Restitution (14 page)

‘Gute Nacht,’
Alix mumbled and ran upstairs to the first floor, waiting for them to walk onto the terrace. If they caught her downstairs a second time . . . Mami and the man
were murmuring by the front door; the other guests must still be chatting in the salon. On the landing the grandfather clock ticked out the seconds. Gregor was still sitting in the dark cellar,
probably thinking that Alix had gone off to bed and left him there. Mami and the man came back inside and stood in the hallway beneath Alix, half in shadow.

‘I had no idea you were interested in an organization like the Gestapo,’ she hissed.

‘You’re making it sound as though it’s something to be ashamed of.’ Anger in his voice.

‘I’m sure you had your reasons.’ Mami sounded soothing now. ‘It was just a bit of a surprise.’

‘The world’s changing, Maria. For all of us. Even you. This place won’t be the quiet little backwater it’s been for so long.’

She laughed. ‘Hardly a backwater. Peter says just about every army in the history of the world has marched along that road at the end of the drive: French, Poles, Russians,
Swedes.’

‘The people you mix with—’

‘You mean Eva. You’ve known her as long as I have, Anton.’

‘We were never close.’ He took her hand.

‘She’s one of my dearest friends.’ Mami’s voice shook.

‘But it’s a risk, Maria. If they find out . . .’

She made a dismissive gesture with her free hand. ‘It’s all nonsense. She’s Austrian, like me.’

‘She came from Poland originally.’

‘Galicia,
Anton! Part of Austria back then, remember?’

‘But her father came from further east, from Russian Poland. Funny how it all comes back to me now.’ He shook his head.

‘You always did have an over-retentive memory.’

‘I knew your lines better than you did.’

‘Remember how bad I was at learning them?’ She led him towards the salon. ‘If I hadn’t had you to practise with I’d have been lost when I came to play Sonja.’
She stopped at the door. ‘What happened to you, Anton? I thought your timber business was doing well. Why the career change?’

He didn’t have a chance to answer because Papi came to the door. ‘There you both are! We were wondering whether the wolves had got you.’

‘Wolves?’ Eva said from inside the salon. ‘There are wolves in the forest?’ She sounded strained.

‘Not many these days. But I saw one here, years ago. And I’ve heard him at night.’

Alix felt a pang. She’d never seen or heard the wolf.

One of the guests inside let out a howl and everyone laughed.

Alix pulled off her slippers and tiptoed downstairs, using her knowledge of the location of every creaking floorboard to descend without a sound. She took a deep breath and plunged across the
door, praying nobody would be looking in her direction, that the Gestapo man’s hand wouldn’t fall on her shoulder. Still barefoot, she reached the cellar, unbolting the door with
gritted teeth. ‘Gregor?’ Too dangerous to switch on the light again. She groped her way towards the old sofa.

Something scuffled at her feet. Alix jumped back in case it was a mouse. It was his foot. He’d been sitting on the sofa in the unlit room, waiting for her.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine.’ He sounded exhausted. ‘You took your time.’

‘They were talking at the front door. I had to wait.’ She took his arm. ‘Come on, I’ll guide you out. Mind you don’t make a sound. That Gestapo man’s
suspicious, I swear.’

‘Gestapo man?’ A note in his voice Alix had never heard before.

‘Yes. I don’t know what he’s doing here. Papi hates all that stuff.’ She pulled him towards the door.

‘My God, Alix. We can’t stay here now. Why didn’t your father tell me? Why didn’t my mother tell me?’

‘You’re only a boy, Gregor, a child. They don’t tell children anything.’

‘You’re right.’ He sounded so despondent she wanted to hug him, but he’d only push her off. She found herself taking his arm, anyway.

‘I didn’t mean that. You’re thirteen, that’s quite old, actually.’

‘I feel old.’

He sounded it. They needed to hurry up and return to their rooms before the guests started leaving, but she couldn’t bear to see his sadness and say nothing more in comfort. ‘You
know we’re your friends, don’t you, Gregor?’

‘You’re mad if you want to be friends with us. It’s dangerous.’ His voice gave a slight quiver.

‘We don’t care. I . . .’ she took a breath. ‘I don’t care. I’d like you even if you were an escaped murderer.’

He snorted.

‘Maybe not that, then. A robber.’

‘If you just like me for myself, that’s enough.’

