Pierre Frei - Berlin - A Novel

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.'

'I know Stubbendorf will be happy to lend you a horse. We can go riding together.'

She carried his hand to her cheek. 'You're still my favourite man,' she said affectionately.

The 'someone' in the Foreign Ministry was not only a member of the Baron's old student fraternity but also Reich Foreign Minister. Herr von Neurath had a kindly, paternal manner, but not much time. 'I'm sure one more young lady here in the FM can't hurt. Your English is perfect and your Spanish very good, I hear. You can lend Arvid von Troll a hand on the Western Europe desk. My personnel adviser will see to the formalities. You must come and have dinner with us one day soon. My wife will be delighted.'

An elderly secretary inspected Detta with reserve, and indicated that Herr von Troll was in Geneva at the moment. You can meet him next week. Although we really don't have any vacancies,' she added sharply.

'Excellent, that'll give me time to look for an apartment; said Detta cheerfully. She was determined to make the best of everything.

In Wilhelmstrasse a man waved to her from the other side of the road. It was David Floyd-Orr. He launched himself into the traffic with deathdefying daring, and steered his loose-limbed way over the road. His red head was shining in the sun. 'Miss von Aichborn, how nice to see you.'

'Likewise, Mr Floyd-Orr. Are you out on diplomatic business?'

'I'm visiting shoe shops, to be honest. I'm looking for a pair of white canvas deck shoes, which in my size seems to be downright impossible.'

Detta glanced down at his feet. 'Bensing goes to Wertheim once every two years. He doesn't come to Berlin more often than that.'

'Bensing?'

He runs the whole place at home. You'd probably call him a butler. His shoe size is positively illegal.' Her hand flew to her mouth. 'Oh, forgive me! That was tactless!'

He laughed. 'So where is this shoe shop?'

'You've been in this city longer than me and you don't know Wertheim?'

'Luckily not, I think, because now I depend on you to help me, and a helpless man is usually halfway to winning his lady, or so says my friend Jack, who knows a lot about women. At least, he's on his third marriage.'

'Dear me, a Bluebeard!'

'No, only an American.'

SA men were standing outside the Wertheim department store on Potsdamer Platz with sandwich boards that read: 'Germans, Don't Buy from Jews!' But no one seemed to be taking any notice: the big revolving doors were in constant motion. The people of Berlin were not going to let themselves be told what do so easily.

Inside, Detta and the Englishman stared up at the glass dome. beneath which an aircraft hung from steel cables. 'It once belonged to a famous airman called Udet,' Detta explained to her protege. and asked a salesman the way to the shoe department, where they found the right size in no time.

'Shall we have a coffee?' he suggested.

'Yes, let's.' They went up to the store cafe, where there was a pleasant smell of chocolate and whipped cream, and smart waitresses in lace caps were serving the customers. 'So you're a sailor,' she remarked.

'Because of the shoes? Oh no. My colleague Nigel Hawksworth was unexpectedly transferred to Shanghai. and he's lent me his motorboat. It's moored by the Sti ssensee bridge, and has two cabins to the fore. If you bring a girlfriend you can safely accept my invitation to a weekend on the water. I like fresh night air, so I sleep on deck anyway.'

Detta put on a show of reserve. 'I'll ask Marion if she'd like to come. Can I phone you, Mr Floyd-Orr?'

He gave her his card. 'If you can bring yourself to say David, it would save you a lot of time.'

'I'm Detta, then.'

He took her to the U-Bahn, and she caught the Kaiserdamm train. It wasn't far from there to the Pension Wolke. Her heart rose at the thought of a weekend on the water. The only problem was — she didn't know any Marion.