People seemed to like him. Though the Graf set might joke about revenge on England, they never expressed antagonism. The ex-officer who sold cars told Mark that he’d fought solely against British regiments and greatly admired their courage and professionalism.
After a while Mark’s colleagues began to remark humorously on his yawns. He worried sometimes that he was not working hard enough, but the ambassador seemed satisfied.
Mark’s new friends talked about sex in a way he’d never experienced before. They might ask him whether he preferred men or women, and smile when he said, ‘Women, naturally.’ If invited to sleep with someone, he always refused. Only very occasionally was he tempted, but then the gossip in these circles. . .
19
They stood in the empty drawing room. The last packing case had gone, only a few sticks of furniture no one wanted stood isolated on the bare boards. The room looked huge and shabby.
‘My God,’ said Sophia, ‘it’s so dreary, you can hardly imagine this was the centre of our existence. Just like our old world – taken apart.’
‘The kitchen is worse,’ said Victoria. ‘It makes one shudder.’
‘I’m surprised anyone wanted to buy this old hulk, you’d think they’d pull it down and build something for today. At least Mamma and I no longer have to discuss whether to accept £3,600 or hold out for £4,000.’ Sophia walked to the back window and gazed out. ‘To think, when I was a little girl these gardens seemed like Paradise.’
‘You’re not sad to be leaving, are you, Fia?’ Victoria put her arm round Sophia’s waist.
‘Oh no, oh no, not at all. It’s been so depressing, with Papa’s study locked up like a tomb, and the servants leaving, and Mamma worrying about the cost of coal.’ She pulled at a strip of loose wallpaper. It came away easily, and she pulled harder to reveal a gash of bare plaster. She looked at it in surprise.
‘Why don’t we sit down for a moment?’ said Victoria. ‘Sometimes one needs to say goodbye to a place properly – rooms can hold so many memories. Saying goodbye to my parents’ old house, all sixty rooms of it, that was quite something.’
They sat down on the largest sofa, the one with broken springs that for years the family had left for guests.
‘You’re very kind, Victoria. You have so much to worry about and yet you come and help us as though you had no other concerns in the world.’
‘Oh, I just do what has to be done.’
They sat in silence for a moment.
‘I am thinking of going on a little jaunt,’ said Sophia.
‘A jaunt?’
‘Well, a journey. To France. To the battlefields. To see if I can find David’s grave.’
‘Sophia, darling, is that wise?’
‘What has wisdom to do with anything?’ She gave a laugh. ‘I could make quite an event of it, I suppose, and locate your brothers, and little Andrew, and why not the Nash boys, and Laura’s young man, and of course Freddy, and any manner of other people. . . If I look for one man, then why not all of them? Those ghosts, they won’t go away. Other people seem able to forget them. I can’t.’ She sat very still. Victoria turned to look at her.
‘Sophia, don’t cry, don’t. . .’
‘Oh, can’t I cry just a little, Victoria? Let me cry. You’re like a sister to me, let me cry with you if it doesn’t embarrass you. I want to stop being brave for a moment, being brave all the time is so difficult. . . I keep remembering the war, I was so futile. . .’
‘You weren’t futile, you were very brave.’
‘I could have tried harder. . .’
They were quite quiet.
‘I think we should go now, dearest,’ said Victoria.
‘You know, seeing this poor old house quite naked, I feel that comfortable world we grew up in. . . has collapsed.’
Victoria looked at her carefully. ‘We’ll survive, you know, at least most of us will.’
‘We? Who are we then? I suppose you mean we British. Those poor Germans though, will they survive?’
They stood up, patted their clothes into place, put on their hats and coats.
‘Do I look a fright?’ asked Sophia.
Victoria considered her. ‘I have seen you looking better.’
‘I am sorry to be so hopeless. . .’ But Victoria hushed her, and took her arm, and they walked down the clattering stairs, and left Evelyn Gardens for ever.
