‘But the father, surely—’
‘Old man’s slightly ga-ga, I gather. Reading between the lines. Hence the brother-in-law getting his foot in the door. He’s an accountant, obviously fairly sharp and with an eye to the main chance, while war contracts have greatly expanded and substantially changed the business. Sam’s worried he’ll be such a stranger to it, and the brother-in-law – who rejoices in the name of “Tad”—’
‘Ye Gods!’
‘Just see him, can’t you?’ She’d removed her stockings and her blouse, had to stand now. ‘Any case – cuckoo in the nest situation. Sam imagines he’ll find Tad running the show and holding all the cards.’
‘He should have set things up so his position was assured. Or made sure his ga-ga father did.’
‘He should have. Yes. But Sam’s so straight himself, he wouldn’t expect to be done down, especially have ’em take advantage of his having gone to war. I say “they” because Tad’s wife, Sam’s sister, I forget her name, sounds like a bitch too. So imagine it – me as little English wifey, far from home and relying entirely on old Sam – who might by the sound of it be slightly out of his depth in that milieu – father might even have kicked the bucket by that time—’
‘You’re not going to marry him, are you?’
‘I don’t know. As I’ve already stated about ninety times.’
‘But he thinks you will. Must think you’re just playing hard to get. Otherwise why bother with all this, aimed simply at his getting to meet Mummy?’
‘I suppose because (a) hope springs eternal, (b) it would make things easier when the time came if he had met her, and (c), last but not least, laying on such a jaunt might predispose me in his favour.’ She was in her nightie, folding things. ‘Going to clean my teeth now. I’ll put this light on so you can switch yours off, if you’ve finished reading.’
‘Right… It’s quite fun anyway – don’t you think?’
‘Will be, I hope. At least makes a change.’
‘Incidentally, he didn’t bat an eyelid when you told him about von Muttondorff, did he.’
‘Why should he have?’
‘Oh, I don’t know…’
‘Why should he have, Sue?’
‘Oh, dear.’ Eyes shut. ‘Should have thought before I spoke, shouldn’t I. And – well, you might put it down to my over-fertile imagination, but – fact is, I’ve thought more than once there might have been some element of romance in that relationship.’
‘Between me and Gerda’s brother? Are you insane?’
‘Perhaps I am. But you make such a point of telling us all how little he meant to you, how little you saw of him, that it was his sister who was your friend, not him, you didn’t know him from a bar of Wright’s coal tar soap, etcetera.’
‘But that’s the simple truth!’
She’d managed to laugh at the absurdity of the notion. Sue taking note of a slight falsity of tone as she pushed her book into the netting rack and switched off the light. Nestling down… ‘I do have a fertile imagination.’
* * *
Rocking, rumbling north. By way of Watford, Hemel Hempstead, Rugby, Stafford. Seeing none of them, of course, and certainly not stopping at any of them, giving none of them anything more than a passing howl. And in the small hours of the morning – well, Preston, Carlisle and Glasgow: changing there after breakfast to a much slower train to Thurso via Stirling, Perth, Inverness, its more measured rhythm repeating over and over, en route to Scapa, en route to Scapa – where oddly enough one had no particular wish to go, but which Sam Lance wanted one to visit.
Alternately half-awake and half-asleep now, having slept soundly for about the first hour and then woken into dozing memory, prompted perhaps by Sue’s voicing of her suspicions. That, and/or earlier mention of him. Sue was perspicacious. As she’d put it herself once, ‘If there’s a rat there, I tend to get a sniff of it.’
Tended to smell or sense something, anyway, even if it wasn’t always what she thought it was. ‘Rat’, however, in recent years having been apposite enough as a description of Otto von M., although it would certainly not have been in those few pre-Berlin days. Then he’d been quite strikingly unratlike – in fact quite outstandingly handsome – all right, beautiful, which wasn’t an adjective one would oneself have used, although his sister had done so more than once before Anne had ever set eyes on him. She recalled having taken it with a pinch of salt, even disinterest. But – handsome, for sure, as well as amusing, charming – like no-one she’d ever met or known to exist. She’d thought of him then – looking back on it now almost in bewilderment – as the playmate who’d proposed that thrillingly exciting rendezvous – proposing it in one of the stables – no, the tack-room. In each other’s arms, speaking in urgent undertones, Gerda’s fantastic brother murmuring to her that his aunt had an apartment there which she rarely used and to which he had a key.