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek as though he were Papi. But then something strange happened. He turned to her and grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her lips. And for a moment
it didn’t feel like a friend’s kiss but something more dangerous, more enticing. A shiver ran from her scalp to the base of her spine as she kissed him back. She could make out a
reflection of herself in each of his eyes, a thin figure with an untidy blond plait over one shoulder. Just a child.

He pulled away. ‘I’m sorry, that was stupid of me. You just made me feel like the real me, not this scared person I’ve become.’

She didn’t know what to say. ‘We should go upstairs now.’ She pushed him up the cellar steps ahead of her, noticing how dusty his pyjama trousers were. He must have crouched
down behind the sofa when Mami came in to switch off the light. His mother wouldn’t be pleased. Eva hated any kind of dishevelment.

They crossed the hall. Alix paused for a second by the half-opened salon door before pulling Gregor on towards the staircase, heart pounding.

‘Another fugitive?’

The Gestapo man – Anton, Mami had called him – had come out of the salon again so silently she hadn’t heard him, perhaps because he wanted to smoke a cigar. Or perhaps because
he was a policeman and had ears attuned to people who were in forbidden places. Alix stopped, a foot on the first stair.

‘This must be Eva’s son.’

The correct form of greeting was a salute that Gregor would never make. Alix bet her father hadn’t made it, either.

‘How do you do, sir.’ He clicked his heels but his hands stayed at his side. Alix could almost smell the emotion coming off him, fear and something else, anger. Good. She
couldn’t bear Gregor to be scared.

‘Gregor Fischer, eh?’

Gregor nodded.

‘You got locked in the cellar, no?’ The man’s eyes glinted. ‘Tell me, Gregor Fischer, how did it feel to be shut in the dark?’

Gregor shrugged.

‘Were you scared?’ The voice was gentle. Gregor’s mouth opened a little but still he was silent. ‘I think you probably were.’

Alix couldn’t stand it. ‘We need to go to bed.’ She gave a little curtsy that would have made Lena proud, and tugged at Gregor’s arm.

The man nodded. Alix heard him walk across the marble floor as he made for the cloakroom on the far side of the entrance hall. He had a slightly uneven gait. Then she picked up another noise, a
gentle patter. She turned. Nothing. She squinted into the darkness and saw a single yellow petal lying on the marble floor. It must have fallen from the rose Mami had cut in the garden this morning
and placed in a vase on the hall table.

‘God.’ Gregor gave a short laugh when they reached his bedroom door. ‘What a night this has turned into. Your parents have some surprising friends.’

Alix let out a breath. ‘I don’t think they knew that he was Gestapo.’

His hand was on the door handle. ‘Sorry.’

‘What for?’

‘Being such an idiot. It’s ridiculous being so scared of the dark at my age.’

She reached for his hand. ‘Lots of people are scared of the dark.’

‘You’re not and you’re only a . . .’

‘What?’

‘It doesn’t matter. The fact is, you’re braver than I am.’

‘Oh, I’m scared of lots of things.’ She tried to think of some. ‘I hate mice.’ Gregor put a finger to his lips. Eva was talking to Mami. ‘You know it’s
not like that. . .’; ‘No place for us . . .’; ‘Nothing to be scared of . . .’; ‘Better to go now . . .’

Gregor’s face seemed to grow even whiter.

When Alix went down to breakfast the next morning neither Gregor nor his mother had yet appeared. ‘These townies,’ Mami said, pouring the chocolate.

‘What happened last night, Mami? Eva is scared, isn’t she?’ Alix sank into her chair.

‘I take it you were listening in.’ Mami sighed. ‘You know you shouldn’t – it’s rude,
Schatz.’
Mami handed her a plate with bread rolls on it.
‘I think this is just the beginning.’ She didn’t say what exactly was beginning. ‘We’re going to have to be very careful from now on.’ She pursed her lips.
‘After breakfast I’m going to make some telephone calls and find out about schools in Switzerland. We need to get you away from Germany.’

‘I don’t want to leave home, Mami.’

‘You need to go somewhere where young people can talk freely.’

‘I want to stay here.’ Alix folded her arms. Last night had left her feeling unsettled, clingy. She knew this was the type of behaviour least likely to endear her to her mother.
‘This is the best place in the world. I’m never leaving.’

