by Judith Kerr
“What does it mean?” said Anna, trying to control the panic rising inside her.
Max had his alert lawyer’s look, as though in the few moments since reading about it he had already weighed up the situation.
“One thing is certain,” he said. “I’ve got to get Wendy home.”
“What about me? What about here in Berlin?”
“I don’t think it’ll make any difference here. At least not at the moment. But you’d better ring Richard tonight. He may have a better idea of what’s going on.”
“The Russians—?”
Max pointed to the paper. “They seem quite conciliatory at the moment. I think they’ve got their hands full. Look, you hang on for the coffee, I’ll just try and ring BEA. God knows how long it’ll take to get me to Athens.”
She sat at the grubby little table by herself and nervously drank some of the coffee when it came.
“Bitte?” said the German, pointing to the paper, and she gave it back to him.
Then Max returned, all energy and bustle. “They said to call in before lunch,” he said. “There may be a connecting flight tomorrow. If I can get on that, and if I can contact my ship owner, perhaps he’ll arrange transport for me at the other end.”
“Max,” she said, “couldn’t I try and ring Richard now?”
He sat down. “No good, I’m afraid,” he said. “I just checked. There’s a three hour delay on all calls to London.”
“I see.”
“Look, there’s no question of your staying here in case of any danger. At the smallest hint of anything you get on a plane home. Konrad will see to that, anyway. But I honestly think it’s probably as safe here at the moment as it’s ever been.”
She nodded without conviction.
“Anyway, talk to Richard tonight. And talk to Konrad. If we hurry, we may catch him at the hospital.”
However, Konrad had left a message that he had an urgent meeting and would visit Mama in his lunch break. They found her looking physically much like herself but in a desperate state of tension. The nurse was just removing her breakfast tray (anyway, she’d eaten it all, Anna noted with relief) and Mama did not even wait for the door to close behind her before she asked, “Well? What did he say?”
“What did who say?” Max knew perfectly well, of course, but was just trying to slow her down.
“Konrad. What did he say to you last night? What did he say about me?” Her blue eyes stared, her hands drummed nervously on the edge of the sheet. The whole room was filled with her tension.
Max managed to sound easy as he answered. “Mama, he said exactly what I expected, and what he’d already told you. The affair is finished. He wants you back. He wants to forget everything that’s happened and to start again where you both left off.”
“Oh.” She relaxed a little. “But then why didn’t he come this morning?”
“He told you. He had a meeting. Perhaps something to do with this Suez business.”
“Suez? Oh, that.” The nurse must have told her, thought Anna. “But that wouldn’t have anything to do with Konrad.”
Max’s irritation was beginning to show. “It may have nothing to do with Konrad, but it’s got something to do with me. I have to get back to Greece as soon as possible and bring Wendy and the baby home. Probably tomorrow. So just for today, can we stop worrying about his every thought and gesture, and talk properly?”
“Wendy and the baby? But why do you have to bring them home? Why can’t they just catch a plane on their own?”
They’re going to have a row, thought Anna.
“For heaven’s sake, Mama, they’re on a remote island. Wendy doesn’t speak a word of Greek. She couldn’t possibly manage.”
“Couldn’t she?” Mama’s anger was mixed with a certain triumph. “Well, I could. When you and Anna were small, I got you both out of Germany without any help from anyone. And before that, for two weeks after Papa had already fled, I kept it a secret and I got you to keep it a secret too – you were only twelve and nine at the time. I packed up our house and all our belongings, and then I got you both out, twenty-four hours before the Nazis came for our passports.”
“I know, Mama, you were terribly good. But Wendy is different.”
“How different? I’d have liked to be different too. I’d have loved to be different, so that everybody would look after me. Instead, I had to look after everybody else.”
“Mama—” But it was no good.
“I cooked and cleaned when we lived in Paris. And then, when Papa could no longer earn anything, I got a job and supported us all. I got you into your English public school—”
“Not quite by yourself, Mama. I must have had something to do with it too.”
“You know what I mean. And then, when we could no longer pay the fees, I went to see the headmaster—”
“And he gave me a scholarship. I know, Mama. But it wasn’t easy for the rest of us either. It wasn’t much fun for Papa, and even Anna and I had our problems.”
Mama’s hands clenched on the sheet. “But you were young,” she cried. “It didn’t matter. You had all your lives to come. Whereas I… All those years I spent in dreary boarding houses worrying about money, I was getting older. It should have been the best time of my life, and instead I spent it scraping pennies together and worrying myself sick over Papa and Anna and you. And now at last when I’d found someone who looked after me, with whom I could do all the things I’d missed, he had to go and – he had to go and have an affair with a stupid, feeble little German typist.” Her voice broke and she wept again.
Anna wondered whether to say anything, but decided not to. Nobody would have listened to her anyway.
“It wasn’t like that, Mama. It’s never as simple as that.” Max looked as though he had been wanting to say this for years. “You always oversimplify.”
“But I did do those things. I did keep everything going. When we first came to England and still had some money, it was I who decided that we should send you to a public school, and I was right – you’d never have done so well if we hadn’t.”
