asks Miss Gerlach, but then she realizes that the connection has been cut. ‘What a little brat!’ she says under her breath. ‘Using every weapon she can! Goes to bed and pretends to be ill!’
Dr Strobl says he will go now, and gives a few more instructions. The Music Director holds him back at the front door. ‘What is the matter with Luise?’
‘It’s a nervous fever. I’ll look in again tomorrow morning, but for now I wish you goodnight.’
The Music Director goes into his daughter’s room, sits down beside the bed and tells Resi, ‘I won’t need you any more tonight. Sleep well!’
‘But wouldn’t it be better if …?’
He looks at her.
She goes out of the room, still holding her hat.
He strokes the hot little face. The child takes fright in her fevered sleep, and flings herself wildly aside.
Her father looks round the room. The child’s school satchel is lying on the seat of her desk, packed ready for school. Christl the doll is propped against it.
Quietly, he gets to his feet, picks up the doll, puts the light out and sits down beside the bed again.
Now he is sitting in the dark, cuddling the doll as if she were the child. A child who doesn’t take fright at the touch of his hand.
Chapter Nine
Mr Eipeldauer’s photos cause confusion · Can this really be Lottie? · Mrs Körner takes Miss Linnekogel into her confidence · Burnt ribs of pork and broken china · Luise confesses almost everything · Why isn’t Lottie answering letters?
The editor-in-chief of the Munich Illustrated, Dr Bernau, groans. ‘This is the silly season, my dear! The front page needs a picture that’s both topical and original: where can we find one?’
Mrs Körner, who is standing beside his desk, says, ‘The Neopress agency sent us some photographs of the new women’s breaststroke champion.’
‘Is she pretty?’
The young women smiles. ‘Pretty enough as swimming champions go.’
Dr Bernau waves the idea away again, discouraged. Then he rummages around on his desk. ‘One of those old-style village photographers sent me some photos the other day. Pictures of twins.’ He is searching among files and newspapers. ‘A couple of cute little girls! Totally identical! Hey, where have you little ladies gone? The public always likes that kind of thing. With a good caption under it. If we can’t come up with something topical, a pair of pretty twins will do! Ah, here we are at last!’ He has found the envelope containing the photos, and he looks at the pictures again and nods approvingly. ‘Yes, we’ll use these, Mrs Körner!’ He hands her the photographs.
After some time he looks up, because his colleague hasn’t said anything. ‘Hey there!’ he calls. ‘Körner! You look like Lot’s wife turned into a pillar of salt! Wake up! Or are you feeling unwell?’
‘A – a little unwell, Dr Bernau!’ Her voice is unsteady. ‘I’ll be all right in a minute.’ She stares at the photographs. She reads the name of the person who sent them in. ‘Josef Eipeldauer, photographer, Seebühl on Lake Bühl.’
Her mind is going round in circles.
‘Pick the best picture and write a nice heart-warming caption for our readers. You’re brilliant at that sort of thing!’
‘Maybe we ought not to publish these photos,’ she hears herself say.
‘Why on earth not, my dear colleague?’
‘I suspect that they’re faked.’
‘Copied to make one girl look like two, eh?’ Dr Bernau laughs. ‘Oh, I think you overestimate good Mr Eipeldauer. He’s unlikely to be skilful enough for that. So get down to work, dear lady! The caption can wait until tomorrow. I’d just like to see the text before it goes to press.’ He nods, and bends over another article.
She gropes her way back to her own office, drops into her armchair, puts the photographs down in front of her and presses her hands to her temples.
Thoughts are chasing each other helter-skelter through her head. Her two children! The summer camp! The holidays! Of course! But why hasn’t Lottie said anything about it to her? Why didn’t Lottie bring the photographs home? Because if the two girls had themselves photographed together, it wasn’t just an accident. They’ll have worked it out that they’re sisters! And then they must have decided to say nothing about it. That’s not difficult to
understand. My God, how like each other they are! Even a mother’s eye, which is supposed to be able to … Oh, my two, my two dear darlings!
If Dr Bernau were to put his head round her door now, he would see a face overwhelmed by happiness and pain, with tears streaming down it, tears that exhaust her heart as if life itself were flowing from her eyes.
Luckily Dr Bernau doesn’t put his head round her door.
Mrs Körner tries to pull herself together. Now of all times she must hold her head high! What will come of this? What ought to come of it? I’ll have to talk to Lottie.
Then an ice-cold thought enters her mind. An idea overwhelms her, as if an invisible hand were shaking her back and forth.
Is it Lottie she’ll be talking to?
Mrs Körner has gone to visit Miss Linnekogel at the teacher’s home.
‘You’re asking me a very peculiar question,’ says Miss Linnekogel. ‘Do I think it possible that your daughter is not your daughter but another girl? Forgive me, but …’
‘No, I haven’t lost my mind,’ Mrs Körner assures her, putting one of the photographs down on the table.
Miss Linnekogel looks at the picture. Then at her visitor. Then back at the picture.
‘I have two daughters,’ says her visitor quietly. ‘One of them lives with my ex-husband in Vienna. This photograph came into my hands by chance a few hours ago. I didn’t know that the children met in the holidays.’
Miss Linnekogel opens and closes her mouth like a carp on the fishmonger’s slab. Shaking her head, she pushes the photograph away as if she were afraid it might bite her. ‘And the two of them never knew anything about each other before?’
The young woman shakes her head. ‘No. At the time, my husband and I agreed not to tell them. We thought that would be for the best.’
‘And you yourself have never heard from your former husband and your other child since?’
The Parent Trap Page 7
