Berlin: A Novel

by Pierre Frei

  'No, a friend lent me the car. She thought she'd take the train toVienna instead. The papers are in the glove compartment. Want to see them?'

  'Come on, back to Berlin. Perhaps we can pick her up at the station,' said the leader.

  The black limousine turned and disappeared in a cloud of dust. Detta watched it go. 'Led you a nice dance,' she told herself with satisfaction, patting the little gold plaque with M.G.. Miriam's initials, on the dashboard.

  The call from Copenhagen came in the afternoon. It was Miriam, bright and cheerful as if nothing had happened. 'Hello, darling, I got here safely.'

  'Oh, my God, Miriam, I'm so glad.'

  'It was a great idea of yours, drawing the pack off with the car and sending them in the direction of Vienna. My passport is up to date, so there were no problems at the Danish border.'

  'Promise me to stay there and rest for a few days. Copenhagen is said to be very beautiful.'

  'Very beautiful and very petit bourgeois. I miss Berlin already. I'm going to take the next ship to England and then fly from London to Paris. Listen, darling. I want you to keep the car. Put it somewhere safe. I'll write to your family notary, and Dr Rossitter will make out the deed of gift. Have fun at the wheel, and don't drive straight into the nearest tree. Stay in my apartment as long as they'll let you. I'll call from Lisbon in a few weeks' time. Bye now.'

  Detta didn't stay in Miriam's apartment. It would have felt like treachery. She put the roadster in the garage building in Kantstrasse, and took a room at the Pension Wolke in Windscheidstrasse. She stayed in her room all the next day and the following night. She didn't want to see anyone after all that had happened. On Sunday she felt better.

  'You poor thing, you must be half-starved,' said Frau Wolke, welcoming her to the lunch table. Detta got to know the handful of long-term guests in the boarding house; Herr Kohler, a genteel, reserved man who was head clerk in a nearby attorney's office, wore a monocle and tried to put on aristocratic airs; friendly Vera Vogel, secretary to an insurance company director; elderly Fraulein Dr Burmester, who taught at the French School. And Marlene Kaschke, a tall young blonde with long legs and rather too much decollete, who seemed to Detta to have a curiously hunted look. She said she was looking for a job.

  Albert Wolke had been blinded by poison gas at Ypres, and now sat by the radio listening to marching music interrupted by enthusiastic news bulletins: German troops had entered the Saarland. 'The Saar is German again!' announced the newsreader triumphantly.

  'Yup, and it'll be the Rhineland next, and then Alsace. That Hitler won't ever be satisfied. And nobody's going to stop him, either,' Wolke grumbled. 'Weren't our fingers burnt bad enough last time?' But no one was interested in his comments.

  'Like to come to the pictures?' Marlene Kaschke asked. 'I'm thinking of applying for an usherette's job at the UfA Palace, and I fancy seeing the new Willy Fritsch movie.'

  'That's nice of you, but I'm expecting a visitor.' Detta had sent HansGeorg a postcard with her address on it, asking him to call on Sunday. She went to her room and leafed through the Berliner Illustrierte, but its photoreports from all over the world didn't interest her. She kept thinking of Tom Glaser's smiling, manly face, and how she'd never again be as close to him as when they had danced that slow foxtrot at Aichborn. It's going to take you time to get over that, she thought in her sober Prussian way.

  Frau Wolke came to her room about four. 'Gentleman to see you.' she announced, rather suspiciously. 'Young man in uniform. Kindly leave your door open.'

  Hans-Georg stormed in, beaming. 'Detta, at last!'

  She hugged him and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. 'My brother, Lieutenant Hans-Georg von Aichborn: Frau Wolke, my landlady,' she introduced them.

  Frau Wolke melted when he kissed her hand. 'Well, in that case of course you can close the door. I'll bring you coffee and home-made cake.' She wafted away.

  'Come on, sit down. How was Trakehnen?'

  'Stubbendorf and I tried out some promising young horses. There's a four-year-old mare I particularly like. She moves beautifully ...' He talked enthusiastically about the studs in East Prussia and his excursions in the area, but Detta saw the sorrow in his eyes.

  'You miss her a lot, don't you?'

  'More than anything in the world,' he confessed. 'Detta, what am I going to do?'