20
It had been a busy day at Modes de Laure. Not that dozens of people had come in, but those that had were people who counted. Two elegant ladies, one of whom wrote a fashion column; an older lady, known to be rich; three middle-aged Americans of the low-voiced New England sort. Sophia talked to the Americans for a long time, a married couple and a male friend of theirs who wanted a present for his daughter. Sophia showed them materials and designs, made discreet suggestions. The Americans asked Sophia if she was always there in the shop, and she replied, ‘Always in spirit, not always in the flesh.’
The man on his own asked whether she had ever been to America. No, she said, but she longed to. He smiled again, a nice smile that crinkled up his face, and gave her his card, and said that if she ever visited the States she must let him know. ‘The house is not quite so comfortable since my wife died, but it’s convenient for Boston and New York, I think you’d like it.’ She asked him whether he was staying long in London, he said he had a visiting professorship in Leiden, he would be in Europe for a few months. The couple came forward at this, pressed her – to her great surprise – to visit them in Boston. ‘You can’t stay with him now that he’s on his own, what would the neighbours say?’ said the woman, and they all laughed. He had grey hair, though nice grey hair, he must be almost twice her age, but then. . . How delightful Americans were, she thought.
By six they had all gone. Laura emerged from her office and found Sophia lying on the armchair in the front room.
‘You’ve worked so hard, Sophia, you always work much too hard.’
‘I can’t help it. I sold lots of frocks. Those Americans, in particular. . .’
‘You know, darling one, I never intended you to act as a shop girl. I wanted you to look for new fashions in Paris.’
‘I’m not quite ready to go up and down the fashion houses of Paris looking at clothes and dealing with alarming people. No, I am quite happy here, thank you. Laura, those nice Americans – can you guess where they were going on to?’
‘Paris, was it?’
‘Paris, and the battlefields. The man on his own – his brother was killed in the fighting, he told me – he’s a professor but he’s going to look for his brother’s grave. The system is quite efficient for finding war graves, he is going to write and tell me what one does.’
‘Did you give him your address, you bad girl?’
‘I said he could always reach me here. Mamma would intercept any letters that arrived at home. Oh, does one ever meet anyone who’s not been affected by the war?’
‘I wish you could forget the war, my dearest.’ She stroked Sophia’s forehead.
‘Oh, never. I thought I might go to the battlefields too. I know where David was killed, and Freddy. I can look for Toby, too, if you tell me where he fell.’
‘I don’t think you should do this, darling, really I don’t.’ Laura sat down on one of the little chairs, something she never did, there was no time. ‘I know it’s superficial of me, but I need to forget the war if I’m to make anything of the future. If I thought about all those people I’d go mad.’
‘Perhaps I will go mad.’ Slowly Sophia folded up a piece of material. ‘If I try to shut those memories out of my conscious mind, they attack me in my dreams. It’s best to confront them. Lots of people do search for the graves of their loved ones, you know.’
‘Well, if you must go. . . I know how determined you are. Perhaps you’d let me come with you?’ Laura sighed and the tiniest of tears came into her eyes. ‘I suppose we might find Toby’s grave. I might be glad to do that.’
‘Come
with me, do – it won’t be fun, but it might be healing.’
21
8 November 1920
Dearest Irene,
I have a new activity, evening classes at Birkbeck College, it’s a college for working men, they’re nearly all men, but I try to look sensible. I am studying German, my class is small, nobody wants to learn German at the moment. It means that two nights a week I don’t have to have dinner with her – and if I want to escape, I can pretend I have an extra class.
Our lecturer is a dear man called Mr Smith. He asked me to see an exhibition with him last Saturday, and we had high tea in Lyons Corner House in the Strand. We had poached eggs and a pot of tea and talked about German literature. He lives with his mother in west London. I couldn’t help smiling because it was so different to dining with David at the Ritz, but David couldn’t talk about Goethe as Mr Smith can. He asked me to call him Alan, outside class. I asked him to call me Sophia.
