A Kiss for the Enemy (63 page)

‘There are a lot of people called R. Anderson in London, Toni!'

‘I will telephone them all.'

‘We should love to see you,' said Marcia primly, pretending to look away. ‘And after dinner I must bring you and Robert together. Have you a wife?'

‘No wife.'

She looked full at him.

Toni said quietly, ‘Oh Marcia! What a different world it was when the wind separated us, when great gusts of it blew us apart!'

Marcia said, also very quietly, ‘A different world. A terrible world. I can't look back at some of it without horror. But oh, Toni! I felt alive!'

Toni nodded, still looking at her, holding her eyes, very grave.

Marcia murmured, ‘Don't telephone, Toni. Please. Get in touch if you're here in September.'

‘You are sometimes free at lunchtime?'

‘I am always free at lunchtime.'

Marcia made a strong, physical effort and turned to her neglected neighbour on the other side.

‘I didn't meet that German who came in late and sat next to you. He's very thick with Peter Prendergast.'

‘He's an Austrian. His name's Toni Rudberg. I knew him long ago.'

‘You looked as if you found plenty to talk about.'

‘Well, there were people we both knew and so forth –'

‘He looked a bit smooth.'

‘He was thirteen years a prisoner of war in Russia. If that leaves a man smooth I would think it quite an achievement.'

‘Hmm! I suppose you knew him quite well?'

‘Yes, he's a sort of cousin of the von Arzfelds, you see. A family connection of some kind, anyway.'

‘Something from your long-buried past, my dear.'

‘Yes. Something from my past. My long-ago, deep-buried past.'

‘I've managed to drag you round the farms but you've spent half the week going to London in that car of yours – London, London, London! in July! it's absurd – hot, crowded, sticky and absurd!'

‘A great city, Uncle Anton! I couldn't come for just three weeks to England and not see something of London.'

‘Well, today you can have a change. I'll show you some of the country, something of Sussex.'

Lise and Franzi had been in England for two weeks. They had arrived at Bargate, Franzi at the wheel of a smart Mercedes, an expensive car for a nineteen-year-old, Anthony had observed without enthusiasm. From the first, Franzi had impressed the Marvell household and everyone else with his good looks, his excellent manners and his unforced charm. When they had first arrived – Anthony had made sure that he was down from London, Marcia was due at the weekend – Franzi had at first hovered in the background while Lise, a little embarrassed, hesitant, came to kiss Anthony, to greet John. Then Franzi had moved forward and bowed, his formality belied by merry, blue eyes full of intelligence and laughter: Anna's eyes.

John Marvell, as forecast, had taken the visit happily from the first. He had been mildly curious to meet Lise, companion of Marcia's extraordinary, ambivalent war years, referred to now so seldom. He liked her immediately. She looked older than he expected, much older than Marcia, he thought, although he knew they were about the same age. Lise's fair hair was bound back with severity at the nape of her neck. She had a reflective, almost nun-like look about her, and when her shyness was past, her gentle composure made the same restrained impression. She might have looked different to his eyes, John thought, had he known her as a girl, known her and thus seen her as Marcia and no doubt Anthony saw her.
But Lise was an easy, charming guest and, truth to tell, John found a little new company stimulating.

Marcia had descended on Bargate on their first weekend, and on the Monday had carried Lise to London ‘for a few days'.

‘We'll have a lovely time,' Marcia said. ‘Robert's had to go to Belfast, on some case. You can leave Franzi here. We'll be alone together, quite like old times. We'll go sightseeing! And the flat's cool!'

Franzi was very tall. Anthony had prepared himself for the transition from boyhood but still received a shock. He had not seen Franzi for four years. The boy was strikingly, agonizingly, Anna's son. He had that particularly direct, concentrated look that brought Anna herself into the room in a way to stop the breath. He had, Anthony recognized at once, a most enjoyable sense of humour. He radiated health and vigour, and his smile was enchanting. At the first opportunity Anthony drew Lise aside.

‘Franzi does you great credit!'

