Berlin: A Novel (31 page)

And you think someone getting one of these things as a present will want to handle and smell it?'

'Before long the prime minister won't be able to see his woodcuts any more because his eyesight is deteriorating. But he'll still have his senses of touch and smell. And he'll soon be retiring.'

'Deteriorating eyesight? Retiring? What on earth are you talking about?'

'I had to know what kind of person Mr Macdonald is so I could suggest a really personal present for him.'

And I suppose you read all this in your coffee grounds at breakfast?'

'Good heavens, no. I telephoned the ambassador in London.'

'You telephoned our ambassador without permission?' Troll asked, stunned.

'Oh, not our ambassador. I phoned Uncle Juan. My mother's brother is the Spanish ambassador to the Court of St James,' said Detta, mollifying him. 'He's usually very well informed.'

Arvid von Troll cleared his throat. 'Well, I must apologize for my tone, Fraulein von Aichborn. We'll take your advice about the present.' He hesitated. 'I suppose your uncle Juan doesn't happen to know who will be Ramsay Macdonald's successor?'

'I asked him that too,' Detta was happy to tell him. 'Stanley Baldwin, he says.'

'Herr von Neurath will be impressed,' Troll said, with obvious satisfaction. 'You can ask a favour in return.'

'May I have the whole of Saturday off?'

'You may,' Herr von Troll generously agreed.

She rose early on Saturday to pack her raffia bag, containing toiletries, towel, new Bleyle and her Agfa box camera. A blouse, bright wrapover skirt, matching shorts and sandals completed her ensemble. Detta was armed for the encounter.

She knocked on Marlene Kaschke's door at seven-thirty. 'It'll be no use knocking. Fraulein von Aichborn.' Frau Wolke told her. 'Some man she knew fetched her yesterday. Even paid her rent. Would you like an egg for breakfast?'

Detta did not reply. She was feverishly trying to come up with a solution to the problem that had so unexpectedly arisen. But there was no solution without someone to play gooseberry. Goodbye, weekend on the water, she thought furiously.

They were far from prudish at home in Aichborn. At the age of six, Detta had helped the head groom take mares to the stallion. Her mother had used the example of Lina, a kitchen-maid impregnated by a seasonal worker who had long since moved on, to explain that even if you weren't married you could find yourself in circumstances that were far from desirable, since a child needs a father and a woman needs a husband. It all depended on doing things in the right order, she said, so it made sense to get your man to the altar before having fun with him. Because it was indeed fun, the Baroness happily concluded her explanation, and you could have fun more often and for longer with a husband - where, for instance, was Lina's seasonal worker now?

The practical Detta thought all this sounded very plausible, although she would have liked to know more about the fun. At the next opportunity she asked Lina, who told her in a whisper how you went about it and why it was so nice.

From then on Detta looked at the village boys in a completely different way, and the idea of'having fun' crept into her longing dreams. To make sure they remained dreams, her mother sent Adelheid with her as a chaperone when Bensing drove her to dancing classes in the nearby town, or when one of the young gentlemen from the neighbouring estates accompanied her to a summer ball. Detta saw nothing wrong in that. It wasn't a matter of morality but of etiquette, just as everyone knew you didn't eat fish with a knife.

Although she had come of age, and there was no one to keep an eye on her in the cosmopolitan city of Berlin where anything went so long as you enjoyed, it would never have entered her head to break the rules of etiquette. But now everything was different. Very well then, I'll eat my fish with a knife, she thought daringly, and took the BMW out of the Kantstrasse garage.

She parked the car by the Stossensee bridge and, in high spirits, ran down the countless steps carved out of the steep slope. David Floyd-Orr's shock of red hair was visible from far away. He was wearing a white polo shirt with immaculate, white linen trousers, and instead of a belt he had knotted a Winchester old school tie around them.

'Good morning, Detta. How nice of you to come.'

