I was in London recently. Mamma was in good form, busily making plans for my marriage even though the bride has not yet been identified. She introduced me to some nice girls, but her idea of a nice girl isn’t mine. Edward and Victoria asked me to dine in their new flat – it’s very pretty but I think they find living in a flat a bit infra dig. When Edward makes all that money he’s always talking about, they can move. He launched into the German shipping industry and the Kaiser’s schemes to rule the waves. He’s convinced there’ll be war within two years.
What is quite comic is the way Edward talks about his family. We all know that Aunt Catherine’s husband turned out to be a cad who went off with other women. But in Edward’s version his father was a major businessman with political influence and landed property, who married into a famous Suffolk family. And from what he says you’d think Victoria was descended from the kings of Scotland (actually, I think she is).
Following your advice, though, I’ve decided I like Edward, at least in moderation. V. has made him less bombastic. She’s become rather commanding, in America they’d say ‘bossy’, but she’s a good sort, and kind. They found a dinner partner for me, a vacuous young woman, but I chatted about the long summer evenings in Copenhagen and let her dwell on the charms of embassy life.
I’ve booked into the Pension you recommended – I’d like a little freedom. But I’m looking forward to visiting Thomas’s aunt and uncle at Salitz.
Yours affectionately,
Mark
29
My dearest sister, please do not be anxious about your guests from England. You know dear Irene – her family must resemble her. She says they will be happy to walk round your estate at Salitz, and ride, and see the country. They asked what they should bring for the evening, I said a smoking would be fine.
They don’t know Germany very well. I am sure they imagine we eat sausages and drink beer all day when we are not parading in uniform. Or perhaps they think we’re always listening to Wagner and discussing Hegel.
Why do I want them to enjoy their visit? Because I am proud of our country, and I hate the way some people speak about us in England. Did you hear about this new book, In a German Pension? It’s about a house full of awful fat Germans, greedy and gross and obsessed with rank. It is a great success in England, apparently. I want to show the Bensons that we are decent people, like them. I think they will be surprised, I was certainly surprised at the wedding to see how we resemble one another. We are all good Protestants, after all. I hope I can show them that our values are shared, underneath all the nonsense from the Berliner Schloß.
My dear sister, what more can we do than fight our own small battles against the prejudice and cruelty that beset the world, through acts of kindness? Though each on his own can do only a little, if many do their best, perhaps the grains of kindness one day will make a mountain. We must continue to believe that as individuals, each of us can contribute to the whole. . .
30
Sweetest, dearest, let me see you alone, if only for a little while. We could meet somewhere private – a park, or a cemetery, there are hundreds of those in Berlin. You don’t know it, but I came to Berlin last year, just to see where you live and look at the outside of your house and wonder which was the window of your studio. I was afraid of meeting you, I had to walk down your street at two in the morning.
I know I can only hope to spend a little time with you, to see your calm face, to watch your movements. Then my memory will be refreshed. Why won’t you come back to England now and again? It is so selfish of you to stay in Germany.
I still love you as much as ever. But I know everything is different now. It’s just that every night I see you in my dreams, my darling naiad – I’ll cross that out – I mean, I so often think of you, my dear old cheese-toasting chum.
With my love, as ever,
Snake
31
Darling Laura,
Imagine – tomorrow we leave for Berlin. Could anything be more exciting? Two whole weeks in Berlin. I’ll be able to practise my German with real people, not just Miss Wenham. (Actually I feel rather bad about Miss W, just before I left the beastly school, she gave me a copy of Goethe’s Faust with a very nice inscription. I suppose one should be more patient with old teachers, their lives must be pathetically hard.)
My esteemed mother tells me it is my duty to look after her in Berlin. I have no intention of trailing after her with her parasol. I intend to be so horrid that she won’t want me near her.
