by P. G. Glynn
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Otto gaped at Mama in astonishment. Seated opposite her in her study after dinner he had just read the document she had offered him for his signature. “Are you saying,” he asked her, “that if I sign this I shall be seriously rich?”
“I am,” she told him from her side of the big, cluttered desk.
“And if I don’t sign it?”
“Then,” she shrugged, “against my better judgment the money will go to Ludwig.” She saw his incredulous expression and said: “He is, after all, my eldest son … and has been suffering. You’re aware of his anguish?”
Thinking of the dog his brother had shot without either pity or contrition, Otto stretched out his legs in front of him. “Let’s just say that I know why Lenka’s in Berlin.”
“I thought you did. Her illness is taking its toll on Ludwig … and I’m sure some extra funds wouldn’t come amiss, to help pay the clinic.”
“Help pay it?” Otto was still getting to grips with the sum on offer. “With those funds he could buy it several times over. Why are you doing this, Mama?”
Marta smiled fondly at him. “Because I want the best for you and my grandchildren … because it is unthinkable for your son to grow up in England.”
“It is?”
“You know it is, Otto! With Berger blood running in his veins he belongs here in Bohemia.”
“As you’ve striven to show me tonight, with the table-linen and Rudolf’s efforts on his violin?” He grinned at her. “That’s blackmail, Mama, as is an Agreement offering me riches beyond dreams of avarice if I agree to domicile myself and my family here.”
Marta frowned before saying: “Call it what you will. Somebody has to do something to show you the folly of leaving Schloss Berger to live elsewhere on the strength of a … a womanly whim.”
“Marie isn’t just any woman … and her acting ambitions are rather more than whims. She’s an outstanding actress and her talents would be wasted were we to live in Bohemia.”
“And you care more about that than you care about your heritage? Shame on you, Otto! Can’t you see the likely consequences of having a wife who’s an actress first and a mother second? She will never be there when you and your children need her. You’ll have to be both mother and father to Carla and your son, or sons … and you can’t have considered how you’ll support your family once you’re cut off from your income.”
“Are you saying you’ll cut me off unless I do as you want?”
“Of course not! But with the prevailing currency restrictions you’ll be cutting yourself off from the bulk of your resources. Your spending power will be drastically reduced … and I can’t somehow see you adapting to that. It might be fine at first but, knowing you as I do, it would soon lose its novelty value.”
“You’re forgetting, Mama, aren’t you, that Marie will be earning a living? As a famous actress I’m sure she’ll keep me in the manner to which I’m accustomed.”
Marta looked hard at him to gauge whether he was jesting. Still uncertain, she asked: “And you’re willing to let your wife work to keep you? If you are, I’ve failed somewhere in your upbringing.” Deciding stronger tactics were required, she said: “I imagine Marie will want to return to the theatre she left when you married her. In fact, she mentioned that she seemed to be needed back at the … Tavistock.”
“She did?” Otto was wholly unprepared for this. “When? She has said nothing on the subject to me.”
“Might that be because she feels guilty?”
“Guilty?” he echoed bemusedly. “Why should she?”
“I wondered whether it could have something to do with … Charles Brodie. He was her leading man … wasn’t he?”
“He was … ” Otto floundered “… but he’s past history.”
“Why, if he is, are you so defensive?”
“I’m not,” he protested. “You’ve just taken me by surprise with all your talk of the Tavistock and … and of Charles.”
Watching him carefully Marta queried: “The name Carla is the feminine form of Charles … isn’t it?”
“I suppose it is.”
“There’s no ‘suppose’ about it,” his mother told him, having seen the truth in his eyes. “Carla is Charles Brodie’s daughter, isn’t she?”
“The fact that she is,” Otto said uncomfortably, “makes no difference to me.”
“Nor to me,” Marta agreed. “I love her quite as much as I’d love her were she your flesh and blood. But while putting two and two together it occurred to me that Marie was perhaps receptive to marriage because of her pregnancy, which served your purpose well, back then. This is now, though, Otto and in my considered opinion you need to protect yourself against any … threat lurking in London. You and Marie seem so happy at present that I’d hate to see anyone come between the two of you and damage the love I’ve watched bloom. I’ve pried quite enough so won’t ask you whether that would be a risk of living in England. I’ll simply say that in your shoes I’d think very carefully before making any move.”
He was thinking. Images were churning chaotically in his head … images of Marie and Charles on-stage together … of Marie in Charles’s arms again. She wouldn’t, though, go back to the Tavistock, would she? Not now that she and Otto were happy. But was she as happy as she had once been with Charles Brodie? Otto somehow doubted it. He still had the feeling, even in their most intimate moments, that Marie might be holding something back … that she might not be as completely his as she had been Charles’s. So he doubted that the past had yet been wholly banished … and Marie had mentioned a reference in Nell’s last letter to Dolly Martin’s drinking habits.
It must be admitted that life in London would present a risk … but then the same could be said in a different sense of life here in Schloss Berger. Otto was still shaken from the fate of that dog and didn’t doubt the sincerity of Ludwig’s accompanying threat. There had been relief, then, in the knowledge that he and his brother were about to live hundreds of miles apart. And now, all out of the blue, Mama was doing this. So who presented the greater risk – Charles or Ludwig? Added to all of which was the fact that he had promised Marie they would settle in Britain. Perhaps, on reflection, his actual promise consisted simply of an undertaking that their next baby would be born on British soil. It was not his fault if Marie had read more into that than he had intended. So he was surely free, in a manner of speaking, to decide what was best for his family.
“It says here,” Otto stated, reading from the paper in front of him, “that in order to qualify for your largesse I need to return to Bohemia within one year of leaving.”
“That’s correct.”
The door opened then and Ludwig said: “This is a cosy little tete-a-tete! Everyone is asking where the two of you are. Why the secrecy? Surely any family discussions should include me?”
A rush of revulsion, along with a sudden resolve that his brother should not benefit from Kadlec money, caused Otto to reach for a pen and say: “Not necessarily … and certainly not when I’m simply showing Mama that I know how to write my name!”
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Marie actually enjoyed the homeward journey. It was shorter than the outward one, with Rudolf having driven them as far as Prague after which they had made straight for Hamburg, and in addition there was now Carla. Seeing Bohemia, then Germany and finally the sea through her daughter’s eyes was like seeing them for the first time. Carla’s delights were her delights … and there was tremendous pride in being the mother of such a winsome child. Marie wondered periodically how she would bear being apart from Carla once she was back in the theatre. With a new skill being learned almost every minute it seemed as if any parting might result in missing too much of her baby’s development. She needed to keep reminding herself that as well as being a mother and wife she was a person in her own right. And she positively hungered to be back in the thick of things, learning lines, performing for an audience, hearing applause, feeling the rush of adrenalin that acting brought.
She was an actress so must act: it was as simple as that.
Now, with London coming closer by the second, Marie felt sudden apprehension. Nothing was the same as before she went away. She was a mother now and pregnant again. So she was not free to do as she once did, pleasing herself in everything. Now her choices were more restricted, added to which there could be no returning to the theatre until after the baby she carried was born next spring. Her hands were tied in that respect and she could not untie them. She had moved on … as had the Tavistock.
It was vital not to think, even for a moment, that things could ever again be as they had been in 1919. Marie could not have those heady times back, except in dreams. Whatever was going on currently at the Tavistock was not her responsibility, however much she might like it to be. But oh, how could she even contemplate staying away from Charles once she was in London? Marie was not at all sure that she was capable of distancing herself from him once they were in the same city and nor was she sure that she could face the changes that had inevitably taken place.
“Whatever’s wrong with me?” she asked Carla, finding a bright smile for her daughter as she dressed her in their cabin. “Anyone would think coming to London had been someone else’s idea! We’re almost there and you’ll soon be seeing Big Ben as well as your great-uncle John, who’ll be waiting for us at the docks.” Otto returned then from an on-deck stroll. “How long,” she asked him, “till we’re home?”
“A matter of minutes … if by ‘home’ you meant London.”
“Of course I did,” Marie said, her misgivings banished as if by magic. “Where else would I have meant?”
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Watching Marie’s boat come in John felt his spirits lift. How long her absence had seemed in the living of it – or, rather, in his Marie-less existence! Left just with Gwen it was as if his life had ended. He had in fact often wished it would end and get him out of the mess he was in. There could be no hell worse than his with Gwen, so he’d take the risk of missing out on heaven. In the hope of killing himself he had turned more and more to drink, which had not gone down at all well at Simpson’s. Consequently Gwen had extra complaints these days … and John had extra time in which to drink, but less money to convert into soothing liquid. Marie must know none of this. He mustn’t bother her with his silly worries …
“Uncle John – here I am, back, like the bad penny I am!”
He looked up bemusedly as she shouted and saw her there on deck, Carla in her arms. Waving to her, he wondered whether there could be any greater bliss than to stand east of Bow Creek on the Plaistow Marshes and see – through the morning mist – the girl of his dreams re-enter his awakening. John doubted it and as her boat berthed in the Royal Albert dock shouted back: “Marie, my little beauty – what a turn-up this is!”
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Claridge’s had changed little, if at all, in Marie’s absence and she wished the same could be said of her uncle. He looked so haggard … so old. It was hard to believe that he was only a year older. And he had lost so much weight that his greatcoat hung on him as it might hang on a skeleton. He wasn’t ill, was he … and if not, what was wrong?
She bided her time before asking him and even then didn’t risk spoiling things with a direct question. It was so good to see him again, and he was taking such pleasure both in her and in Carla, that it would be a pity to dampen the atmosphere but nevertheless something must be said. “You’ve obviously been pining for me,” she observed lightly as they enjoyed coffee in Otto’s usual suite. “So it’s just as well that I’m back now to keep an eye on you … and see that you eat properly.”