'Hello, David, thank you for asking me.' That was enough to satisfy English good manners. 'My friend Marion is so sorry, she can't come. She's not feeling well.' She looked out at the Stossensee, which despite its name was not really a lake, but a bay just off the river, bordered by old trees. Landing stages ran out on all sides, like wooden fingers pointing at the water. Yachts, motorboats and rowing boats rocked at their moorings. 'It's really lovely here.'

'I practically live here in the summer. This way, please.' They walked over sun-warmed planks to a motorboat. Its name, Berrie, stood in shiny letters on the prow. The Union Jack above it made a pleasant change from the swastika flags flown by the other vessels. David helped her on board. Everything here was brass and mahogany.

'There's an awful lot to clean,' said the ever-practical Detta.

'Not this weekend, though. Down here.' Three steps led down to the cabin that reached all the way to the bows. The seats by the two long sides could be pulled out to make comfortable beds. A wall cupboard contained the tiny galley with its spirit stove. David pointed to the zinc-plated refrigerator. 'We're just waiting for the man to bring ice to keep our drinks cold, then we can start. I thought we'd go past Potsdam up to Brandenburg, and then go a little further into the Havelland tomorrow. We'll be back here tomorrow evening, if that's all right by you?'

It was all right by Detta. The slight smell of marshy water, oil and gasoline, the gentle rocking of the water, the tinny sound of a gramophone playing on the boat next to David's - it was all new and fascinating.

The man with the ice delivered his load, stowed it below decks with a clatter, and wished them a nice weekend. David undid the rope and pushed off from the landing stage. Puttering, the engine started and took the boat at a leisurely pace under the Stissensee bridge and into the Havel, which opened out before them.

Down in the cabin Detta found a white, peaked cap with an anchor on it, and put it on at a rakish angle over her left ear. She had taken off her wrapover skirt and was now sitting on the cabin roof in shorts, with her knees drawn up. She looked over the gleaming, silvery water where white sails bobbed, slender canoes cut their way through the water, and now and then a motorboat left its wake behind. She felt free and at ease, the way she usually felt only in the saddle.

Gradually they gathered speed. David stood at the wheel, concentrating as though he were steering Bertie close to a cliff. It was a little while before Detta realized that he was desperately trying not to stare at her bare legs and, to her amusement, was not entirely succeeding.

'If you'll take the wheel I could fix our drinks. Just keep going straight ahead. And if an iceberg appears, please avoid it.'

She couldn't help laughing, for he said this totally straight-faced. The last man to make her laugh had been Tom Glaser back in Aichborn. How long ago that seemed. She felt a tiny pang, and then it went away. David disappeared below deck and after a few minutes brought up two tall, misty glasses clinking with ice.

'I hope you like Pimm's Number One?'

'Tell me what's in it first.'

'Well, originally only Mr James Pimm knew that. He was an apothecary in London around 1840, and he invented this gin-based drink at his customers' request. The herbs and spices added to flavour it are still the secret of his heirs. Lady Phipps made the lemonade to top it up - she's the wife of our ambassador Sir Eric - in an attempt to keep the younger members of the embassy staff away from the demon drink. And the cucumber strips, with a slice of orange and another of lemon, are my personal ingredients.'

'Tastes good,' she pronounced.

All the same, we'd better stick to just one glass, what with the sun and the aforesaid demon.'

Detta chuckled.

'Did I say something funny?'

'No. It's just . . .' She couldn't help coming out with it. 'It's just that I really don't need a chaperone with you.' David went red - and even redder when, soon afterwards, Detta appeared on deck in her sky-blue Bleyle.

They passed the Wannsee. Potsdam and then Geltow went by, and they cast anchor in a bay near Werder. Detta, standing very straight, went to the bows. She felt more self-conscious about her figure than ever before. I hope he doesn't think my thighs are too thin, she worried. At home, swimming in the Aich with the village boys and girls, such a thought would never have occurred to her. For safety's sake, she avoided his gaze by jumping into the water. David came in after her. She dived, and surfaced again a little further on. He swam after her with long strokes. She went down again, and then came up behind him. She repeated this game several times - it was fun to tease him a little. Then she dived down right under the boat and kept close to its side.