On a serious note – I went to Eleanor’s dance last night, I was so sorry you couldn’t be there. Mamma was my chaperone but once she saw the supper table she had eyes for nothing else. She was quite tipsy by the end, it was most amusing. Andrew was gazing at me like a water spaniel and I had a couple of twirls with him, but then I met Eleanor’s brothers and their friends. Laura darling, to think we vowed that boys were a waste of time – how wrong we were. I met one called Vivian, in the Household Cavalry. He says he will take me out to dinner, and won’t you come as my chaperone? We could dress you up as my aunt (like Charley’s Aunt, but prettier) and after a while you could unveil and reveal your youthful loveliness to one of his dashing friends. . .
32
It was already past midnight but hardly dark when Mark and Harry reached the street door. Harry was another honorary attaché, elegant but shrewd and hard-working and (Mark realised) no less ambitious than he was. Mark could not manage Harry’s air of detachment, however hard he tried: when he was working hard it was obvious. ‘Don’t look so worried,’ people would say, or ‘You do look tired.’ Harry just looked calm.
They were friends, within bounds. When Mark had arrived at the embassy, Harry said, ‘It’s a shame you’re not an Etonian, but a Westminster’s better than most.’ They’d get drunk together, and Harry would talk about the fun he’d had at house parties in England. But he could be lured into talking about poetry – English, Latin, Greek, French. They constantly watched one another’s progress, or at least Mark watched Harry’s; he was not sure that Harry observed him. Or rather, he suspected Harry did observe him but pretended not to.
They had been to the minister’s summer party for his staff. They’d sat on the terrace in the bright evening, gossiping about the Danish royal family and the strange death of the old King as he took a solitary walk in Hamburg. The minister told a story about a Danish government minister and an actress, imitating the voices, making them roar with laughter. They danced, Harry a good deal, Mark not much. Harry was very popular with the minister’s daughters.
Back in his rooms, Mark wondered, as always, whether he’d done well. At dinner he’d sat next to the minister’s wife. They’d discussed improving his rooms. ‘I’m so glad you don’t have hunting prints,’ she said. ‘Harry’s rooms are full of pictures of horses, family things.’
Mark was very aware he did not have ‘family things’ other than some faintly embarrassing Liberty vases his mother had pressed on him – but did this remark mean she had been to Harry’s rooms? ‘You should come and see my rooms,’ he’d said boldly.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’d love to,’ and smiled at him warmly. He thought she liked him, something he often needed convincing of.
Under the light-heartedness, the guests observed the minister’s movements, especially when the minister drew Mark away and down the lawn. The rest knew better than to follow.
‘You’ve been in the Service, what, almost two years? Shall we be able to keep you? So many young men are tempted away by business.’
‘I’m very happy, I want to serve my country.’ This was intended to sound cheerful and reliable but not too ambitious. Actually, he wanted to end up far senior to his host, who was merely Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary in Copenhagen.
‘By the way, you may expect to become Third Secretary, quite soon. Don’t tell anyone just yet.’ Mark looked respectfully gratified. ‘Tell me, do you want to be a specialist? I mean, in the commercial section, so
mething like that?’
‘Not the commercial section, no, sir. I mean not particularly. I am very interested in Europe, and the United States. I suppose that’s not very adventurous. . .’
‘Travelled much in Europe, have you?’
‘As much as I can, sir, given how few holidays we get.’ The minister laughed. ‘But I am going to Berlin, to see my sister.’
‘Yes, I wanted to talk to you about that.’ His Excellency looked Mark in the eye. ‘Do you visit her often?’ The question puzzled Mark. ‘The thing is, old boy, we’d like you to look around you in Berlin. Things are changing in the Service. That report recently, you know, pointed out we have no agents at all – secret service agents, that is – on mainland Europe, only in Ireland. That seems perhaps a mistake.’ He gestured vaguely. ‘Beautiful, this herbaceous border, don’t you think? We’re not asking you to sniff around ports, we can leave that to the military and naval attachés, but. . . Who did you say your brother-in-law’s people were?’ Mark explained as best he could. ‘That sounds ideal. Just get a sense of what people are thinking. Present yourself as an intelligent young man interested in the workings of the imperial court, the army, even business. If people trust and like one, it’s remarkable what they’ll say. And you can ask about political issues quite innocently – do they think the constitution is workable, how much of a threat do the Social Democrats pose, that sort of thing.’ He tore a rose from its stem, sniffed it and stuck it in his buttonhole. ‘When you’re back, come and see me.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Mark, uncertainly.