  It hurt, but she made herself speak firmly. 'You've trained to be a soldier and nothing else. You don't know a word of Portuguese. What would you do in Lisbon? Live off your wife, a prince consort with nothing but an aristocratic title and some social graces?'

  He tried a smile. 'You sound so grown up, little sister.'

  'Well, I have grown up these last few days, because now I know that girlish dreams have nothing to do with reality. The reality is that Tom Glaser's getting married next week. Silly fool that I am. I've been obsessed with him. Reality is fat ladies buying dresses in Horn's, insulting other people and getting away with it, and greedy under-secretaries rising to the top of the social order under the new regime.' She told her brother about the events of the last few days. 'Miriam told it to them straight when she said goodbye, she was wonderful.'

  I shall wait for her. There are enough sensible people in the government to restrain the few extremists. The Chancellor can't really want to have half the world against him, particularly now that he's as good as finished liberating Germany from the Treaty of Versailles. You wait, Miriam and her family will soon be back, unharmed.'

  He really believes it, thought Detta in amazement.

  Frau Wolke brought coffee and marble cake. A lovely day,' she said, trying to make conversation, but when brother and sister reacted politely but in monosyllables she quickly beat a retreat.

  'What are you going to do?' Hans-Georg asked.

  'Go to Thomas Glaser's wedding. As a form of aversion therapy. so to speak. And look for work and a place to live. I phoned Father, and he knows someone in the Foreign Ministry. I'm to go for an interview there. And as for my free time - well, it's not far to Potsdam. I'll come over as often as you like.'

  'I know Stubbendorf will be happy to lend you a horse. We can go riding together.'

  She carried his hand to her cheek. 'You're still my favourite man,' she said affectionately.

  The 'someone' in the Foreign Ministry was not only a member of the Baron's old student fraternity but also Reich Foreign Minister. Herr von Neurath had a kindly, paternal manner, but not much time. 'I'm sure one more young lady here in the FM can't hurt. Your English is perfect and your Spanish very good, I hear. You can lend Arvid von Troll a hand on the Western Europe desk. My personnel adviser will see to the formalities. You must come and have dinner with us one day soon. My wife will be delighted.'

  An elderly secretary inspected Detta with reserve, and indicated that Herr von Troll was in Geneva at the moment. You can meet him next week. Although we really don't have any vacancies,' she added sharply.

  'Excellent, that'll give me time to look for an apartment; said Detta cheerfully. She was determined to make the best of everything.

  In Wilhelmstrasse a man waved to her from the other side of the road. It was David Floyd-Orr. He launched himself into the traffic with deathdefying daring, and steered his loose-limbed way over the road. His red head was shining in the sun. 'Miss von Aichborn, how nice to see you.'

  'Likewise, Mr Floyd-Orr. Are you out on diplomatic business?'

  'I'm visiting shoe shops, to be honest. I'm looking for a pair of white canvas deck shoes, which in my size seems to be downright impossible.'

  Detta glanced down at his feet. 'Bensing goes to Wertheim once every two years. He doesn't come to Berlin more often than that.'

  'Bensing?'

  He runs the whole place at home. You'd probably call him a butler. His shoe size is positively illegal.' Her hand flew to her mouth. 'Oh, forgive me! That was tactless!'

  He laughed. 'So where is this shoe shop?'

  'You've been in this city longer than me and you don't know Wer
theim?'

  'Luckily not, I think, because now I depend on you to help me, and a helpless man is usually halfway to winning his lady, or so says my friend Jack, who knows a lot about women. At least, he's on his third marriage.'

  'Dear me, a Bluebeard!'

  'No, only an American.'

  SA men were standing outside the Wertheim department store on Potsdamer Platz with sandwich boards that read: 'Germans, Don't Buy from Jews!' But no one seemed to be taking any notice: the big revolving doors were in constant motion. The people of Berlin were not going to let themselves be told what do so easily.

  Inside, Detta and the Englishman stared up at the glass dome. beneath which an aircraft hung from steel cables. 'It once belonged to a famous airman called Udet,' Detta explained to her protege. and asked a salesman the way to the shoe department, where they found the right size in no time.

  'Shall we have a coffee?' he suggested.