I’m glad you’re so rich in Germany with all that English money. I hear some impoverished English people go and live in the most magnificent hotels in Germany because the pound is worth so much – should we send Mamma to live in the Adlon? Lately she’s cheered up because Edward has become friendlier, comes to visit her, has some scheme he wants to involve her in. We think he may have lost his job.
Give my best love to your darling husband.
Fia
22
The Cosy Bar was tucked away in a side street. There was a Stammtisch for the regular patrons, and red velvet banquettes, and artificial flowers hanging from the ceiling, and on the tobacco-stained walls photographs of film actresses and actors; the lights round the bar flashed off and on, and the radio played the latest dance music, and people foxtrotted cautiously round the tiny dance floor. There were a few girls and many boys, slender and mostly blond (naturally or otherwise), who smiled at any man who looked even mildly prosperous. The barman greeted Mark warmly and he sat down, enjoying a faint sense of erotic expectation.
‘Guten Abend,’ said a young man. ‘Ich bin Karl.’ Mark remembered an evening when he’d met another Karl beside a canal, and had been terrified. This evening he was not terrified. This Karl was fair-haired, nice-looking, probably in his late twenties.
Karl was a manager in a hotel, he’d lived in Berlin for several years but came from Erfurt, there was nothing to do there. He played the stock exchange, making sure that every day he was at the exchange or on the telephone at the exact moment when the new mark–dollar exchange rate was announced. He’d made quite a lot of money.
From time to time he stole a look sideways. He was shy about asking questions, only asking Mark’s name (‘Andreas’ tonight), his nationality (‘Bist du Amerikanisch?’ and yes, he was), his job. ‘Geschäftsmann,’ said Mark: ‘businessman’ usually satisfied people. Then Karl asked Mark what he would like to drink, and laughed at his air of surprise. ‘Money is not a problem for me.’
Karl informed the barman that the price was to be set at the rate for Berliners, and paid. Then he dropped his briskness.
‘Are you in love?’ asked Karl.
‘No, I’m not.’
‘Have you been in love recently?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘One knows when one is in love. I would say that you have never experienced real love. Even in a place like the Cosy Bar, it is possible to meet someone very special. Do you believe me?’
The following morning, on his way home in the taxi, Mark wondered whether he could possibly fall in love with a man. He thought not: in the end real love between men was impossible, it was fundamentally unnatural. Then, as the taxi approached his apartment building, he looked at the note Karl had written with his address and telephone number, and there in the corner was a tiny heart with an arrow through it. How banal, he told himself, how absurd. He folded up the note again, put it away. It was extraordinary to think one might fall in love, just like that, that it could be so spontaneous, so illogical. So unreliable, too, no doubt.
23
‘Mark, darling, I’m afraid there’s almost nothing to eat, but Thomas has prepared something. Did I tell you, Gretchen’s leaving us, going to be married at last?’ Irene was lying curved on her grey velvet sofa. She enjoyed playing the idle bohemian sometimes. Thomas was attending a political meeting. ‘You know, Mark, nowadays I only think about myself, never about public affairs, it’s much the best solution.’
‘You think about me,’ said Dorothea, who was leaning against her mother. ‘And Daddy. And she talks a lot about you, Uncle Mark, don’t you think she doesn’t. Die ganze Zeit she worries about you. I’m not meant to say that.’ She peered at him. He did not let himself react visibly.
‘Dodo talks too much,’ said her mother. ‘Really, she should go to a convent school, where they would keep her under control. Don’t you think so, my darling, a school with strict rules?’
Dodo laughed. She was not a particularly pretty child, but amusing.
‘Dodo, won’t you change into your nightgown? Can you manage on your own?’
Challenged, Dodo disappeared.
‘By the way, Irene,’ said Mark ‘may I ask you something, something you are not to tell anyone else? I am thinking of leaving the Diplomatic Service.’ And he explained.
‘But I think it’s a splendid idea, Mark darling. You’d be your own master. Would you stay in Berlin?’
‘I might, I suppose.’