‘Oh darling, everyone has to leave home at some point.’ An expression Alix couldn’t read flitted over her mother’s face.

‘Not me.’

‘If there weren’t going to be a war I’d send you to one of those English schools.’

Gott set dank
for the war, then. ‘If you make me go I’ll just come back.’

‘You love this house, don’t you?’ Mami’s voice was soft. ‘But things change. Sometimes we have no control over events . . . We can’t always stay at
home.’ And she sat back in her chair, a distant look on her face.

Marie

Vienna, October 1925

‘Tell me about your home,’ said the young German, Peter von someone-or-other. Marie could tell he was a Prussian by the way he held himself, such a straight back.
He’d probably find this Viennese party made up of theatrical types too silly for him. North Germans were supposed to be so serious, weren’t they? Not the kind who enjoyed gossiping in
the upstairs room of a restaurant following a student production of
As You Like It.

‘I come from Meran – Merano – in the South Tyrol.’ She told him about the old castle and its rampart walkways, the flowering cherry trees, the skiing in winter, the
housekeeper Hannelore’s chickens and bees. ‘My father still lives in the town.’

‘It sounds idyllic’ His eyes were dark for a German’s. She liked the way they crinkled up when he was amused, which seemed to be frequently.

‘I do miss it,’ she admitted. She still felt homesick for the town and the sweep of the mountains above it. But not tonight. Tonight was about celebrating her success. For it was
her
success; that’s what everyone was saying. They kept telling her how wonderfully she’d played Rosalind. Even Fredi Brandt, the director, said that Marie had carried the play.
So much praise – it was almost too much. And there was poor Eva, so convincing as Celia in her first scene but stumbling over a line in the second act and never quite recovering her poise.
Marie had to admit that it was almost a relief that Eva
had
stumbled. ‘What’s in your parcel?’ she asked the German, to change the subject. She flushed. He’d think
her over-familiar or nosy. But he grinned – that was the only way she could describe the way his face broke into creases.

‘It’s a clock. There’s a very good shop near here.’

‘You collect them?’

He twinkled at her. ‘Broken ones. I take them to bits and try to repair them. The clocks probably wish I wouldn’t.’ He patted the parcel. ‘You should see my
workroom.’ He looked more serious. ‘I enjoyed your performance,
Fräulein
Maria.’

She felt herself blush. If only she could learn to accept praise with grace. ‘Thank you.’

Somehow they’d managed to squeeze themselves behind a table of empty glasses. ‘Do you mind if we sit down?’ Her legs felt tired.

He pulled out a chair for her. ‘You said your father still lives in the Tyrol. Is his life much changed by the new regime?’

‘He already spoke Italian, which was a help. But his pension . . .’ She stopped. Talking about money was supposed to be vulgar.

His gaze was thoughtful. ‘These last years have been bad for many.’

‘I suppose it’s the same in Germany.’ This was supposed to be a party, not a time for talking about sad events. ‘And it’s probably not as tough for him as for other
people. Meran is still beautiful. It has a mild climate, you know, despite being so near the Alps. We have palms and oleanders.’

‘And what about Vienna? How do you like the city?’

‘It’s exciting.’ She chatted about Fredi Brandt and Xander Zeiler, the producer, and how much she liked the work of Michael Lander, who’d written last year’s
The
Lieutenant’s Girl
and had said he’d nearly finished another play with a perfect part for her in it. Then there were the artists and the musicians. Last week she’d been to an
exhibition of Expressionist art which had left her physically overcome. ‘Everyone else has known about Kokoschka and Schiele for years but I’d never seen their work before.’ She
still felt embarrassed about having reached the age of twenty knowing so little about contemporary culture.

‘Don’t know them well myself, I must admit. Your life sounds fascinating.’

‘It is! Every morning I wake up and hardly know what’ll happen.’

‘And you see yourself settled in Vienna permanently once you’ve finished at the Academy?’

She paused just a second too long. ‘Probably. Sometimes I wonder if . . .’

He raised an eyebrow.

‘As though it might come to a head, I suppose.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Not that I know much about politics at all.’ She hadn’t really been referring to the political
situation but had checked herself in time.

‘These are restless times.’

Anton had found them. He approached, frowning. ‘There you are, Maria.’

‘I just needed to sit down for a moment.’

‘People are asking for you.’

‘I’ll be along soon.’