Little Grey Mice
Authors: Brian Freemantle
Little Grey Mice
Brian Freemantle
Contents
A Biography of Brian Freemantle
For
John and Gloria Shearer,
with great affection.
Europe has entered a new promising era. Central and Eastern Europe is liberating itself. The Soviet Union has embarked on the long journey towards a free society. The walls that once confined people and ideas are collapsing. Europeans are determining their own destiny. They are choosing freedom. They are choosing economic liberty. They are choosing peace. They are choosing a Europe whole and free. As a consequence this alliance must and will adapt.
The London Declaration of
NATO leaders, 6 July 1990
Our alliance is no threat to anybody. We do not see ourselves as a bloc in a confrontational situation. We are moving beyond confrontation and becoming a partner in a new Europe.
Manfred Wörner, Secretary
General of NATO, 8 June 1990
We could agree to a United Germany's NATO membership provided the US accepts associate membership and the principle of the
rapprochement
of the two blocs in the reunification process, during which the security obligations of West and East Germany would not change.
Mikhail Gorbachov, President
of the USSR, 12 June 1990
Chapter One
A minor accident on Adenauerallee, just after she'd left the Chancellery, had delayed Elke Meyer. It was hardly an inconvenience, but it unsettled her, just as being summoned on a Saturday for a minor security infraction had unsettled her. Elke liked ordered routine and disruption offended her, even something as small as arriving slightly later than usual for her established Saturday morning visit to the Bonner Café, in the corner of Bonn's flower market.
She tried to hurry, tugging at Poppi's lead to urge him on, but there seemed to be more people than normal, crowds milling aimlessly around the stalls, blocking her way. Poppi, with the inbred nervousness of all miniature dachshunds, became frightened among careless feet and legs and began to resist, so finally Elke bent and scooped him up. As she eased her way through the alley from the larger vegetable market Elke started to worry that her usual table might be occupied. There was fresh annoyance at the possibility, but she tried to suppress it: it was absurd to invent difficulties in advance. She wasn't normally so tense: once a month, sometimes, but from her careful calendar note that wasn't due for another two weeks. Maybe, after all these months, the workload at the Chancellery from the coming together of the two Germanys was causing too much of a strain. She didn't really think so. She was very sure about her ability to do her job: it was the only thing she really did feel sure about.
Nearer the café, beyond the vivid glare of the flower displays, the crowds thinned and she lowered the protesting Poppi to the ground again. The pampered dog tried to scramble back into her arms but Elke refused him. She considered women who carried their pets in their arms to be drawing attention to themselves. All the outside tables at the Bonner
were
already occupied but it was a sparkling early spring morning, warm yet without the oppressive, valley-trapped heat that in the summer turned the West German capital into the âBonn kettle', so she'd guessed the pavement would be full. And anyway Elke never sat outside, on display. Her place was inside, where it was quieter and more proper for a woman to sit alone. She hesitated at the doorway, momentarily unable to focus against the inner darkness, before seeing her accustomed table was vacant with her accustomed waitress in smiling attendance. The girl, whose name she knew to be Clara although Elke never addressed her with such familiarity, gestured towards the waiting chair, as if she had reserved it for Elke's arrival. Elke smiled back gratefully and sat down. Poppi settled with a satisfied sigh beneath the chair and Elke had a matching relief at the reestablishment of routine. She was in surroundings she knew, where she was safe, and it didn't matter at all that she was late or that there were too many people swarming around outside. She
had
been stupid, letting silly things distress her. She hoped, belatedly, that no one had been injured in the Adenauerallee collision.
The waitress allowed a few moments for Elke to go through the pretence of studying the menu before taking the order for coffee and apple cake, which was what Elke had every Saturday.
What was she going to buy for the children? She had to take something, because she always did when she went to Ida's for lunch, so they expected it. But it wasn't easy any more, not at the age they were. At fourteen Georg drove her sister to distraction with his pop music, so a tape or a record was obvious, but Elke knew nothing about pop music: choosing the right one would be difficult. Doris, just a year younger, was slightly easier. Her niece was just becoming aware of herself, concerned about her appearance, and Elke decided upon a pair of hair-slides. The size or cost of the gift was unimportant, after all: it was the gesture.
The waitress offered cream with the apple cake and Elke smiled the anticipated refusal. The cake was fractionally burned at the bottom but Elke didn't complain: people who complained in public places embarrassed her. She cut away the charred pastry and chopped the remainder into neat, easily eaten squares. Maybe she should have ignored the cake as well as the cream today: the increase on the scales that morning wasn't too bad, less than half a kilo, but it definitely registered and Elke was careful about her weight as she was careful about everything involving her appearance. She hoped Ida hadn't prepared anything too heavy for lunch: on a day like today she'd prefer something cold, maybe with a salad. She could lose the weight over the next few weeks, without any difficulty. She knew herself capable of great determination: she'd learned, bitterly, from past experience.
