Against the Tide

by John Hanley

  I sensed a disagreeable measure of admiration in her tone and said, ‘So he can play the piano but I’m not sure what the guests make of it.’

  There was a scattering of applause as Kohler walked back to the table, though I could see that his uncle, Kempler, looked rather puzzled. Caroline’s mother seemed delighted and clapped enthusiastically.

  Saul stood and applauded him ironically as he took his place back at the table.

  Rachel clapped politely. ‘That’s very good, Rudi. But what does it mean?’

  ‘It shows the Polish temperament.’ Kohler emptied his glass of Chablis and held it up for a refill.

  A waiter scurried over and lifted the bottle from the ice bucket. He wrapped the napkin round the base but some of the iced water dripped onto Kohler’s sleeve.

  ‘Arschloch. Clumsy French oaf!’

  40

  In the empty silence that followed, I saw a wicked smile play over Saul’s lips.

  Rachel murmured something to him.

  Caroline, clearly embarrassed, nudged Kohler with her elbow.

  He glanced around, noted our expressions then smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry. It was a surprise. Look, no damage done.’

  The waiter bowed and withdrew.

  I waited then fixed my eyes on Kohler. ‘I think I understand, but that was quite a powerful piece. Not much emotion, granted, but strong, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Ah, you mustn’t confuse strength with power, Jack. I do believe your Mr Chamberlain is about to make that mistake. The Polish Army is large, looks strong, very smart, lots of cavalry, good manoeuvres but it is a parade army. It lacks power. It is equipped –’

  ‘Are you an expert on armies, Mr Kohler?’ Saul interrupted. ‘Is it as powerful as the Dutch Army, or the Belgian Army?’

  Kohler laughed. ‘I am no expert, Mr Marcks, but Poland is a long way from England. Chamberlain’s armies would have to cross Germany to get there.’

  Caroline tapped his arm. ‘What about the French Army, Rudi? Would they fight?’

  ‘Only if attacked. They are not an army of movement. They are equipped to fight the last war, not the next.’

  ‘What’s this got to do with music?’ Rachel seemed determined to get an answer to her first question.

  Kohler replied. ‘It’s about inspiration, as Jack said. A country needs passion to fight. The Poles, like Chopin, as you heard, march on the spot.’

  I needed to probe for the button that would shatter his careful pretence and I had to needle Caroline into reacting to him. If what I’d read about Nazis was true then they had a very clear view of a woman’s place in their grand scheme.

  I kept the smile out of my voice. ‘Tell me, Rudi, you’ve obviously worked hard to learn to play like that – even though you say you are not a musician. I doubt any other man in this room could get up and play a Chopin piece from memory.’

  Kohler looked at me quizzically but nodded his agreement.

  I ploughed on. ‘You speak of passion and emotion. All the great composers, poets, writers, are men. Is it possible for a woman to convey that power, in speech, in writing, in music, do you think?’

  Kohler laughed again. ‘No offence to our beautiful companions, but of course not. No woman can display the passion of a man and be taken seriously. How can a mere woman harness the power of Beethoven? That is not where their strength lies.’ He swallowed another mouthful. ‘Some things are best left to men.’

  I sensed a little volcano about to erupt as Caroline folded her napkin and pushed herself up from her chair.

  Keeping a straight face, I stood up and pulled it out for her.

  She leant forward and placed her face close to Kohler’s. ‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read, Rudi. Chopin didn’t just write polonaises you know. Just over a century ago, Russia invaded Poland and he wrote a little piece, which he wanted played con fuoco. Do you know what that means?’

  Kohler glared at her. ‘I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’

  ‘I’m not going to tell you – I’m bloody well going to show you.’ She spun around and marched across the dance floor towards the piano.

  The diners watched as Caroline raised the lid of the Steinway and settled herself on the stool. Their babble slowly ceased as they sensed the tension flowing from her. As she raised her hands to begin, the room was silent.

  I had been overpowered by her playing of Beethoven’s “Appassionata” but I had not been prepared for this. The piano roared as she swept her left hand at incredible speed over the base notes, rolling, dramatic arpeggios thundering through the room. Her right cascaded impassioned rhythms, crashing against the base notes almost crying out in revolt. It was defiant, raging, patriotic. A bravura performance. The most intense emotion I had ever heard. Short, dynamic, it was utterly absorbing.

