Berlin: A Novel (29 page)

'It would be a great pleasure if I could invite you here again in a few weeks' time.'

'Oh, now I know who you are. You're from the Ministry of Economic Affairs, and you're taking over Miriam's apartment.'

'I shall be giving a reception when I move in.' Karch cleared his throat. 'Exclusively for German guests. I am planning to have a string quartet playing German music, and I shall serve German sparkling wine and a few choice tidbits.'

'German caviar, perhaps?' Detta couldn't help saying, and earned herself a suspicious look from the under-secretary. She watched Miriam, who was tossing back glass after glass of champagne, with concern.

Hella Siebert came back from the guests' lavatory looking distraught. She began speaking to her husband in great agitation, but Detta couldn't hear what she was saying. Miriam, swaying, climbed on a chair. 'My dear friends!' she cried at the top of her voice. They all looked up at her. I want to say goodbye to you, dear friends. I am leaving in an hour's time. And I owe some among you special thanks. The Sieberts, for instance. Gottfried and Hella, thank you so much for all the efforts you've been making recently to have me thrown out of the Red and White, because someone like me is not welcome as a club member now. But for me they'd never have accepted a couple of little social climbers like you.' Gottfried Siebert went red in the face. His wife began to sob.

Miriam was sobering up with every word. And many thanks to Paul and Marianne Frowein, who unfortunately are not with us this evening. They have hay fever, poor things. Remarkable at this time of year, don't you agree? When they wanted a loan to buy their own house and asked me to put in a good word with Grandfather, they were always dropping in here.'

'Stop it, Miriam,' Rolf Lamprecht warned her.

'Not yet. First I must also thank Herr Aribert Karch. A remarkable man, Herr Karch. Promoted within a single year from a little nobody in the filing room of the Ministry of Economic Affairs to under-secretary in the same ministry. I'd like to see anyone equal that. Such unappetizing blobs of fat swim to the top of the brown soup these days.' Karch went pale. 'He considerately arranged for the Goldbergs to leave, the under-secretary did. And he was so generous too. Imagine, the family can take a tenth of what they own with them. The remaining ninety per cent goes to those brown-clad upstarts. The under-secretary calls it an emigration tax. If they didn't go, the family would be taken into protective custody. Only to protect parasites like us from the righteous anger of the German people, of course. Not that he personally has anything against us. But it's a good opportunity to get his hands on my apartment for peanuts, isn't it, Herr Karch?' She flung her glass on the floor at his feet. Furious, Karch stormed out.

Miriam jumped down from the chair. 'Listen!' she cried, laughing. 'Just a word to everyone who hasn't been to the guest lavatory yet. Yes, Gottfried, what your wife saw is correct: I had it designed by an artist for my farewell party. A talented painter on porcelain has immortalized the Fi hrer's portrait in the lavatory bowl, so anyone who feels like it can shit on him. It's a pleasure I shall certainly allow myself before I leave.'

Incredulous silence, contained laughter, horrified whispers. The range of reactions was wide. Monsieur Montfort found it difficult to suppress a grin. Dr Gerhard, his face unmoved, looked at the floor. Egon Jeschke smiled and murmured, 'Miriam, you're fantastic, girl!'

Miriam took his glass from his hand. 'Your good health, Egon, my friend. Your very good health, all my true friends!' She emptied it in a single draught. And as for the rest of you, you unpleasant little crooks who have been sponging on me for years, enjoying the delightful feeling of belonging to society - to hell with you!'

David Floyd-Orr was the only one now standing by the buffet, concentrating on choosing delicacies and carefully piling them on his plate. As a diplomat he can't take sides. He has to exercise restraint,' said Friedrich von Coberg, quietly drawing Detta aside. 'Listen, Karch has phoned the Gestapo. Our friend must get out of here at once.'

Miriam was about to pour herself another glass of champagne, but Detta steered her into the bedroom. 'Quick, get changed. There's no time to lose. Karch has alerted the Gestapo.'

Without haste, Miriam stepped out of her cocktail dress as if she hadn't heard what Detta said. Clad in her silk camiknickers, she opened the wardrobe that ran all the way along the wall and inspected its contents with a critical eye. 'The green tweed suit from Scotland, maybe? Or Coco Chanel's travelling ensemble would look pretty. What do you think? Maybe I should wear the pale-grey flannel dress with the black turban? That would suit my white car, don't you think?'

'Give it to me.' Detta took the turban, put it on and stuffed her fair hair under it.

'Oh, that really suits you. You can have it. I'll wear Madame Schiaparelli's sporty felt hat.'

'You go into my room, take my raincoat and beret, and keep calm,' Detta told her. Tyres squealed outside. 'I hope the Prince can hold them off long enough. I'll come and see you in Lisbon sometime. Goodbye. Miriam.'

The garage door flew open. The white BMW, its hood down, roared up the ramp to the street in first gear, racing past a black limousine. The man at the wheel of the black car watched it go, startled, and then hooted his horn hard. Men in leather coats rushed out of the building and piled into the car. 'Go on, follow her!' one of them panted. The sports car was lurching round the corner well ahead of them. It turned into Heerstrasse. 'She drives like the devil,' said the driver in annoyance.

Detta pushed the turban back from her forehead as it threatened to slip down over her eyes. She stepped on the gas. The car jolted forward and shot down the street, going she didn't know where, except that she was heading out of town. A sign saying 'Frankfurt/Oder 130 Kilometres' made up her mind. The road went straight ahead. The Mercedes in her rear-view mirror looked smaller. Why not let him catch up a bit, she thought, grinning. The poor driver's going to such trouble. The black limousine behind her grew until it was large enough for Detta's liking. She stepped on the gas, and her pursuers shrank again. She repeated this game several times, beginning to enjoy herself. Then, unexpectedly, a level crossing barrier came down. Detta trod on the brake as hard as she could. The BMW stopped just centimetres from the barrier as the Warsaw express thundered past.

Next moment four men in leather coats surrounded the car. Detta beamed at them. 'Phew! I only just made it in time.'

'Gestapo,' the leader of the men barked.

'Pleased to meet you, Herr Gestapo.' She offered him her hand. And I'm Detta von Aichborn.'

'Never mind the silly jokes. Geheime Staatspolizei. Can you prove your identity?'

As it happens, I have my passport with me. I'm going to Poland. A flying visit to the Potockys. Prince Potocky is my godfather.' She pulled the black turban off her head, revealing her blonde hair.

'Baroness von Aichborn, Henriette Sophie Charlotte,' one of the men read out loud from her passport. 'Is this your vehicle?'

'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.'