“It might have been more difficult.”
“And your headmaster told me – I always remember what he said about you. He said, ‘He’s got a first-class brain, he’s hard-working and he’s got charm. There’s nothing he won’t be able to do. He can be Prime Minster if he wants.’”
“He couldn’t really have said that,” Max was quivering on the edge of a grin. “I mean, old Chetwyn – it wasn’t his style.”
“But he did, he did! And he said what a good mother I was. And I remember at Christmas, when I still had that good job with Lady Parker, and she asked me what I’d like for a Christmas present, and I said, ‘I’d like a radio for my son,’ and she said, ‘Wouldn’t you like something for yourself, a dress or a coat?’ and I said, ‘It’s the one thing he wants, if I can give him that it’ll be better than anything,’ and she said—”
“Oh, I know, Mama, I know—”
“And during the war, when you were interned, Papa just wanted to let matters take their course, but I made him write to the papers, it was me who got you out, if it hadn’t been for me you’d have been there much longer. And it was me who found the secretarial school for Anna, and then, when you were in the Air Force and you had trouble with that girl, I coped with it, I went to see her—”
“I know, Mama, it’s all true—”
Mama’s face was red and tearful like a very small child’s. “I was a good mother!” she cried. “I know I was! Everybody said what a good mother I was!”
“Well, of course you were,” said Max.
It was suddenly quiet.
“But then, why,” said Mama, “why is everything now so awful?”
“I don’t know,” said Max. “Perhaps because we’ve grown up.”
They looked at each other with their identical blue eyes, and Anna thought how often in Putney, in Bloomsbury, even in Paris, she had sat through scenes like this. The arguments had be
en different each time, but always there had been, amidst the shouting and the anger, the same sense of closeness between them, something which left no room for anyone else. As now, she had sat silent on the edge, watching Mama’s face, noting (even then?) the exact words of her accusations and of Max’s replies. In those days, of course, there had been Papa to stop her from feeling entirely left out.
“You see,” said Max, “in a way it was all exactly as you say. But it was also quite different.”
“How?” cried Mama. “In what way? How could it have been?”
He frowned, searching for the right phrases. “Well, it’s quite true, of course, that I’ve been a success, and that without you, it would have been much more difficult.”
“Very much more difficult,” said Mama, but he ignored her.
“But at the same time, it wasn’t all for me. I mean, in a way, perhaps because everything was so awful for you, you needed me to be a success.”
Mama drummed irritably on the sheet. “Well, why shouldn’t I? For God’s sake, do you remember how we used to live? I’d have done anything – anything – for Papa to have had even a little bit of success in those days.”
“No, you don’t understand. What I mean is – because you needed it so much, every little thing I did had to be, somehow, a triumph. I used to hear you talking about me. You used to say, ‘He’s going to stay with friends, they’ve got an estate in the country.’ Well, it wasn’t. It was a boy in Esher, I liked him very much, but he lived in a semi-detached. The only time I went anywhere grand while I was at school, my suitcase burst when the butler tried to unpack it, and the father, Sir Something-or-other, had to give me one of his, which he hated. It was all very embarrassing, but the way you told it, it was, ‘And this lord took such a fancy to Max that he insisted on giving him some of his own luggage.’”
Mama looked puzzled and upset. “Well, what does it matter – little things like that? And anyway, he probably did like you. People always do.”
Max sighed impatiently. “But it was other things as well. You used to say, ‘Of course he’ll get a scholarship, of course he’ll get a first.’ Well, I did get them, but there was no of course about it. I had to work very hard, and I often worried about whether I’d make it.”
“Well, perhaps – it’s possible.” Mama’s mouth was pulled down obstinately at the corners. “But I still don’t see that it matters.”
“It matters because it made it difficult for me to see my life as it really was. And it matters now because you’re doing the same thing to yourself. Re-shaping things if they don’t fit. Everything black and white. No uncertainties, no failures, no mistakes.”
“Nonsense,” said Mama, “I don’t do that at all.” She was getting tired and her voice rose. “You don’t know how I live here,” she cried. “Everybody likes me, they all like talking to me and even ask me for advice. They don’t think I see everything in black and white. I’ve got quite a reputation for solving people’s problems, love affairs, all sorts of things.” She finally burst into tears. “You don’t know anything about me!” she cried.
Sooner or later it always came to this, thought Anna. She was relieved to see a nurse appear at the door with a cup of soup.
“Zur guten Besserung,” said the nurse, and they all watched, Mama sniffing and blowing her nose, while she crossed the room and put the soup on the bedside table and went out again.
“Anyway, I was quite right,” said Mama almost before she had left. “It’s all happened just as I said. You do know all sorts of lords and people like that, and you are making a great career.”
“Yes, Mama.” Max was tired too. He patted her arm. “I must go soon,” he said. “I’ve got to do something about my ticket.”
She clutched his hand. “Oh, Max!”
“There, there, Mama. You’re a very good mother, and everything will be all right.” They smiled at each other, cautiously, with their identical blue eyes.
