THE WIVES AND children left not long after the sing-song ended. The later part of the evening was ostensibly a purely military affair, although not exclusively male. