by Pierre Frei
Looking in the rear-view mirror, she straightened her hat. She didn't particularly like it. She'd take it back tomorrow and choose another, perhaps the little red one with the veil, or the black cap with the silver feather. As they turned into Gumbinner Allee, she had settled on a straw picture hat as top of her list, because of the fascinating shadow that its broad brim cast. If she raised her head slowly and bent an enigmatic glance on the next table Ulrike, sitting beside Tom, would certainly ask who that mysterious woman was. Detta imagined the scene in every detail, and decided that by comparison any kind of death, however dramatic, had a drawback: you wouldn't be able to enjoy other people's reactions.
Miriam was dog-paddling about in the water, a bottle of champagne on the side of the pool. She waved. 'Get yourself a glass and come on in.' Detta stripped her clothes off. Until an hour ago she would never, ever have shown herself naked. She jumped into the pool, poured a glass of champagne, emptied it at a single draught and then drank another. 'He's found someone else,' her friend remarked dryly. 'What did you expect? Berlin is full of pretty girls, and your airman is a desirable man. Luckily there are plenty more of them, as you'll find out this evening. As I told you, I've invited a few people round. My very special farewell performance.' There was a determined set to her mouth. Detta was about to fill her glass for the third time, but Miriam took it from her hand. 'That's enough. Go and lie down so you'll be feeling fresh later. Here, have my dressing gown and I'll use the towel.'
The door to the guest lavatory was open. A plumber in blue overalls was installing a new lavatory bowl. He misunderstood Detta's appearance. Another five minutes, then you can use it,' he told her.
In the cool twilight of her room she sobbed quietly on the bed. She thought of her first meeting with Thomas Glaser: his bold landing in Aichborn, dancing with him after dinner, the flight in his open aeroplane next morning. She stopped crying when she realized, with surprise, that he had given her no reason, in word or deed, to entertain hopes of any kind. She had imagined the whole thing.
Around seven a delivery van from Kempinski brought platters of cold food and a couple of dozen bottles of champagne, which were cooling on blocks of ice in a zinc tub. Miriam's American Frigidaire wasn't large enough for them. Detta thought of the ice cellar in Aichborn. In winter people sawed thick chunks of ice off the frozen pond; packed in straw, they would last for months in the cellar, and were used to cool drinks for the annual summer estate party. Father insisted on continuing this age-old tradition.
Are you expecting many people?'
'Everyone who wants to say goodbye to me. But I'm much more interested in seeing who doesn't come.'
'Do you really have to leave?'
Miriam laughed bitterly. 'Oh, no, my dear. We're going entirely of our own free will. Come along, find yourself something long and close-fitting from the wardrobe. Your new silk dress is really more suitable for the afternoon.'
The first guests arrived at eight. Miriam introduced Detta to them. 'Hella and Gottfried Siebert. We play mixed doubles at the Red and White Club, if anyone is mad enough to partner me.'
'Nice to meet you.' Detta shook hands with the young couple.
'Gottfried is head of programmes at Radio Berlin,' Miriam told her friend.
'Director of Transmissions for Reich Radio,' Siebert corrected her. A few things have changed.'
The station signal is the same. "Ub' immer Treu and Redlichkeit", isn't it? "Be true and honest evermore,"' Miriam replied, with obvious irony.
'Laugh if you like, but you won't stop the new times coming.'
'The new times won't stop us going either. The family's already left, and I'm following in a few hours' time.'
'Those who think as we do have nothing to fear,' said Hella Siebert, with conviction.
Detta scrutinized the couple curiously. The Sieberts were in their late twenties, and looked very athletic and healthy. They both wore the Party badge. and were looking challengingly around, as if rather on the defensive. Yet otherwise they seemed perfectly normal. She couldn't make them out.
'Hello, Rolf.' Miriam waved to a stout man in his thirties. 'Rolf Lamprecht cuts people's stomachs up,' she said, introduced him to Detta. 'He's promised me the smallest scar in the world if he ever has to take my appendix out. Rolf, darling, I thought you were bringing the Froweins with you?'
'Paul and Marianne send apologies. Hay fever.'
'Poor things. Billie, Fritz, give a paw. This is my friend Henriette von Aichborn, but you can call her Detta. Sybille and Friedrich von Coberg are a genuine princely couple, I'd have you know.'
'Only to impress the customers. We have a small art gallery in Charlottenburg.' said Prince Coberg apologetically.
'Ah, Madame et Monsieur Montfort, quel plaisir. C'est mon amie Mademoiselle von Aichborn. Elle reste chez moi. Detta, the Montforts import the very best wines from Burgundy.'
And it's not easy with these new restrictions on foreign exchange.' Monsieur Montfort spoke in faultless German.
'German folk drink German wine!' cried a smart young man, raising his hand in a mock Hitler salute.
'Behave yourself, Egon,' Miriam told him. 'Detta, this is Egon Jeschke, reporter for Berliner Zeitung, even livelier when he writes than when he's talking nonsense. All Berlin enjoys his stories.'
Egon Jeschke made a face. With the exception of Dr Otto Dietrich, the new Reich press chief. I wondered in an article whether his legs are as beautiful as the pins of his famous niece in Hollywood, and was told I could leave out Jewish jokes like that in future. I think I'll play safe and switch to the sports section. They don't expect you to be funny there.'
More guests arrived, to be vivaciously greeted by Miriam and lavishly plied with champagne. Detta wandered around, watching them and picking up scraps of their conversation. 'That man Hitler ought to have been made Transport Minister instead of Reich Chancellor. He's mainly interested in building motorways.' The speaker had dark hair and slender artist's hands, and was talking to the Cobergs. Detta joined them.
'This is Detta von Aichborn: the Prince introduced her. And this is Dr Felix Gerhard.'
A doctor of medicine?'
'No, a D.Phil. I'm a composer. I write film scores for the UfA studios.'
'For as long as they'll let him,' Friedrich von Coberg remarked. 'Heaven knows what those Nazis have against our Jewish friends. How are the theatre, the movies, the cabaret to survive without Reinhardt, Hollander, Spolianski, Lang, Weill and all the rest?'
Dr Gerhard gave a thin smile. 'The last Jew in our family was called Schmuel Gelbfisz. He was my grandfather. He wore a caftan and ringlets, and the Tsar's Cossacks killed him. After that my father fled with us to Posen in the German Empire. He had the whole family baptized, and our name's been Gerhard ever since. My father rose to the rank of artillery captain in the war and won the Iron Cross. I studied in Breslau and took my doctorate in Berlin. I'm a good German, a good taxpayer, and a good friend of the actress Emmy Sonnemann, who's engaged to Goring, prime minister of Prussia. General Goring takes a lively interest in cultural life, and Emmy's going to introduce me to him.'
Dr Gerhard paused, and added cautiously, Anyway, film scores will be needed outside Germany too. I've written to my friend Lubitsch in America, just in case.'
'Detta, darling, you absolutely must meet David Floyd-Orr.' Miriam had a lanky, youngish man in tow. 'David, this is Detta von Aichborn,' she told him, speaking English. Detta fell into the same language.
'How do you do, Mr Floyd-Orr?' she said, shaking hands.
'David's something at the British Embassy,' Miriam informed her, before moving on.
'How do you do. Miss von Aichborn? I'm third secretary, to be precise. Which leaves me with a lot of time to explore this marvellous town.' The Englishman had unruly red hair and a few freckles under his grey-green eyes. He was casually elegant, and unusually clad for the Berlin of 1935, in a pair of pale-grey flannels and a double-breasted blazer, with a button pulling it in slightly at the wais
t. A German tailor would have ironed out that effect without mercy. 'Perhaps you could show me around?' he suggested, looking at her with admiration.
'I'd be happy to, but you probably know Berlin much better than I do. I'm only just up from the country.'
A country girl, how wonderful!'
A rustic is more like it.'
'Would you have lunch with me tomorrow?'
'Oh no, Mr Floyd-Orr, that's too sudden for me. I mean, I don't even know you.'
And if you refuse my invitation you won't get to know me. What a pity that would be. You'd regret it.'
'You're not at all conceited, by any chance?'
'Not in the least. Just convinced of my inner worth, which generally reveals itself to good effect over lunch in charming company. So how about it?'
'The answer is still no - this time.'
'What about next time?'
Miriam interrupted them. 'Herr Karch, what an honour!' She hurried to meet a gentleman with a small silver pin sparkling on his dark suit. 'Come in and I'll introduce you to some people. Let's start with my friend here: Under-Secretary Aribert Karch - Baroness Henriette von Aichborn.'
A slight click of the heels, a damp kiss of her hand, while Detta looked down at a short parting, straight as a matchstick, and when the man had straightened up into a pair of grey eyes behind rimless glasses. Miriam nodded at them and disappeared. The Englishman had gone away. Oh dear, I've put him off me, thought Detta. She pointed at two little silver lightning flashes on Karch's lapels. Are you with the electricity works?'
'I belong to the Circle of Friends of the ReichsfUhrer SS,' he informed her, looking important.
A Circle of Friends, how nice. I expect you do all sorts of things together. Do you go for expeditions? Or maybe you go to the pictures together?' Karch was struggling for words. Detta saved him the trouble. 'I don't really want to know the details. Come along, Herr Karch, let's find something to drink. Do you like champagne? And I've heard that the smoked Rhine salmon is excellent.'
After you, Baroness.' Karch followed her to the buffet. He pointed to a very good-looking, youngish man in a light-coloured suit. 'Isn't that Erik de Winter the film actor?'
'It could be. Everyone meets at Miriam's.'
But luckily the Goldbergs and their like are not the majority. Germans like you and me predominate, Baroness.' Karch put a salmon roll in his mouth and dabbed his lips with a pure-white handkerchief, which he had taken from his breast pocket. After using it he tucked it into his left sleeve. All this was done with rather too much nonchalance, in the same way that he held the foot of his champagne glass between thumb and forefinger rather than clutching it by the stem.
'It would be a great pleasure if I could invite you here again in a few weeks' time.'
'Oh, now I know who you are. You're from the Ministry of Economic Affairs, and you're taking over Miriam's apartment.'
'I shall be giving a reception when I move in.' Karch cleared his throat. 'Exclusively for German guests. I am planning to have a string quartet playing German music, and I shall serve German sparkling wine and a few choice tidbits.'
'German caviar, perhaps?' Detta couldn't help saying, and earned herself a suspicious look from the under-secretary. She watched Miriam, who was tossing back glass after glass of champagne, with concern.
Hella Siebert came back from the guests' lavatory looking distraught. She began speaking to her husband in great agitation, but Detta couldn't hear what she was saying. Miriam, swaying, climbed on a chair. 'My dear friends!' she cried at the top of her voice. They all looked up at her. I want to say goodbye to you, dear friends. I am leaving in an hour's time. And I owe some among you special thanks. The Sieberts, for instance. Gottfried and Hella, thank you so much for all the efforts you've been making recently to have me thrown out of the Red and White, because someone like me is not welcome as a club member now. But for me they'd never have accepted a couple of little social climbers like you.' Gottfried Siebert went red in the face. His wife began to sob.
Miriam was sobering up with every word. And many thanks to Paul and Marianne Frowein, who unfortunately are not with us this evening. They have hay fever, poor things. Remarkable at this time of year, don't you agree? When they wanted a loan to buy their own house and asked me to put in a good word with Grandfather, they were always dropping in here.'
'Stop it, Miriam,' Rolf Lamprecht warned her.
'Not yet. First I must also thank Herr Aribert Karch. A remarkable man, Herr Karch. Promoted within a single year from a little nobody in the filing room of the Ministry of Economic Affairs to under-secretary in the same ministry. I'd like to see anyone equal that. Such unappetizing blobs of fat swim to the top of the brown soup these days.' Karch went pale. 'He considerately arranged for the Goldbergs to leave, the under-secretary did. And he was so generous too. Imagine, the family can take a tenth of what they own with them. The remaining ninety per cent goes to those brown-clad upstarts. The under-secretary calls it an emigration tax. If they didn't go, the family would be taken into protective custody. Only to protect parasites like us from the righteous anger of the German people, of course. Not that he personally has anything against us. But it's a good opportunity to get his hands on my apartment for peanuts, isn't it, Herr Karch?' She flung her glass on the floor at his feet. Furious, Karch stormed out.