Anna smiled too, just to be companionable, and wondered whether she should leave with Max when he went or stay with Mama and wait for Konrad. It would be difficult to know what to say, she thought. After the excitement of Max, anything she might think of would come as an anticlimax. On the other hand, if she stayed, she might be able to talk to Konrad about going home.
Mama was still holding Max’s hand. “How was it in Greece?” she said.
“Absolutely marvellous.” He began to tell her about the case he was doing, and about the ship owner’s seaside house. “… right on the beach of this tiny island, with a cook and God knows how many servants. He owns it all – the whole place. He’s got olive groves and his own vineyard, all incredibly beautiful, and we had the run of it. The only trouble was, Wendy was a bit worried about the greasy food for the baby.”
“Did you swim?”
“Three times a day. The sea is so warm and so clear—”
But, unexpectedly, Mama’s eyes had filled with tears. “Oh, Max, I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your holiday. I didn’t mean to drag you away to Berlin.”
Anna suddenly felt childishly angry.
“What about me?” she said, startling all three of them, since she had said nothing for so long. “What about dragging me to Berlin from London?”
“You?” Mama looked surprised and upset. “I thought you might quite like to come.”
“Quite like…?” She was almost speechless.
“I mean, you weren’t doing anything special, and I knew you hadn’t been away in the summer.”
There was a trace of a query in Mama’s voice, and Anna found herself answering, in spite of herself, “I’ve got a new job, and Richard is in the middle of writing a serial.” It sounded so feeble that she stopped, and fury overcame her. After all I’ve done, she thought. After sitting on her bed and dragging her out of her coma. But even while she was thinking it, another part of herself was coolly noting Mama’s exact words, as it had already noted much of the conversation. If one were really going to write about this, she thought guiltily, they would make a marvellous bit of dialogue.
In the end she left the sickroom with Max and waited for Konrad in the reception hall. Through one of the windows, she watched him park his car in the drive, hesitate whether or not to bring his stick, and finally walk up towards the entrance without it. He manoeuvred his bulk through the swing doors and smiled when he saw her.
“Hullo,” he said. “How’s your mother?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “We had a row.”
“Nu,” he said, “if she could have a row, she must be feeling better.” He looked at her. “Was it serious?”
“Not really, I suppose. It was mostly with Max, and I don’t think she minds that so much. I only came in at the end.”
“I see. And is that why you waited for me here?”
“No.” She decided to take the bull by the horns. “It’s this Suez business. Max is worried about Wendy and the baby, and he’s gone to try and book a flight to Athens. And I just wondered—”
“What?”
A woman with a bandaged hand said, “Verzeihung,” and pushed past them, giving her time to choose her words.
“What do you think?” she said. “Might there be trouble here? I mean, I suppose all this is bound to affect the Russians.” She added quickly, before he could answer, “Richard rang me last night, but I missed him. I expect he may be worried.”
“Yes,” he said, considering her. “Yes, I suppose he may be.”
“Of course I don’t mean that I want to rush off at once or anything. It’s just that – it seems impossible to get through to London in the daytime,” she said. “D’you think I could ring Richard from the party tonight? Just to know what he thinks?”
“Well, of course,” he said. “There’ll be no difficulty about that.”
“Oh, good.”
There was a pause.
“I don’t think the Suez business represents any kind of threat in Berlin at the moment,” he s
aid at last. “But I can see that for you there may be other considerations.”
“It’s really Richard,” she said. “I wouldn’t want him to worry.”
He nodded, looking tired. “I’d better go and see your mother. You ring Richard tonight, and then we’ll talk.”
She felt guilty while she sat on the bus to the Kurfürsten Damm where she was to meet Max for lunch. But it’s not as though I’d said I was leaving, she told herself, I was only asking his advice.
Even so, the memory of his tired face stayed with her. As she waited for Max, she stood staring into a newly-built shop window filled with garishly checked materials. “Genuine English Tartans” said a sign in German, and they had names like Windsor, Eton and Dover. One was even called Sheffield. Richard would enjoy that, she thought, but instead of feeling amused she found herself fretting about Konrad. I’ll see, she thought. I’ll see what happens tonight.
Max arrived, full of energy and confidence as always, and swept her off to a nearby café.
“I’ve booked a flight,” he announced before they had even sat down. “It connects with a flight from Paris to Athens. I also got them to let me use their telephone and got through to my ship owner, and he’s arranging for someone to meet me at the airport.”
“I’m glad,” said Anna.
“Yes.” He added as an afterthought, “My ship owner also thought it was urgent to get Wendy and the baby out of there.”
She nodded. “When do you go?”
“At one o’clock in the morning.”
“What – tonight?”
“That’s right. Well,” he said, “it really makes no difference. I couldn’t have seen Mama tomorrow anyway, unless I’d stayed till the afternoon, and that would have been too late. I thought I’d see her again later today and stay a long time, however long one is allowed, till she goes to sleep. And then – well, I could come to the party and go straight to the airport from there.”