âYou should have said something.'
Elke raised her head, startled, to see Clara standing beside her table: the girl was looking down at the discarded, blackened pastry. âIt's not important: it doesn't matter.'
âIt's a problem, with apples. They cook hot. It's the sugar, I think.'
âI know,' agreed Elke. âIt was very little.'
âI'll bring you another slice, without charge.'
âNo!' said Elke, quickly. âI couldn't eat any more. Really.'
âNext week then,' promised the girl.
How predictable she must be to people, thought Elke. She said: âMaybe next week,' not wanting to make an outright refusal.
âWould you like your second coffee?'
Predictable again, thought Elke, who always had two cups. âPlease.' She leaned slightly forward over the table as it was served, twisting her arm to read her watch. She occasionally went from here to the cathedral in the Münsterplatz, but after the delay Elke didn't think she had time today if she was to get to Bad Godesberg promptly at one. The self-accusation came very quickly. She had more than enough time, if she wanted. But for what? She'd lighted all the candles for Ursula, and said all the prayers in all the side chapels, that she ever could. And Ursula was the only person she prayed for, no one else. She could always go to church tomorrow. Or the day after. Or next week. Or next month. Or the month after that. She had all the time she could ever use. Too much. She wished she could give it away: give almost all of it away. The musing drifted, aimlessly. Today's novelty gift, for Georg and Doris, she thought.
Here you are, my darlings: empty time, to fill as you wish, like a sand bucket on a beach. A week, a month, take what you want. I don't need it. I've too much to occupy already.
Elke jerked away from the table, as if she were physically trying to slough off the self-pity. It had been forgivable with Ursula and everything that occurred, but finally Ida had told her to pull herself out of it and Elke imagined she had, long ago. She didn't want to slip back into the trough of easy despair: didn't want people talking and shaking their heads, not again. That period of her life was over: locked away and forgotten. All except Ursula. Ursula wasn't forgotten. Never would be.
Couldn't
be.
Wanting further movement to break her depression, Elke called for her bill, carefully concealing the crimson security pass in her handbag as she counted out the exact money, with an additional two Deutschmarks for a tip. The waitress wished her a happy week and Elke wished the girl the same in return and re-entered the bustle of the flower square. Poppi tugged for attention but Elke decided it wasn't necessary for the dog to be carried again.
She crossed the square directly to the Kaufhalle store and found the accessories section on the ground floor. The ribbons and scarves and economy jewellery blazed brighter than the flower stalls outside, a Technicolor of decoration. Doris had white-blonde hair so Elke selected the slides in contrasting harsh red and because it matched, forming the complete set, she also took the brooch shaped in the face of a lugubrious clown. Ursula's hair was blonde, although not so pale, and for several moments Elke fingered a second set, fantasizing how they would look in her own daughter's hair. Abruptly she replaced the slides, offering just the one set to the assistant to be wrapped. Small ornaments or jewellery, particularly anything fixed with a sharp pin, were dangerous for Ursula. Elke had to go back along the linking alley into the Markt to find a tape and record outlet in one of the permanent shops bordering its edge. A bored assistant perfunctorily recommended a tape by an American artist named Springsteen, which Elke bought without question.
Elke had parked her car, a Volkswagen Golf, among others on a meter bank just off Brudergasse. As she approached she automatically checked the gleaming blue bodywork for damage from another parking motorist less careful than herself, relieved there wasn't any. Poppi's blanket, protecting the rear upholstery, was neatly in place but Elke fussed it into further neatness before lifting the dog in. He settled into immediate sleep, seemingly exhausted by his enforced walk through the city. In the driving seat she fastened and checked the seatbelt against its lock, made a minute adjustment to her rear-view mirror and ensured both wing reflectors still gave the necessary back view. Satisfied, she edged out into the traffic stream to join Adenauerallee from Belderberg. The earlier accident had been at the junction with Hofgarten. The congestion was cleared now but one of the involved vehicles was still there, hauled off the road on to the pavement. One of its front wheels was buckled, making it impossible to drive, but the car itself seemed intact. None of the glass was smashed, either, so Elke guessed there had been no serious injury. Everyone in Germany drove far too fast: she'd heard the Transport Minister complaining about it to Günther only the previous week, as if it were somebody else's responsibility other than his own. Elke only ever used her superior's Christian name in her thoughts. In discussion or conversation with anyone â and certainly when talking directly to him â she always referred to him respectfully as Herr Werle or Herr Doktor, just as he with equal respect â but more importantly, great consideration â always addressed her as Frau Meyer. He was one of the few people outside her immediate family who knew about Ursula.
