Jon Cleary - High Road to China

‘Bully for you,’ said O’Malley.

‘It was pointless,’ said Kern, not looking at O’Malley but at Eve. ‘We had lost the war by then. Where are you taking these machines now?’

‘To China,’ said Eve, and introduced herself, O’Malley and Weyman. She did not include Sun Nan in the introductions, but Kern had already dismissed the Chinese as baggage that could be ignored. ‘It is imperative, Baron, that we are not delayed.’

‘There is something fishy here, sir,’ said Bultmann, showing off his colloquial English. ‘A moment ago the lady was supposed to be Turkish and unable to speak English.’

‘You said you didn’t believe us,’ said O’Malley, as if that disposed of his lie.

‘How soon do you wish to leave?’ Kern was still giving all his attention to Eve.

‘Tomorrow morning.’ Eve recognized the Baron for what he was, a lady-killer, and she accepted the opportunity to take advantage of it. After all, there was little risk of his attempting to emulate the unfortunate Mexican. ‘All we want is an hotel where we can spend the night, to refuel our machines in the morning and to be off first thing.’

‘One has to be careful, sir,’ said Bultmann. ‘You have read what the Bolshevists have done in Saxony, they have taken over some of the towns, declared Soviets.’

‘Do we look like Bolshevists?’ said Eve indignantly.

‘If I take them as my guests and leave their aeroplanes in your charge overnight, will that satisfy you, Herr Bultmann?’ Kern put it as a request, but he made it sound like an order.

O’Malley looked at Bultmann and Pommer. He hated Prussian militarism, had fought against it, had rejoiced that it had been defeated. But it had not been, not entirely; and now he was glad of it. Bultmann stiffened to attention, clicked his heels.

‘Yes, Herr Baron. First thing in the morning I shall telephone my superiors for instructions.’

‘Do that, Herr Bultmann. In the meantime, Fräulein Tozer – ’ He gestured towards his massive car.

‘Thank you,’ said Eve. ‘What about Mr O’Malley, Mr Weyman and Mr Sun Nan?’

Kern looked at the three men as if surprised he should be asked to play host to them. Then he looked at Bultmann. ‘Can’t you accommodate them, Herr Bultmann?’

Bultmann was prepared to go just so far in interpreting a request as an order. He allowed himself a touch of Bolshevism: ‘It will be enough for me to look after the aeroplanes, Herr Baron. They are your responsibility, sir.’

Kern lifted his chin and his mouth tightened. But he didn’t threaten to have Bultmann court-martialled: he knew better than any of those present that the old days were over. He stalked to his car. ‘You will ride in front with me, Fräulein Tozer.’

George Weyman spoke for the first time. ‘I’m not leaving these machines here with these Huns.’

‘It is some time, Herr Weyman, since Attila and his Huns were through here,’ said Kern. ‘Herr Bultmann and Herr Pommer are good Germans, nothing more, nothing less.’

Weyman looked as if he was about to deny there were any good Germans, but O’Malley cut in: ‘George, we don’t have any choice. These aren’t our machines, they’re Miss Tozer’s.’

‘And I say we leave them with Herr Bultmann,’ said Eve. ‘Get into the car, Mr Weyman.’

Weyman flushed, looked at O’Malley as if accusing him of being a traitor. But the latter was already pushing Sun Nan ahead of him into the back seat of the car. He pushed Sun Nan across the seat, sat himself in the middle. ‘Come on, George. You’re next to me.’

Reluctantly, still awkward with rage, Weyman got into the car, left the door open and sat staring straight ahead. Kern drew himself up; then he closed the rear door with a slam. He went round and got in behind the wheel. He nodded to Bultmann and Pommer as they clicked their heels and stood to attention, then he swung the car round.

‘Wait!’ Eve suddenly cried. As Kern jerked the car to a halt she jumped out and ran across to her plane. She came back with the hessian-wrapped box and a small overnight bag. ‘Thank you, Baron. Flying is no good for a girl’s complexion. I’ll need my creams for repairs.’

‘I have never seen a complexion less in need of repairs.’

In the back seat the two Englishmen and the Chinese glanced at each other, joined for a moment in their contempt for such flattery. The United Kingdom and the Middle Kingdom knew how much encouragement was proper for women.

They drove out of the airfield, past the vast hangars where two airships were moored, their noses sticking out of the sheds like those of giant porpoises. The Zeppelins looked harmless enough, but once on leave in London O’Malley had seen one caught in a web of searchlights over the city and he could never remember seeing anything so eerie and menacing. He looked at George Weyman, who had lost his parents in a Zeppelin raid.

‘And they’re worried about a couple of guns on our machines,’ said Weyman bitterly. ‘All of those should have been burnt.’

‘It’s all over, George,’ O’Malley said, and tried not to sound too weary of Weyman’s hatred; after all, his own parents were safe in Tanganyika, profiting from what the Germans had lost. ‘Try to forget it.’

‘Not bloody likely.’

The road ran along the edge of the lake. Sail-boats were coming in, the sun behind them turning them into huge translucent moths. The water shone like a burnished shield and summer was a great green bloom of trees. If the war had been through here there was no evidence left of it.

‘I was on my way to a tea dance over in Constance,’ said Kern, gesturing at his clothes. In the back seat the three men glanced at each other again: going dancing in the afternoon ? ‘I was driving to catch the ferry when I saw your aeroplanes fly over. I turned round at once. I am still fascinated by war machines.’

‘What did you fly?’ O’Malley could not resist the professional question.

‘Albatros D’s and Fokker Triplanes. I was with von Richthofen.’

‘How many kills did you have?’ said Eve.

If Kern noticed the slightly sarcastic edge to her voice he gave no sign. ‘I shot down thirty-two machines. But I never looked upon them as kills.’

‘The same number as Mr O’Malley. It’s a pity we aren’t staying longer. You would have a lot to compare and talk about.’

‘We might have had, at the time,’ said O’Malley. ‘You forget, Miss Tozer, I told you I was glad the war was over. That part of it, anyway.’

Eve didn’t look back, but at Kern. ‘And you, Baron?’

But Kern didn’t answer. He turned the car off the main road and it began to climb a hill. On the crest, on the edge of a sheer drop that fell down towards the lake, stood a small castle. Spired and turreted, light as a pencil drawing, it looked unreal as it perched against the salmon sky.

‘It’s like something from a fairy tale!’ Eve exclaimed. ‘Is it yours?’

‘It is now,’ said Kern, taking the car across a drawbridge and under a portcullis into a small courtyard. ‘It belonged to my uncle, but he and my two cousins were killed in the war. Then my aunt died of a broken heart. Women do,’ he added, not defensively but challengingly, as if the others doubted him.

‘So do men, occasionally,’ said Eve gently.

Servants came out, two men and a woman, all elderly: museum pieces, O’Malley thought, prewar waxworks figures wound up and put back into service. They bowed to the Baron and his guests, but not to Sun Nan; obviously they thought he was just an Oriental mirror of themselves. But their faces showed no surprise when Kern told them to show Sun Nan to a room of his own with the other guests.

‘You have had a long flight,’ said Kern as he led them into the high-ceilinged entrance hall of the castle. The walls were darkly ornate with carved timber, but the floor was flagstones and their heels echoed hollowly. Skeletons walking, thought O’Malley; and shivered. And wondered how many ghosts Kern entertained here in his moments alone.