“Your mother’s as bossy as ever, isn’t she?” John said to Carla, who was gripping one of his fingers while sitting happily on his knee. Then he said to Marie, avoiding her steady gaze: “She’s you all over again … so I can’t even fault her for putting a ‘great’ in front of my name. What a little charmer she is already! She’ll be a heartbreaker, just as you are.”
Smiling her acknowledgement, Marie hoped she had not broken his heart and that it was not because she had gone away that he now looked so old and woebegone. Oh, he was trying to put a brave face on things but she wasn’t blind. “None of which,” she observed drily, “tells me anything about you worth knowing. Perhaps, with a good, square meal inside you, you’ll be more forthcoming.”
“Only if it’s served on a square plate,” he grinned. “I can’t think why you want to talk about me when it’s you who’s been adventuring. Tell me all about it, from the beginning, starting with the relatives.” His grin included Otto now. “I prefer people to places – hearing about them, that is, especially if they live more colourful lives than mine which, in the case of the Bergers, is highly likely. Come to think of it,” he said more soberly, “a life with less colour than John Jones’s would be hard to find.”
Marie obliged with tales of Otto’s family, embroidering these to such a degree that they were all laughing after a short while. Told over here, tales of life in Bohemia – even without embroidery – sounded somewhat far-fetched, especially when she touched on the subject of Ludwig and Lenka, whose names alone stretched John’s credulity. As Marie chatted animatedly it seemed to her as if Schloss Berger were receding to become somewhere she had visited once in some fantasy. It no longer seemed real compared with Claridge’s and Uncle John and London, which had always been and would always be the true reality.
“Mama rules the roost,” she ended when Carla started showing signs of restlessness. “I doubt any of her sons realise the degree to which she rules the castle … and them.”
“She doesn’t,” Otto said, rushing to his mother’s defence. “Mama might keep us all in order but … there’s no question of her ruling us.”
“There isn’t?” Marie asked, taking Carla from her uncle and giving the baby a cuddle. “You only think that because she rules with kid gloves. She did her utmost to dissuade us from leaving Schloss Berger and coming to live in London and I must admit it’s to your credit that you didn’t succumb to her persuasive tactics. I thought of you at one stage as the rope in a tug of war between Mama and me.”
“You did?” Otto queried, wondering whether she would ever forgive his betrayal and doing his best not to look guilty.
“Yes – and when you and she disappeared into her study on our last evening in Herrlichbach I was ready to do battle if necessary. I shouldn’t have underestimated you, though, should I? You can obviously stand up to her better than I realised. Or wasn’t her summons a last-ditch attempt to make you see ‘sense’?”
Having been half-expecting it ever since they left, he was surprised Marie had taken so long to ask this question. All the same he was not ready and, stammering, said: “How imaginative you are! But you’re being too hard on Mama. I always thought you were fond of her.”
“I am, but being fond of someone doesn’t preclude me from seeing them objectively. Pooh, Carla has just dirtied her nappy! I’ll remove her before the room needs evacuating.”
Marie left then to change the baby and Otto breathed again. John asked him: “So the plan really is to settle over here, instead of in Bohemia?”
“It’s what Marie wants,” Otto hedged.
“And what my niece wants she generally gets!” John said proudly, showing his relief. “That’s the best news I’ve had since she went away … and I must say that I, too, had underestimated you. When you two set off on your honeymoon I believed that, once you had Marie out of England, you’d do your utmost to keep her in your country … and that I might never see her again. But I was reckoning without her determination to return as well as without your love for her. It’s obvious to me that you love her deeply. You must do, to forsake your homeland for hers … and I thank you hugely for your bigheartedness.”
Otto couldn’t take much more of this. Praise and thanks when these were due to him were one thing, quite another when they were not due and he was far from deserving them. He changed the subject, asking: “How’s Gwen?”
“As shrewish as ever,” John answered, construing Otto’s sudden switch of topic as evidence of uncharacteristic modesty, “although that’s perhaps unfair. Being the man I am, I’ve probably turned her into the shrew I’m now married to. I wouldn’t describe myself as good husband-material. Quite the contrary, what with my Welsh depressions and my … my other shortcomings.”
“Are your meals these days chiefly liquid?” Otto asked him, adding quickly: “If so I hope you’ll let us help put some meat on those bones. Whereas Marie and I have both expanded since a year ago you, if you don’t mind my saying so, have some catching up to do.”
To his own surprise John found that he didn’t mind … and that he was working up quite an appetite. What a difference it made, having Marie home again! For her he could be a better man than he had been of late. For her he could be strong and might even find himself another job. He could do anything, be anyone, for her sake. He replied with a smile: “I’m all for expanding waistlines. Once Carla has had her lunch I’ll be more than ready to make a start on mine.”
“Your lunch or your waist?”
“Aren’t they, for our purpose, one and the same?”
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Over luncheon, which they ate in their suite so that they could be near Carla while she had a sleep, Marie asked John: “Did you have any problems getting today off?”