I’ll explain to you where it’s located and I’ll be there to meet you, then move into an hotel nearby and you’ll have the place to yourself!
‘But my mother’s expecting me—’
‘So send a telegram. Say “spending a day and night in Berlin with Gerda”. Everything else therefore put back by twenty-four hours. Huh? We’ll have the grandest time, you lovely, lovely creature! Evening on the town, find a cabaret we like – there are hundreds of them – dance the tango?’
She’d told him, ‘I adore the tango!’
Having never danced it, except on her own… Otto telling her, ‘It’s forbidden to us, by Kaiser Wilhelm himself. An immoral dance, unsuitable for German officers to indulge in. Imagine that?’
Most thrilling moment of her life, she remembered thinking. Just a few years ago, but – a different world. Logically, an old world, but to her at the time absolutely brand-new. Recalling even now though the amalgam of odours – leather and saddle-soap, stable-sweepings, the tweed of Otto’s jacket – and hearing her own whisper of ‘Draw me a map?’ Then his insistence that Gerda wasn’t to know anything about it, which she’d found frustrating: she’d have liked to have shared with her the excitement and thrill of this adventure, which after all Gerda had effectively brought about. He’d still insisted, though. ‘She’d want to join us, and it might be difficult to stop her. I want you to myself, Anne – that’s the whole point. Selfish, maybe, but – look, I can’t tango with two of you, can I?’ He’d hugged her again: ‘Swear to me you won’t give her even a hint?’
The train had shrieked again – waking her to fresh immersion in its night-long drumming rhythm. Had been just about dropping off: had dropped off, more or less. Back into a positive effort of remembering, which often enough she’d used as a remedy for sleeplessness, the effort of it sending one into dreamland. With an early call for breakfast before getting into Glasgow, one did need more sleep than one had had this far. So – Berlin… Recalling very little of that rail journey: only studying his pencilled sketch of the route across town to the aunt’s apartment, the memorised address, and that she’d had the telegram to her mother already written out, so as to send it from the station as soon as she arrived – to have that done with and tracks covered, while feeling some twinges of guilt over the deception; she and her mother had always been open and straightforward with each other. But – what the heck, no harm in it…
She’d taken a cab – horse-drawn, not motor, although there’d been plenty of those around too – because it was a hot afternoon and she’d preferred to have her head in the open air. It had been stifling in the train. Taking the cab was an extravagance, of course, but she wanted to get to the apartment in reasonably good shape, not like some waif or stray, lugging her heavy suitcase with her along the crowded pavements – and maybe losing her way, at that: the map hadn’t been all that easy to follow. Extravagance, for sure, but she’d felt extravagant – as well as wild and wicked – and an unexpected dividend was that the cabby had taken her for a German, which was excellent for morale at a somewhat deeper level.
‘Here
is the building, Fraulein.’ Pointing with his whip; Anne fumbling in her purse and giving him a tip that evidently satisfied him. ‘The Fraulein is generous.’ He’d climbed down, lifted the suitcase down. His mare wore a hat, she remembered, a fez-shaped thing with holes for its ears to stick out of, and Anne had asked him, ‘Feels the heat, does she?’
‘Something terrible, she does. They all do, in these hot streets, and with the traffic worse with every day that passes. Mind you, us lot’ll be off the streets afore much longer…’
‘Anne!’
Otto. He’d seen her from a window and come rushing down – coatless, hatless, reckless. ‘You’re actually here!’
‘Thanks to the good efforts of my friend here – and this poor suffering animal.’ In his arms, in her swirly green skirt and pale yellow shirt, darker green jacket, straw hat with an upright peacock’s feather in it. The feather had been Gerda’s notion, and she loved it, laughed when it caught on Otto’s nose, almost penetrating a nostril. ‘How long have you been looking out for me?’