  'Yes, let's.' They went up to the store cafe, where there was a pleasant smell of chocolate and whipped cream, and smart waitresses in lace caps were serving the customers. 'So you're a sailor,' she remarked.

  'Because of the shoes? Oh no. My colleague Nigel Hawksworth was unexpectedly transferred to Shanghai. and he's lent me his motorboat. It's moored by the Sti ssensee bridge, and has two cabins to the fore. If you bring a girlfriend you can safely accept my invitation to a weekend on the water. I like fresh night air, so I sleep on deck anyway.'

  Detta put on a show of reserve. 'I'll ask Marion if she'd like to come. Can I phone you, Mr Floyd-Orr?'

  He gave her his card. 'If you can bring yourself to say David, it would save you a lot of time.'

  'I'm Detta, then.'

  He took her to the U-Bahn, and she caught the Kaiserdamm train. It wasn't far from there to the Pension Wolke. Her heart rose at the thought of a weekend on the water. The only problem was -- she didn't know any Marion.

  Detta had told the family at home her present address, and it was passed on to Dr Theodor Rossitter the notary, who wrote asking her to visit his office in Unter den Linden. She had known him from her earliest childhood; he came to Aichborn every year for the shooting.

  She took the bus to the Brandenburg Gate. The guard was being changed, with drums and pipes, at the Neue Wache Memorial. A captain on horseback accepted the report of the officer leading the parade, a dashing young lieutenant. Detta mingled with the spectators enjoying the colourful show. Not like those spruced-up SS fellows outside the Reich Chancellery,' someone said. This is something else!'

  'Never you mind that Adolf,' said the man's neighbour. 'They've got their own doormen outside the Adlon too.'

  Detta went down Unter den Linden, past the Cafe Kranzler. The notary's office was in an old building not far from Friedrichstrasse, and had a dusty but solid appearance. The affairs of the landed gentry of Prussia had been handled here for over two hundred years.

  'Fraulein Henriette,' Dr Rossitter welcomed her in his old-fashioned way, always rather stiff. On behalf of Fraulein Miriam Goldberg, I have prepared the deed of gift of a motor vehicle to you. Please sign here. My clerk will see to registration in your name.'

  'Thank you, Dr Rossitter.'

  He gave her a melancholy smile. 'I do wish you'd call me Uncle Theo, as you used to.'

  'Thank you, then, Uncle Theo.'

  And there's a second reason why I asked you to come to see me. Your father has written to me. He wants you to have your grandmother's legacy at your disposal now. You are of age, and old enough to manage your money.'

  'Is it an awful lot?' she asked, rather scared.

  'You will be sent a precise account. Mainly it consists of papers, securities and landed property which your family's bank is managing for you. There is also a savings account for you to use as you wish. Ewald will give you the documents proving your ownership of the account, which will enable you to withdraw money or make transfers in any of the bank's branches. For instance, I have in mind your new car, which will mean a certain amount of expense for you, and we mustn't forget your rent, since I'm sure you will soon be moving into your own apartment.'

  'I have a job at the Foreign Ministry. I'll be earning a real salary,' said Detta proudly.

  'Congratulations. A very suitable post for a young lady.' Dr Rossitter escorted her out. 'If you need help or advice, I'm at your service any time. Don't forget that: like any other big city, Berlin can be a dangerous place.'

  'Many thanks, Uncle Theo. I'll take care of myself.' Elated, Detta ran down the steps and went straight into the bookshop next door to buy a map of the city. Then she took the white roadster out of the garage. She couldn't wait to explore the capital at the wheel.

  Admiring and envious glances followed the young blonde in the open sports car. Women at the wheel were almost as rare a sight as the stylish BMW 319 itself. 'You want a personal invitation, Fraulein?' inquired the police officer directing traffic outside the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church. Although he had signalled to her for the second time. Detta had remained at the road junction without moving - she had suddenly thought of Marlene Kaschke. Just the right chaperone for her weekend with the freckled Englishman. She smiled an apology at the policeman and stepped on the gas.

  Detta met her new boss on Tuesday. Arvid von Troll had caught the night express from Geneva. He was in his mid-thirties, with a thin, well-shaped face and a scar on his left cheek which, Detta discovered, was the result not of a duel but a motor accident. The diplomat was an enthusiastic crosscountry driver.