'Detta? Detta!' His calls became more urgent. She thought of Tom Glaser. Would he have worried about her? 'So there you are. 'A pair of strong arms came around her. For a second she felt his firm body. 'Oh, I thought .... Awkwardly, he let go of her. 'You were just leading me on!'

'Me? How do you mean?' she said, feigning innocence, and pulled herself up on board. She lay on deck in the sunlight, dozing and dreaming of Thomas Glaser. He was holding her hand, and she returned its gentle pressure. But it was David's hand: he quickly withdrew it from hers when she opened her eyes. How shy he is, she thought, captivated.

Thomas Glaser's wedding was very much an aeronautical affair. After the service, the bridal couple walked out under a triumphal arch of crossed propellers, and a colleague of the newly appointed Flight Captain Glaser flew his biplane low over the tower of Pastor Niemoller's Old Dahlem parish church. The director of Lufthansa had generously paid in advance the fine that this stunt would incur. The bride, now Ulrike Glaser, was a friendly brunette of twenty-five. 'What a good choice, Tom,' said Detta in deliberately tomboyish tones.

'Glad you think so,' Glaser thanked her.

'Here's to friendship,' Ulli declared at the wedding breakfast, raising a glass to her.

'To friendship.' Detta pulled herself together. No one else guessed what was going on inside her, except for Hans-Georg, who simply knew her too well. You may not think so, but the right man for you will come along, you just have to believe it,' he consoled her. That was exactly the trigger for the tears she could have done without. 'Make my excuses to everyone,' she managed to tell him.

She started the BMW, engaged first gear with a crunch, and jerkily drove off. She swerved in front of a bus as she turned into the Kurfiirstendamm and almost knocked a cyclist down at Halensee S-Bahn station. She noticed none of it. She wasn't sitting at the wheel of her roadster but in Tom Glaser's plane. The slipstream tugged at her hair as he took the Klemm up to loop the loop. Her stomach heaved. A horrible need to retch overcame her. She braked with a screech and threw up on the pavement. Luckily there was no one nearby, and traffic was thin at this time of the evening.

There was a small family bar opposite. She ordered a coffee and quickly went to the Ladies. Vigorous gargling rid her mouth of the sour taste of stomach acid. She plunged her face in cold water, and was glad to find a clean hand towel by the basin. 'Contenance, ma petite.' she could hear her mother saying. That had been when Detta, aged twelve, bungled a dressage trial at the local gymkhana and was taking Henry back to the stables, in floods of tears. She smoothed her hair and her dress; she had lost her hat on the way here. As she entered the cafe again she was very much the cool Prussian aristocrat again on the outside, friendly but reserved, perfectly poised. Inside, she was telling herself dryly: so much for your aversion therapy, my dear. You need stronger medicine.

Making up her mind, she got behind the wheel and stepped on the gas. Twilight was falling as she ran down the countless steps from the Stossensee bridge to the landing stages. The warm light of an oil lamp shone in Bertie's cabin. David Floyd-Orr was lying full-length, reading, old-fashioned halfmoon glasses on his nose. He looked up. 'Oh, hello,' he said, showing no surprise.

'Hello to you too.' Detta was frantically wondering how, when you were a completely inexperienced girl, you went about seducing a man for therapeutic reasons without making a fool of yourself.

She was woken by the cry of a coot. The diffuse light of early morning came in through the portholes. The sleeper beside her was lying on his side, hands folded under his cheek, snoring quietly. So this was the man she would never in her life have imagined as a lover, a lanky Englishman of twenty-eight with red hair and freckles. But as everyone knows and as Bensing used to say, things never turn out just as you expect, and all things considered it had really been very good.

They had laughed a lot, particularly when David confessed that he had enjoyed this kind of experience only once before, with his nanny Ruth when he was sixteen. Nannies, Detta learned, were an English institution, and though they officially cared for children only up to school age they generally remained in the family, quite often provided adolescents with practical enlightenment, and later looked after their former charges' progeny too. Even a repeat performance of that practical instruction wasn't out of the question.