Miriam jumped down from the chair. 'Listen!' she cried, laughing. 'Just a word to everyone who hasn't been to the guest lavatory yet. Yes, Gottfried, what your wife saw is correct: I had it designed by an artist for my farewell party. A talented painter on porcelain has immortalized the Fi hrer's portrait in the lavatory bowl, so anyone who feels like it can shit on him. It's a pleasure I shall certainly allow myself before I leave.'
Incredulous silence, contained laughter, horrified whispers. The range of reactions was wide. Monsieur Montfort found it difficult to suppress a grin. Dr Gerhard, his face unmoved, looked at the floor. Egon Jeschke smiled and murmured, 'Miriam, you're fantastic, girl!'
Miriam took his glass from his hand. 'Your good health, Egon, my friend. Your very good health, all my true friends!' She emptied it in a single draught. And as for the rest of you, you unpleasant little crooks who have been sponging on me for years, enjoying the delightful feeling of belonging to society - to hell with you!'
David Floyd-Orr was the only one now standing by the buffet, concentrating on choosing delicacies and carefully piling them on his plate. As a diplomat he can't take sides. He has to exercise restraint,' said Friedrich von Coberg, quietly drawing Detta aside. 'Listen, Karch has phoned the Gestapo. Our friend must get out of here at once.'
Miriam was about to pour herself another glass of champagne, but Detta steered her into the bedroom. 'Quick, get changed. There's no time to lose. Karch has alerted the Gestapo.'
Without haste, Miriam stepped out of her cocktail dress as if she hadn't heard what Detta said. Clad in her silk camiknickers, she opened the wardrobe that ran all the way along the wall and inspected its contents with a critical eye. 'The green tweed suit from Scotland, maybe? Or Coco Chanel's travelling ensemble would look pretty. What do you think? Maybe I should wear the pale-grey flannel dress with the black turban? That would suit my white car, don't you think?'
'Give it to me.' Detta took the turban, put it on and stuffed her fair hair under it.
'Oh, that really suits you. You can have it. I'll wear Madame Schiaparelli's sporty felt hat.'
'You go into my room, take my raincoat and beret, and keep calm,' Detta told her. Tyres squealed outside. 'I hope the Prince can hold them off long enough. I'll come and see you in Lisbon sometime. Goodbye. Miriam.'
The garage door flew open. The white BMW, its hood down, roared up the ramp to the street in first gear, racing past a black limousine. The man at the wheel of the black car watched it go, startled, and then hooted his horn hard. Men in leather coats rushed out of the building and piled into the car. 'Go on, follow her!' one of them panted. The sports car was lurching round the
corner well ahead of them. It turned into Heerstrasse. 'She drives like the devil,' said the driver in annoyance.
Detta pushed the turban back from her forehead as it threatened to slip down over her eyes. She stepped on the gas. The car jolted forward and shot down the street, going she didn't know where, except that she was heading out of town. A sign saying 'Frankfurt/Oder 130 Kilometres' made up her mind. The road went straight ahead. The Mercedes in her rear-view mirror looked smaller. Why not let him catch up a bit, she thought, grinning. The poor driver's going to such trouble. The black limousine behind her grew until it was large enough for Detta's liking. She stepped on the gas, and her pursuers shrank again. She repeated this game several times, beginning to enjoy herself. Then, unexpectedly, a level crossing barrier came down. Detta trod on the brake as hard as she could. The BMW stopped just centimetres from the barrier as the Warsaw express thundered past.
Next moment four men in leather coats surrounded the car. Detta beamed at them. 'Phew! I only just made it in time.'
'Gestapo,' the leader of the men barked.
'Pleased to meet you, Herr Gestapo.' She offered him her hand. And I'm Detta von Aichborn.'
'Never mind the silly jokes. Geheime Staatspolizei. Can you prove your identity?'
As it happens, I have my passport with me. I'm going to Poland. A flying visit to the Potockys. Prince Potocky is my godfather.' She pulled the black turban off her head, revealing her blonde hair.
'Baroness von Aichborn, Henriette Sophie Charlotte,' one of the men read out loud from her passport. 'Is this your vehicle?'