  Her hands were a blur as she sped to the climax in a waterfall of crashing chords, which echoed throughout the stunned room. She rose from the stool and slammed the lid with such force that it sounded like a cannon shot.

  There was silence, and then everyone was on their feet thundering their applause. Even the waiters, and Miko, who had emerged from the reception area, applauded as she strode back to her seat.

  I watched her mother closely. She wasn’t applauding and looked angrily at her husband, who seemed to be sitting on his hands. Another puzzle – did neither of them care for their daughter?

  Caroline stood in front of me and looked straight into my eyes. Hers were on fire. Sweat beaded on her forehead.

  ‘Sometimes, the notes need some help to speak for themselves.’ She smiled at me as I eased her into her seat.

  I had never been more moved by her, nor more frightened of her, than at that moment. She was indeed the “tempest after sun”.

  She looked at Kohler. ‘Chopin’s Twelfth Etude – sometimes called the “Revolutionary”. I’m sure you’ve heard of it, Rudi. It’s a pity you didn’t play that as an example of Polish emotion.’

  I watched Kohler smile back at her in admiration and, to my horror, I realised that the German’s feelings for her were every bit as strong as my own.

  Kohler took her hands in his; she didn’t resist. He turned them over, palm up, and inspected her fingertips. ‘Such strength, such technique. Who taught you how to play like that?’

  ‘Schnabel.’

  ‘Of course. Such a shame.’

  Saul snapped. ‘A shame, oh yes, definitely a shame. The greatest pianist of his age is, unfortunately, Jewish. Such a shame, though I don’t hear Adolph using that word. Eliminate them from the German economy, yes. Take all their possessions, yes. Annihilate them, yes. Remove them from history –’

  ‘I can understand your viewpoint, Marcks.’ Kohler sounded calm. ‘But you have to be realistic. Germany feels betrayed by the Jews after what happened in November 1918. You must remember the Fuhrer was in the front line in an unbeaten army when the Jewish socialists destroyed them from behind. He also feels threatened by world Jewry – believes they want a war so that Europe can be Bolshevised –’

  I interrupted. ‘Bollocks – that’s just a mealy-mouthed excuse. It’s Hitler who wants to dominate Europe and probably the world as well. It’s only the Bolsheviks who can stop him.’

  ‘Jack, Jack, we mustn’t fall out over these matters. I’m not an apologist for Hitler. I’m merely trying to explain the situation from, what I believe, is the German perspective. It’s not mine.’

  I gasped in disbelief. I was fed up with the pretence. ‘Rudi, we know you are a German. It’s no good pretending you’re a Dutchman anymore.’

  ‘Jack, I’m no more a German than you are a Guernseyman.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Rudi, I have a photograph of you in the German swimming team, wearing the badges. The only thing missing is the Nazi salute.’

  Kohler roared with laughter and poured himself another glass. ‘Jack, I swam for the Royal Navy last week. That doesn’t make me an Englishman. Let’s say I was an unpaid mercenary. The Germans wan
ted to win and we Dutch didn’t have a team.’

  ‘Caroline, for God’s sake, tell him we know.’

  She held Kohler’s gaze but remained silent.

  ‘But what about the diamonds? You’re an economist, Rudi. Tell us about the Bank of International Settlements, tell us how you Nazis are using the money you have stolen from your Jews to rearm for war.’ My voice rose as the anger gripped me.

  Kohler spread his hands in an appeasing gesture. ‘Shush, Jack. Don’t make such accusations without evidence. There are many important people in this room. Don’t offend them with this boorish behaviour, please. Calm down, have another drink.’

  ‘Caroline, what’s going on? Where’s your plan? Why are you letting him get away with this?’

  Rachel spoke softly. ‘There is no plan, Jack, she’s fooled you again. She’s brought Rudi here to show us how human and pleasant he is. Can’t you see what is really going on?’

  Saul eased his chair back. ‘I think that’s enough, Rachel. There’s nothing we can do. I’ll take you home if you like. I’m not comfortable with the smell in here.’