He said it with mixed feelings. It would be delightful, even if surreptitiously, to take a jot of credit for such a son. His own nervous unease at being confronted, cornered, had entirely dissolved in the warmth of Franzi's personality. He found himself chuckling with pleasure at Franzi's remarks, looking forward to his first appearance at breakfast, to his coming into a room.

And Franzi, too, seemed to find Anthony's company agreeable. He had not, as Anthony gibed, been ‘dragged' round the farms but had shown interest and enthusiasm when Anthony told him about the systems at Bargate. Anthony had pretended to grumble at Franzi's determination to see London –

‘And you a countryman!'

But at such moments he recognized in himself, behind the badinage, a cold touch of unhappiness, of deprivation. For some hours he was going to miss Franzi. Franzi, however, returned from his jaunts to the metropolis in fine fettle. He had made English friends skiing in the previous winter and had renewed the acquaintance. He had apparently found open hospitality. The Wrench family, with offspring of Franzi's age, lived in London. Julius Wrench's name was well-known
in the City. Anthony saw that the world of high-powered business with which Wrench was involved held fascination for Franzi. Franzi was enchanted by the idea of America. He had little in common with the uncertain, sometimes idealistic, often tortured young men of Anthony's own generation – Frido von Arzfeld, Robert Anderson, even Anthony himself.

Anthony told himself that Franzi ‘had too much money for a young man'. But he showed none of the ostentation of a self-consciously rich young man. He seemed to have nothing of a playboy in the making. Nevertheless – ‘He takes things for granted,' Anthony thought, trying to find Franzi flawed, as if to dim the splendour of his son and thus protect himself from its radiation. And there was that Mercedes! Anthony spoke casually to Lise,

‘Franzi seems very keen on his University future. I imagine he'll be much more financially secure than most of his contemporaries there. That can create problems.'

‘Franzi is very sensible, very serious. I don't think he will become lazy just because he has some money.'

‘No, I don't expect so – but it can happen.'

Lise clearly did not regard the risk as high. She said, ‘My father is very fond of Franzi. He wants Arzfeld to go to him one day.'

‘I see. I suppose Franzi has also inherited from his grandfather Langenbach?'

Anthony disliked saying it. But Lise had already spoken of Anna to him, in discussing Franzi. He himself found it difficult to mention her name, to keep his voice steady, even after all these years.

‘Yes, that is so. But most things at Langenbach have been sold you know. It was difficult. There were all sorts of legal problems. The Nazis, in the last months of the war, started a process to confiscate the estate.'

‘Why? Because of Anna? It wasn't hers – or was it?'

‘It was not clear.'

Did he fancy it, or was Lise a little embarrassed. She went on, ‘Anyway, that hadn't got far, fortunately. But there have been a lot of complications on the Langenbach side. Schloss Langenbach is now a private school, you know, a school for children who are, what do you say, backward?'

And the attics? The narrow stair on which the longed-for footfall could only be Anna's? For what were they now used?

‘Most things there are sold. Franzi will never live at Langenbach,' said Lise. ‘It has given him some money. Not to use all by himself vet, of course.'

‘We say– “In Trust”.'

‘Yes. But you are right, for a young man he has a good deal. And Arzfeld one day, perhaps, if such places can be kept still by a family. I think that's difficult everywhere.'

‘Very difficult.'

Anthony was thinking of Franzi's inheritance. He knew all about his childhood, about a little boy dragged from his mother, beaten and starved. The wheel had certainly come full circle. Hesitantly he asked,

‘Does Franzi remember his mother?'

‘Certainly. You must speak to him of her. He loves to hear others talk of her.'

Lise said this so easily that Anthony could not believe she thought the subject delicate. He felt the need to be sure. He said – carefully – ‘He's like his mother. Very von Arzfeld, you know. I can see it. I expect your father can.'

‘Yes,' said Lise seriously. ‘I think so too. Sometimes I think I see a little Langenbach in him. But not so often. Not nearly so often.'

Marcia had looked thoughtfully at Anthony as soon as they found themselves together after her arrival.

‘How are you doing, Ant?'

She used the inelegant, once-irritating pet name much less now. He liked it.

‘He's a charming boy.'