‘Don’t let it worry you, old boy. It’s just that we need to be more precisely aware of what’s going on. The diplomacy I grew up with – courts, chanceries – that’s out of date. Germany’s particularly sensitive, of course.’ He scrutinised Mark amiably. ‘I may as well say, Whitehall is interested in your progress. No doubt you have ambitions.’ Mark tried to look self-deprecating. ‘Why not? Most of us worry about promotion, a waste of energy in my view.’ He gestured again at the border. ‘Delightful, isn’t it? Mark, you may feel you’re being asked to spy on your sister’s family, but we’re only asking you to observe. We all want Germany to turn out well. God knows, we depend on one another.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘Good. No pressure, old boy.’ He sighed. ‘We may not be living in such comfortable times much longer. By comfortable times, I don’t just mean all this.’ He gestured at the lawn stretching down to shrubberies, the ladies in white and lilac dresses. ‘I mean individual liberties, enjoying the freedom to live as we choose. I hope I’m wrong. Shall we join the party?’
By chance, Harry was coming towards them with – Mark thought – the faintest tension round his well-shaped mouth.
‘We’ve been discussing gardening,’ said the minister blandly. ‘Awfully dull subject for a young man. Hm, I hope the two of you find time to have some fun.’
‘Oh yes,’ they carolled cheerfully.
‘What on earth did the chief say to you this evening?’ Harry asked on the way home. ‘He talked to you for hours. Fourteen minutes, to be precise.’
‘He just asked how I was doing.’
‘I see. I’m surprised it took him so long to enquire.’ And they said good night.
Mark lived on the second floor of a plain classical house. He loved the light wood furniture, the walls painted green with a decorative border, the polished wooden boards. But he had to pack, following instructions laid down long ago by his mother: shoes and heavy items at the bottom of the case, layers of tissue paper to prevent creasing, a linen hand towel over the shirts, internal straps secured.
It was sad that Paul was only coming to Berlin for a few days. Mark sighed. The flow of Paul’s letters had dwindled. He’d written to say that his doctoral thesis had been accepted summa cum laude, he was beginning his Habilitation. Then he announced that he’d met a young woman, the daughter of one of his professors. She was his ideal of womanhood. Their walks by the Neckar, the evenings they spent round the table in her father’s house, were the happiest times he’d ever experienced. Her father was a remarkable man, with exciting ideas about the nature of Germany. ‘He’s not very enthusiastic about England. . .’
As he selected shirts and neckties, Mark remembered their own walks by the Neckar. He was happy for Paul, of course, but he would hardly be a special friend any longer: a married man, a different sort of friend. The professor’s daughter would probably not be friendly. They would never take those bicycling trips round Bavarian churches.
He briefly knelt beside his bed, a ritual memory of childish prayers. He slid between the sheets. He told himself he did not feel melancholy. He lay a long while in the dark, before falling into a restless sleep, dreaming of Unter den Linden and opera cloaks and walking beside some unidentifiable river.
33
The Bensons’ visit to Berlin was a complete success. The Curtius parents had worried that the English party would not like Berlin, Lady Benson that she would feel poorly, Sophia that she’d seem like a schoolgirl, Thomas and Irene that the families might disagree, and everyone that there might be another international crisis. But when the Bensons appeared in the Lehrter Bahnhof – with Lady Benson, striking in a new travelling dress, at the front, Sir William resting his arm on the shoulder of his tall, flame-haired daughter, Wilson excitedly carrying bags – from that moment it was clear everything would be all right. Their guests reminded the Curtiuses immediately of Irene; it was endearing.
Irene ran along the platform in a most unladylike way, skirting travellers and porters, waving and calling, ‘Mamma! Papa! Sophia!’ and throwing herself into her mother’s arms.
‘Irene,’ said her mother, ‘Irene, my dearest,’ stroking her head.