  ‘How predictable, Mr Marcks. Insults really are unnecessary. You needn’t leave before the meal is over. Thank you for trying, Caroline, but I did warn you. Young Jack is too aggressive for his own good and Saul… well the less said.’

  He turned to Rachel and patted her arm. ‘If you will accept advice, I believe it would be in your best interests to find some new friends before these bring you down with them.’

  Rachel lifted his hand and dropped it onto the table then she bent over and retrieved her small evening bag. ‘Before I leave with Saul, there’s something I want to show Jack.’ She fumbled in her bag. ‘Joan found some more photographs from Berlin and gave me one this morning. I didn’t want to come to this… charade but I guessed what Caroline was up to and… Joan left it up to me whether I should show it to you or not. I wasn’t going to but, in the circumstances, I don’t think I have any choice, now.’ She pulled out a photograph, which had been folded in two, and slipped it past Saul to me.

  I looked down at the glossy print, which showed a young girl wearing a summer dress smiling broadly and looking to her left beyond the fold of the photograph. She was thinner and younger, but there was no doubt it was Caroline.

  ‘Before you unfold it, Jack, think for a moment. It won’t be something you can undo.’

  I stared at the picture. The diving boards of the Schwimm Stadion were in the background, the swastikas were fluttering on their masts. Caroline’s hand disappeared off the folded edge.

  I turned to Caroline, who avoided my eyes and stared into space.

  I examined Rachel’s face. She looked sad and her expression was full of apology. I placed my left hand on the corner of the photo and began to pull the fold apart until the whole photograph lay in front of me. I traced Caroline’s hand and followed her eyes all the way to the face of a younger Kohler, standing proudly in the uniform of a German officer.

  I turned the photo so that Caroline and Kohler could see. I felt drained, as empty as I had felt playing Shylock when I mouthed the words “is that the law?” as I fell into the Venetian’s trap and forfeited everything. The courtiers had laughed at my misery then – my friends were silent now.

  Kohler spoke a few quiet words in German to Caroline before stretching across to take the photograph.

  Saul moved faster and stabbed the print with his steak knife, spearing it to the table inches from Kohler’s fingers.

  The German pulled back in surprise and anger.

  Rachel turned to him, her eyes burning. ‘I don’t suppose that’s the same photograph that’s in your passport, now is it? I wonder if the immigration authorities would like to take a look?’

  Kohler snarled, ‘Oh no you don’t, you little bitch.’

  ‘Add “Jewish” to “bitch” if you wish, you lying German bastard. I have a toast for you.’ Rachel stood up, raised her wine glass and tossed the contents into Kohler’s face.

  41

  He sprung up and swung his arm at her. She ducked her head but his hand caught her shoulder and spun her onto the floor.

  I shoved my chair back, rushed past Caroline and thundered into the German. We struggled for a grip on each other. Our bodies bounced off the wall then careered into the table behind us, scattering the guests, their food and their drinks.

  The fall split us apart but Kohler recovered first. He waited for me to get to my knees then kicked me in the chest. I hit the floor and rolled away into the space between the tables. Kohler threw himself onto me and pinned me to the floor. He punched me in the face with his right hand, then hit my head with his left.

  Rachel screamed, ‘Stop!’

  He ignored her and kept punching me.

  She picked up the champagne bottle and swung it at Kohler’s head. He saw it coming and swayed backwards but his head was still within the arc and the heavy bottle connected with his ear. It knocked him off me and onto the carpet. He shook his head and pulled himself up.

  Looking around at the startled guests, he lunged for a steak knife which had fallen from the table behind him. He grabbed it and crouched – the blade pointed at me. He looked beyond reason, completely out of control.

  He advanced, the tip of the knife aimed at my face.

  Suddenly, massive arms crushed his chest in a bear hug and forced the knife from his grasp. My father held him like a bundle of hay he was about to pitch onto the stack.

  I pulled myself up, using a chair for balance. My nose was bleeding and I grabbed a napkin to staunch the flow. Clutching the linen to my face, I slumped onto the chair.

  Caroline sank to the floor.

  What was my father doing here?