  'Do you go in for any sports, Fraulein von Aichborn?'

  'Only if you count riding as a sport. Exercising a dozen horses every day isn't all fun. Our estate manager's daughter is doing it for me now. If they're always out at pasture, the dear creatures fall into bad habits.'

  But Herr von Troll wasn't really interested in that. 'We're just preparing for the Minister's visit to England. The official part is all in the clear, but then there's the invitation to a weekend at Chequers. Can you think of a good present for him to take the master of the house and Mrs Macdonald?'

  'When do you need my suggestions by?'

  'By the day before yesterday.' Troll turned to the stack of files on his desk.

  Frau Wilhelmi the secretary showed Detta her little office on the other side of the corridor. The only furniture was a desk, chair and filing cabinet. Two floors below was the yard, with official cars parked in it. The secretary pointed to an electric bell above the door. 'When that rings you go straight in to Herr von Troll. You'll find paper and pencils in the cabinet there.'

  She turned to leave. Detta stopped her. 'I need the latest edition of Who's Who, the big Muret-Sanders dictionary, a typewriter and most important of all, a telephone. I'd like the reference books and the typewriter at once, please, and the telephone by this afternoon.'

  'There's a telephone kiosk down on the ground floor.'

  Detta ignored this declaration of hostilities. She pointed to the socket in the skirting board. 'I see there's a connection here already. The caretaker can install the phone after the lunch break. That will give him enough time to inform the switchboard. He can bring a table and chair for the typewriter at the same time; I'd like to keep my desk free for other work.' The secretary was about to object, but Detta cut her off, saying coolly, 'That will be all for the time being. Thank you, Frau Wilhelmi.' The secretary lowered her gaze. Detta had won.

  That afternoon an Olympia was standing in all its glory on a typewriter table which had been brought to stand in the window, carbon paper and copy paper within easy reach beside it, the reference books were on the filing cabinet, and the telephone cord was coiling its way to the socket. Detta picked up the receiver. The switchboard answered at once. 'Extension 124 here. Please connect me with Aichborn in the Uckermark. The number is Wrietzow 0-3.' She hung up.

  A few minutes later her phone rang. Bensing was at the other end. 'Fraulein Detta?' he cried in excitement, recognizing her voice. 'How are you?'

  'Fine, thank you.
Listen, this is a business call, so we must keep it short. Would you go up to my room? I left my red address book there. Bring it down to the phone. There's a number I need. I'll hang up now and call again in a few moments.' Five minutes later she had the number she wanted. She set to work.

  The office closed at six. Detta took the U-Bahn home. She had left the BMW in the garage; it didn't seem suitable for her to be cruising around in a sports car when she was a very junior member of the Foreign Ministry staff.

  The usual evening tedium set in after supper at the Pension Wolke. Herr Kohler was studying the Almanach de Gotha, his monocle glinting: Vera Vogel was reading Die Dame magazine. Dr Burmester was correcting her pupils' homework with a red pen. Marlene Kaschke wasn't there. Detta knocked at the door of her room. The young woman was lying on her bed in her dressing gown, painting her toenails. Detta had never seen anyone do that before. She came straight to the point. Are you doing anything on Saturday and Sunday?'

  Marlene Kaschke was not, and was absolutely delighted. A motorboat on the Havel? You bet I'll come. And I've just bought a fabulous sky-blue Bleyle too!' Detta learned that a Bleyle was a bathing suit in the latest style, with a little skirt and low-cut back. You can get them in all colours at Leineweber's. You ought to buy yourself one too,' Marlene Kashke advised her. She had no objection at all to being an old friend of Detta's called Marion for the weekend.

  'I'll be delighted to meet your friend Marion,' said David Floyd-Orr happily over the phone. 'Saturday at nine in the morning at the Stossensee bridge, then. Just go down the steps to the moorings, you can't miss me.'

  Detta hung up. She had no idea how she was going to keep that date. They worked until one o'clock on Saturdays at the FM.

  Detta went in to her boss at eight in the morning. Arvid von Troll was busy unpacking the contents of a shabby attache case on to his desk. 'This thing was already in use under Privy Councillor Holstein. Well, what do you suggest as presents?'