‘Oh – a few hours.’ Picking up her suitcase, he’d added, ‘If not all my life.’
‘Oh, you…’
‘Anyway, the last ten years of it. Come on. Only one floor up.’
It was a nice apartment, stylishly furnished. A good-sized entrance hall, quite large L-shaped sitting-room, with the short end of the L furnished as a dining area and connecting to the kitchen. A rather sumptuously feminine bedroom – the bed wider than an ordinary single – with a door into the bathroom, which again was lavishly appointed.
‘It’s lovely, Otto. How far do you have to come from your hotel?’
‘Ah. Ah, yes. Fact is, I’ve run into a bit of a snag there. The town’s absolutely packed, not a room to be had. The kind of small hotel I’d hoped to find invariably gets booked-up first, of course, because the big, modern ones are so frightfully expensive; but I’ve tried them all – even the Adlon and the Kaiserhof, which I may say would have cost me a small fortune – well, there are about ten of that kind and I tried them all, and not a hope, not even an attic!’
‘Is there some special reason they’re so busy?’
‘Several. For instance, I hadn’t realised, but it’s been explained to me umpteen times by hotel receptionists in the last couple of hours – the population’s doubled in the past three years. In 1910 it was two million, now it’s four. And Saturday’s the day here. Or rather the night. And this year’s the twenty-fifth in the reign of Kaiser Wilhelm II, his quarter-century, people feel bound to celebrate, and it seems most of them can afford to. On top of which it’s midsummer, the avenues are beautiful and the nights are long – so you see, one way and another—’
‘What will you do?’
‘The only thing I can do, really, is use the little spare bedroom. If you’d permit me to. It’s a poky little room off the hall there, but – at least it’ll cost me nothing, leave more to spend on our champagne. Here, I’ll show you. Fortunately there’s a lavatory also off the hall, so I’ll be self-contained, as it were.’ He led her back to the hall, pushed a door open. It was poky, all right, with an iron-framed bed. But that wouldn’t do him any harm, she thought. She guessed it was probably used as a servant’s room – for the aunt’s maid, perhaps.
He pointed: ‘Lavatory in there.’
‘Hm. Well, I suppose…’
‘There is a key in your bedroom door. If you had any worries of that kind. You needn’t have, of course.’ That heart-stopping smile of his. ‘On my honour, you need not. But otherwise, you see – short of my walking the streets all night or sleeping in a park—’
Actually, she’d thought, quite fun. Breakfast together, for instance. As long as no-one ever heard a single word about it…
11
Eleven-forty p.m. – still Tuesday 29 October – Otto leaning over the chart table in U201, noting courses and times from the Jade exit by way of swept channels to pass west of Heligoland, thence northwest on the surface at fifteen knots. Taking on the navigational chore unasked, for want of other useful employment and because they were leaving behind the boat’s own navigator, a youngster by name of Kantelberg who’d gone down with stomach pains and diarrhoea during the hours 201 had spent in Schillig Roads, and had reported to Franz Stolzenberg in sickbay as soon as she’d docked, Stolzenberg promptly ordering him to hospital. His absence helped in one way, namely in the provision of a spare berth, thus obviating the need to work a ‘hot bunk’ routine – man coming off watch taking the one vacated by the officer who’d relieved him. One small, practical consideration in a situation that was bizarre in the extreme.
As well as disturbing. Winter might in fact have gone off his head. With the angry bison’s glare, monosyllabic responses to essential questions, but otherwise total lack of communication, and as yet no response to the question everyone on board desperately wanted answering. Everyone except Otto, who of course knew the answer but wasn’t admitting to it – beyond having told Hintenberger, who’d also joined 201 for this excursion, in place of a warrant engineer officer by name of Muhbauer, who’d been granted special leave and had actually left the base before Winter had had a chance to cancel it. Schwaeble had suggested Hintenberger as Muhbauer’s replacement, and Otto had seen it as his own duty to let him know what he might be in for if he did. He’d also pointed out to him that if he declined the honour of moving over, which he could do, he’d qualify like the rest of UB81’s crew for a fortnight’s leave while she was in dockyard hands. On FdU’s orders Otto had in fact handed over temporary command to Claus Stahl, who’d already finalised the leave documents and travel warrants.