  I looked towards the Hayden-Browns. Isobelle was holding her hand over her mouth.

  Behind them, I could see my mother and the Cabots standing in the entrance. My mother was staring at Isobelle, her eyes flaming with hatred.

  ‘I saw everything. I’m arresting you for an unprovoked assault, Renouf.’ Centenier Phillips stood over me, crimson with indignation. ‘You are a menace to civilised society. I’ll make it my business to see you get birched or worse for this, you little hooligan.’

  ‘Thank you, Centenier.’ Jurat Poingdestre tapped the honorary policeman on the shoulder. ‘You are out of your jurisdiction. The Palace Hotel is in St Saviour. You have no authority here. I suggest you resume your seat. I’ll deal with this. Let him go, Aubin. I feel sure he won’t be a problem now.’

  My father dropped the German like a sack of spuds and straightened his jacket. ‘Remember, Ralph, he pulled a knife and threatened my son. There are enough witnesses here to prove that, despite what this idiot thinks.’ He pointed at the centenier, who was backing off to his table.

  Mr Grumbridge’s voice carried across the room. ‘Yes, I agree. I saw the whole thing. This man definitely used a knife. He is the one who should be arrested. I suggest we ask the manager to call the police.’

  ‘There’s no need for that.’ Hayden-Brown had crossed the room with one of his guests and was now crouching down over Caroline. ‘My daughter needs some air and this young man needs some first aid. It is very regrettable but I believe this is probably her fault for leading these two men on. It’s nothing new is it – two men fighting over a girl?’

  His polished tones conveyed authority as he sought to control the situation. He acknowledged my father. ‘Young Renouf’s parents are here to look after him and Mr Kohler’s uncle,’ he indicated the distinguished-looking man behind him, ‘will deal with his errant nephew. I will take my wilful daughter home and have some serious words with her in the morning.’

  He looked around him for any dissent. No one seemed keen to send for the police and they started to melt back to their tables.

  ‘Just one moment everyone.’ Saul’s voice rang out. ‘It’s not quite as simple as Mr Hayden-Brown would have you all believe.’

  They stopped moving and turned to look at him. ‘
This wasn’t a fight over a girl, though they both have strong feelings for her. This was about lies and deceit. Mr Hayden-Brown has been less than honest with you. Mr Kohler is no more Dutch than I am. He is in fact, and in picture,’ he waved the photograph in front of him, ‘a German officer.’

  Silence. Then a shockwave of questions pulsed through the room as the guests absorbed the news.

  Saul raised his voice above the hubbub. ‘And, what is more, his uncle is Dr Ferdinand Kempler of the Reichsbank. Both of them are travelling under false passports, here on the invitation of Mr Hayden-Brown to set up a deal to sell industrial diamonds illegally to Nazi Germany.’

  Saul had overdone it. The false passports would have been enough – even though we had no physical proof – but the accusations about diamonds sounded too fantastic to be true. The crowd started muttering. A couple laughed and that was enough to allow Hayden-Brown to recover from his surprise.

  He clapped ironically. ‘Thank you for the entertainment, but I fear your imagination has got the better of you. My friends are here on holiday – nothing else. Your headmaster is to be congratulated on the acting skills he has taught you.’

  He bowed in the direction of Grumbridge. ‘Perhaps he should have taught you how to hold your drink as well.’ He laughed and many more joined him as he helped Caroline to her feet.

  ‘Thank you for your patience, everyone. Please allow me to buy you all some more wine – apart from our Jewish friend here, who shouldn’t be exerting himself so much on the Sabbath.’

  The laughter tailed off into an embarrassed silence and Saul sat down glumly.

  Rachel put her arm around him and kissed his cheek. ‘Take me home, please.’ She glanced at me as I held my blood spattered face in shame. ‘Do you want to come with us, Jack?’

  My father answered before I could. ‘No. He’ll be coming home with us. We need to have a talk.’

  Hayden-Brown tried to lift his daughter but she shrugged him off. Her expensive white dress was smeared with my blood, which mirrored the colour of her cheeks.

  She pulled herself up, dragged a chair over to me and sat down. ‘It’s not what you think, Jack. Please believe me.’