Irene embraced each of them passionately, crying to her sister, ‘Fia, how tall you are, how beautiful!’
‘Welcome to Germany! We are so pleased you are here, it is such an honour for us,’ said Frau Curtius. ‘We planned to bring you a bouquet, but with all the luggage. . .’ (There was a great deal, on a phlegmatic but beginning-to-be-impatient trolley.) ‘So – we will all go to our apartment.’
Through the crowded days, everything went well. The family parties were numerous and convivial. Thomas’s family were indefatigably kind; only Elise and her husband hardly appeared. (‘They live in Potsdam, it is quite a journey for them, and they have small children.’) Endless amusements were arranged: a private visit to the Berliner Schloß, an event that Lady Benson mentioned to everyone she met; the Museumsinsel; a picnic in the Grunewald; a boat excursion on the Wannsee. One sunny afternoon they trotted in carriages up Unter den Linden, past the palaces and the Staatsoper and the university and the cafés with tables on the pavements and the Adlon. ‘You know,’ said Freddy, ‘that is where the Kaiser goes to take a good bath, the Schloß is so uncomfortable.’
Sophia enjoyed herself hugely, especially with Freddy and Thomas’s youngest sister, Puppi, who was in her last year at school. Freddy was going to London in the autumn to work in the City, and was anxious to improve his English. He talked and talked, and when Sophia corrected his English, cried, ‘I must be the stupidest man in the world!’ They showed her the great department store Wertheim, with its ceremonial hall, its library and post office and bank, its exhibition of Modern Living Rooms, the Carpet Salon hung with huge oriental rugs, the Onyx Hall, the Marble Light Hall and the Fountain Court, the winter garden, the summer garden. ‘This is the new Germany,’ said Freddy. ‘Wertheim is the most elegant department store in Germany, even the Kaiser and the Kaiserin come here. It is international, sophisticated. And who developed it? Why, a Jew, Herr Wertheim, because in our modern Germany Jews have all the best ideas. Only absurd ideas, like endlessly expanding our navy, come from Gentiles.’
When, in the Café des Westens, Sophia asked eagerly which famous people were there that afternoon, Puppi and Freddy looked uncertain.
‘Irene could tell us,’ Puppi said, ‘but she had to finish an
illustration. She is always so busy. Do you plan to be an artist, Sophia, like your sister?’
‘No, I’ve no artistic talent. I might go to university. . .’
‘Oh no,’ Freddy cried, ‘that is so dull. In Germany only the plainest girls go to university.’
‘Hush,’ said his sister, ‘you sound so old-fashioned. I plan to be a teacher so I must go to college, and I am not dull, am I?’
They told the parents they were attending an evening party given by some highly respectable friends of Puppi’s. After half an hour at the highly respectable party they left for a dance hall somewhere to the east of the Schloß, and full of the most exciting-looking people. Sophia practised the new style of ballroom dancing with Freddy for hours and hours until Puppi insisted that they must go home. Stifling their giggles, they crept into the flat’s elderly, snoring quietness.
Sophia loved flirting with Freddy. She’d never really flirted with anyone before: talking to Andrew about Swinburne was hardly flirting. But she was not allowed to enjoy herself all the time. One morning when Freddy proposed a jaunt, Lady Benson announced, ‘I’m afraid today I am not feeling strong, I shall need Sophia.’ The next time, Sophia was released: she’d been a dismal companion, sighing, tapping her feet, staring longingly out of the window. Instead, Mark kept his mother company – his father, intrigued by the city, was not to be kept at home, and when not otherwise occupied visited and revisited the Dance of Death cycle in the Marienkirche. Mark seemed to appreciate the atmosphere of ordered comfort. The older Curtiuses found him a stimulating visitor, and Herr Curtius spoke to him at length about the relationship between Württemberg and Prussia, and the uncertainties of the German Diplomatic Service. Mark’s German was so good that even Major von Steinaeck unbent and treated him almost as an honorary countryman, to whom he spoke about Germany’s future as leader of a revived Holy Roman Empire. Mark was an attentive listener.
The Iron Necklace Page 9