‘And you're going to tell him, aren't you?'

‘Marcia, I long to, in many ways. But is it really right? Isn't it, perhaps, self-indulgent, on my part?'

‘I'm interested that you feel it might be. You weren't keen on the idea when last we talked.'

‘I'm keen on it now.'

‘Well, as you know, I think you should. And I'll tell Lise. Then she can help cope with him. She's pretty sensible, you know. She's much tougher than she looks. I'll tell her when
we're in London together, if you like. I'd better wait until I hear from you that you've had your heart-to-heart with Franzi.'

‘That would be best,' said Anthony, a sick yet excited sensation predominant. ‘Yes, that would be best.'

‘I'll cope with Lise, she'll be all right. Give me time. She's devoted to the boy, she's bound to feel deeply concerned, confused. Give me time.'

‘Don't you think that Lise may have always suspected something?'

‘No, I don't. And I'd know. Ant, I realize it's going to be a hard task telling him. But I think it's right. Be gentle. Be humble.'

‘How could one be otherwise?'

‘And be loving.'

‘Yes,' said Anthony. He suddenly found a constriction in his throat. ‘Yes, that too.'

And Marcia carried Lise off. With only mild curiosity Anthony heard Marcia say as they got into the car, ‘A
very
odd thing happened the other day, Lise, love. You'll never guess who turned up –'

He turned away. They shared many memories, those two. He had his own.

‘I'll show you some of Sussex,' said Anthony. It was a hot day.

‘Can we go in my car, Uncle Anton? You've not been in it yet!'

‘We'll go by lanes, small roads. You'll have to drive slowly and you'll hate every minute of it. You'll be itching for an
autobahn
, yearning for speed!'

‘I expect so, Uncle Anton!'

‘It's extraordinary,' thought Anthony, ‘how easy I feel with him, how I love his company, how I have known him, in my heart, for ever.' He looked sideways at Franzi as they drove towards the white wooden gates opening from Bargate drive on to the narrow lane which led to the Flintdown road. ‘Yes,' Anthony thought, ‘I know him all right.' And the slender hand resting on the steering wheel was Anna's hand. ‘Damn it, it's the sheer
love
in the boy,' thought Anthony. ‘He's Anna's son, every inch of him.'

‘And mine. And mine.'

‘I'll open the gate.'

‘No, I know it, I'll do it, Uncle Anton.' Franzi was already out of the driving seat, coping with the awkward gate catch, jumping in again, driving on.

‘Hang on, we must shut it behind us. Cattle. Stop again. That's why it was more sensible to let your passenger do it.'

‘Sorry, Uncle Anton. German officiousness!'

‘We're making a cattle grid there, this autumn. And keep in to the left of the road, for God's sake!'

Anthony loved the excuse to chide, to mock, to exercise, in appearance, a little affectionate tutelage. They drove southward in companionable silence towards the line of the Downs. For twenty minutes Anthony uttered nothing but a few crisp directions.

‘When you top the next rise you'll see the Channel. It's a wonderful viewpoint.'

They stopped and got out of the car, strolling for a little, sitting while Anthony pointed out landmarks. There was everywhere an enormous peace.

‘Your country is very beautiful, Uncle Anton.'

‘Yes, it is, isn't it.'

‘I like to practise my English. But you still speak beautiful German, Uncle Anton, I like hearing it. Which shall we talk?'

‘Let's talk both, just as we find it most easy, depending on what we want to say.'

When they got back into the car there was suddenly something awkward between them, as if each recognized that there had to be a change of style in their conversation, that it had to become more personal. The atmosphere had changed and Anthony knew that Franzi felt it just as he did, though nothing had been said. Where there had been ease now there was tension. They drove slowly westward, keeping to small roads, towards the border of West Sussex. Anthony felt himself impelled by some force outside himself when he heard his own voice saying –

‘How well do you remember your mother, Franzi?'

‘Better than people might suppose. I was five years old, you know, when they – took her away. Took me away.'

‘I know. I know what happened.'

‘It was the most terrible thing. I don't think anything that happens in life can be as terrible as that.'