She wiggled a pencil at him. ‘Would there be, I wonder, a reason for your staying here? A reason you’ve not revealed to us? Even a person we’ve never been told about?’
He hesitated, coloured. ‘No.’
‘Mark, darling, don’t look so defensive. This is the age of Dr Freud, we can talk about such things without shame. I did wonder whether you have a lady friend here in Berlin.’
‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Or indeed a gentleman friend.’
‘No, no. Irene, why are you interrogating me like this?’
‘Darling, don’t be angry. You can tell me anything, you know. I’m concerned about you, as Dodo suggested. I want you to be happy, my darling brother.’
But he pursed his lips. He could not speak. He felt ashamed of himself, guilty, foolish. But he could not speak.
Dodo reappeared in her nightgown, and thrust a large book at her uncle.
‘What’s this?’ said Mark. ‘Grimm’s Fairy Tales? Any one in particular?’
‘Hansel and Gretel.’
Engrossed, they did not notice Alexander and Thomas coming into the room. Only when Mark was reading about the wicked witch did Alexander screech, ‘I have the children now, they shall not escape from me again,’ rearing up in the air with hands outstretched and fingers tensed like claws. Dodo screamed and gripped her uncle’s legs.
‘That’s so typical of Germans,’ said Mark, ‘the violence just beneath the surface. Here we are peacefully enjoying family life, and then the Alexander Beast disturbs it.’
‘But I’m not a real German, I’m just a little Jew,’ said Alexander.
‘How was your meeting?’ asked Irene.
‘Oh,’ said Thomas, ‘it was depressing. These people argue and argue and never decide anything. I sometimes feel I should give up politics, I have so little to contribute. More interesting is the fact that dinner is ready.’
When they had helped themselves to the great dishes of food, Thomas urging them to try everything and to take more sauce, Alexander leant towards Mark.
‘Now, I would like your views. Last week at the British Embassy, where you kindly invited me, I met two senior ministry officials. I scarcely ever encounter such people. Who were they? Just as I expected: Prussians who have worked at the same ministry for decades. Do they support the republic? No, they long for the old, glorious days. It’s the same in the army, the universities. They despise the Reichstag, and when they see twenty political parties bickering, who can blame them? It was Ebert’s great mistake to think they could create a republic based on friends
hip with the old order. So what does the embassy think about this situation?’
Mark smiled, cut up a piece of salami. ‘How would it have been possible to train up a new generation of officials in so little time?’
‘We must believe in the republic,’ said Thomas. ‘If people like us give up hope, there’s no chance of Germany recovering.’
‘Is it too much, after all the horror we’ve had to bear,’ asked Irene, ‘to be allowed to lead a private life, and leave politicians to their games?’
‘A happy personal life is not a right, it is a privilege to be fought for,’ said Alexander. ‘There’s nothing for it but to fight, even if so many people have given up. We need a strong leader, a man like Walther Rathenau.’ He turned back to Mark. ‘You never answered me. Another question, then: what do you think about Rathenau, you at the embassy?’
Mark had been enjoying the calmness of the room lit by a lamp suspended above the table, the linen tablecloth with its intricate pattern of plants, the classic simplicity of glasses and brightly coloured plates, the atmosphere of grace and concord that surrounded his sister. He envied them, he who never spent an evening alone at home. But Alexander was saying, ‘Well? Well?’
Mark collected his thoughts. ‘We admire him as a highly intelligent man, addressing difficult issues, though limited in what he can achieve. Do you still think he is the great hope for Germany?’
‘Very diplomatic. In my opinion, Rathenau is a visionary, he can dissect existing intellectual and political systems. He understands we need a new system for a modern age. Rathenau as a leading minister, perhaps even as Chancellor – a Jew as Chancellor, what a thing that would be – might persuade the French and the English not to kick Germany down as she tries to stand up. I suppose he is a homosexual too – how would it be to have a homosexual Jewish Chancellor?’
The Iron Necklace Page 27
