Pierre Frei - Berlin - A Novel

'The Memel was always German and still is,' was the reaction of Lieutenant Hans-Georg von Aichborn to the well-executed manoeuvre in which his own regiment had taken part. Now we'll get West Prussia back from the Poles, and Alsace from France,' he added briskly. And then we can finally consider the shameful Treaty of Versailles null and void.'

'I only hope it can be done without bloodshed.' said Detta anxiously.

'They won't dare attack us.' There was a combative look in her brother's eyes, but he was probably right. The Western powers had long ago lost their bite, and in whose interest, for heaven's sake, could it be to fire the first shot?

David was not so sure. 'I'm afraid we're drifting towards war,' he said, when London and Paris declared guarantees of support for Poland.

'Then we shall be on different sides,' said Detta, sounding concerned.

'Only until your side surrender,' replied David. And then you can marry the victor.'

'Don't be so arrogant,' she snapped at him, and he left the apartment in a huff.

Next morning he sent flowers and tried several times to get in touch with her. But the pride of the Aichborns held out. She refused to speak to him for a week and then, when she called his apartment on Wednesday to make her peace with him, there was no reply. 'Mr Floyd-On has been temporarily recalled to London,' they told her on Thursday morning at the British Embassy. There was an atmosphere of imminent departure about the place.

On Friday 1 September, German troops marched into Poland. Two days later, Great Britain and France declared war on the German Reich. The Foreign Ministry was very busy that Sunday. Rumours were flying rife.

'The Fiihrer has offered to reinstate the Duke of Windsor on the British throne. As Edward Vlll, he'll make peace with us at once and see that we get our colonies back,' Frau Wilhelmi the secretary had heard.

'Oh yes? And Frau Goring will take tea with Queen Wallis.' Arvid von Troll finished the absurd story. But not even that could cheer Detta. Pale and withdrawn, she got through her work and thought of David. Would she ever see him again?

The four-engined Focke-Wolf quietly pursued its course at a height of six thousand metres. Detta looked out of the window at the snow-covered peaks of the Pyrenees. They had taken off from Berlin-Tempelhof a few hours earlier, and would reach Barcelona at eight in the evening. The war was a year old. France had been defeated, fighting was in progress on all fronts, and special bulletins preceded by fanfares flooded in. First Lieutenant HansGeorg von Aichborn was in Saumur with his regiment, performing dressage exercises on the black horses of the French cavalry school. 'I'd rather be at the Front somewhere, there's no firing here except by a few French partisans when they're not drinking pastis,' he wrote, much to Detta's relief. 'We'll be home by Christmas,' he optimistically concluded.

Her boss at the Foreign Ministry did not share that opinion. 'We should expect a long confrontation, and we mustn't neglect our neutral friends,' Arvid von Troll told her. 'Who knows when we'll need them, and what for? You speak excellent Spanish, you have family in Spain on your mother's side, and we want you to go to our diplomatic mission in Barcelona as viceconsul. Consul-General Dr Kessler is already expecting you.'

Away from Berlin and her memories of those wonderful times with David. Another country, another language, new friends — perhaps that would help her to come to terms with the past. Detta agreed to go.

They were shaken by turbulence above the mountains, and dropped height suddenly a couple of times. A few faces turned green. Detta didn't notice. She was imagining herself lying in David's arms. A pleasant feeling overcame her, driving away the reality of this senseless war which had torn them apart, heaven knew for how long, and which meant that David was now her 'enemy'. What an absurd idea.

A hand was laid on her shoulder. She jumped. 'Welcome aboard.' It was Thomas Glaser.

'Tom, how reassuring to find you flying us.'

'My first officer is at the controls just now. How are you, Detta?'

'Fine. I'm really looking forward to taking up my new appointment in Barcelona. Your uniform suits you, Flight Captain. What's Ulli doing these days?'

'She's busy with the twins and our house in Mahlow.'

And meanwhile you're flying all over the place?'

'Not all over the place, I'm afraid, in view of the international situation. Many destinations are barred to us. The Americans, for instance, won't let Lufthansa land anywhere, on the flimsiest of grounds.'

'You mean you wanted to fly to America?' asked Detta, incredulous.

'We did fly there, without landing, just to show the Yankees,' he said proudly. 'Non-stop Berlin — New York — Berlin. Thirteen thousand kilometres in forty-four hours, thirty-one minutes. That certainly surprised them. Their Pan-American Airline can only make it as far as the Azores, with a tail wind at that. Will you excuse me, please? I have to go back to the cockpit. Shall we eat together sometime soon? I'm in Barcelona twice a week.'

'I'd like that, Tom. Call me at the consulate.'

After landing, he waved to her from the pilot's cockpit, as if to confirm the arrangement. She waved back, glad to think that she would have a friend in this foreign country.

Consul-General Dr Heinrich Kessler was a cultivated man in his sixties who had been consular representative of the German Reich in the time of the last king of Spain. Alfonso XIII was a real gentlemen, well educated, and with a sharp wit when he didn't like something,' he said approvingly.

'Uncle Rex,' said Detta, apparently inconsequentially.

Her new boss was baffled. 'What do you mean?'

'We called him Uncle Rex, because no one was supposed to know who he was when he came to Aichborn with Uncle Juan for the shooting,' Detta explained. 'He was a very bad loser when we played ludo. My brother HansGeorg and I sometimes cheated just to get him into a rage. He would swear in Spanish like a vaquero then. It was very funny to hear him.'

'Well, Arvid von Troll didn't exaggerate when he described you. You could always be relied on for a surprise, he wrote. As for your quarters — your predecessor Jagold has had his call-up papers sent express, so he'll be off to join the colours next week. You could take over his apartment.'

'That would certainly make life simpler. When do I start work, Dr Kessler?'

'In a day or so will do. There's nothing urgent going on in the passport department, for which you'll be responsible as vice-consul. Who's applying for a visa to visit Germany these days? Ah, there you are, Jagold.'

A youngish man had come in. He had dark-blond hair that curled at his temples and the nape of his neck. Detta thought him rather dandified with his brown and white shoes, cream linen suit, and dark-blue shirt, which he wore with a lemon-yellow cravat that matched the carnation in his buttonhole.

Axel Jagold — Henriette von Aichborn,' the consul-general introduced them.

'My charming colleague and successor!' The vice-consul kissed her hand. 'If our boss doesn't object I'll show you my apartment. and then we can have lunch together. After that I'll take you to the hotel for your siesta, and in the afternoon you'll meet the rest of the team here.'

'Do that, Jagold,' Kessler agreed. He turned to Detta. 'My wife and I would be glad if you'd come to supper with us. I'll send Pedro with the car for you at eight.'

'That's very kind of your wife and you. Thank you so much, Dr Kessler.' She followed Jagold out. Blazing heat hit them in the street, and even the breeze through the open taxi window didn't provide relief.