Old Hintenberger had shrugged. ‘Scapa, eh. No-one’s dared try it since ’14 – eh? Anyway – sure, just for the hell of it…’
Crazy. Looked crazy, sometimes acted crazy. Making two lunatics on board. The other one was in the bridge, conning the boat out of her berth and into the river; he had his first lieutenant, Neureuther, up there with him. U201 running on her starboard motor only, at this moment, ropes and wires all gone except for the fore spring on which he was turning her. His only communication with Otto, since leaving FdU’s office earlier in the evening, had been put in the form of a request a quarter of an hour ago: ‘Being short one officer, I’d be glad if you’d stand watches. All right? Start with the midnight to two then.’
Asking him – levelly and in fact quite properly, in view of his having joined 201 as back-up CO, certainly not as a watchkeeper. But speaking as if they barely knew each other, might have met for the first time a few hours earlier in FdU’s office. Icy politeness had been the tone of it. Might actually be deranged? Brain-damaged by what bloody Ahrens must have told him?
Obviously had told him. And seemingly it had pushed him over the edge. Must have meant more to him than she’d known or anyone else had guessed. Behind the bisonic glare, privately besotted?
When he’d reached Michelsen’s office – just after six-thirty – he’d found Winter seated – immobile, not even glancing in his direction as he entered – while the Kommodore came around the desk with a hand out and a look of approbation on his face.
‘Von Mettendorff. Congratulations. Your Krieger Verdienstredaille First Class in Silver has been confirmed.’
‘First Class in Silver. Well!’ Shaking hands: and still not a peep out of Winter. ‘Thank you, sir. May I ask whether my engineer and first lieutenant—’
‘U-boot-Kriegsabzeichen, both of them. And the rest as you proposed. It’s a substantial list.’
‘I’m grateful, sir.’
‘You and they have earned it, no doubt of that at all.’
He’d come fast, answering this summons, to get it over and then have time to change and be on his way to Oldenburg. Taking it for granted that he was being sent for on account of Helena, Ahrens, all that. A dressing-down for frequenting unsavoury establishments, bringing the Navy or its U-boat arm into disrepute – something of that kind. The name of Helena Brecht would not have been mentioned, he’
d guessed – not until he mentioned it, explaining what had been his purpose in taking her there, the fact that they’d become engaged. Which should settle it, he’d thought. FdU must have a host of very much larger problems, surely wouldn’t give this one more than about thirty seconds, at most. And actually the summons had nothing to do with any of that, he’d realised. Ahrens certainly would have told Winter, but Winter wouldn’t have been so idiotic as to waste his Kommodore’s time on such a private matter. He’d been sent for only to be told about these decorations. Winter’s presence just coincidental – which in a way legitimised his detachment, refusal to acknowledge Otto’s presence – which in truth had to be because he wanted nothing to do with the so-called protégé who’d pinched his girl. If he’d ever thought of her as ‘his’. Anyway, in a couple of minutes one would be dismissed, and these two would get on with whatever they’d been discussing – events in the Schillig Roads this afternoon, maybe.
‘Sit down, von Mettendorff.’ Michelsen returning to his own chair behind the desk: glancing at Winter as if he found the man’s detached manner and continuing silence peculiar. Back to Otto, though. ‘I have to tell you that we’re discussing a project of great significance, and that the time at our disposal is extremely limited. That’s to say, we hope to get U201 out of here before midnight: and before that she has to fuel, embark fresh water, stores, torpedoes, so on.’
‘Out again this soon?’
‘As I said. My messenger, having found you, will have gone on to alert others, including those of her crew who’ve moved ashore. Can’t expect ’em to be overjoyed, but—’
‘They’ll be happy enough when I’ve explained it to them.’
Winter had growled this, without looking at either him or FdU, only glaring down at the backs of his thick hands. ‘Which I’ll do when we’re at sea, no sooner.’
Stark Realities Page 19
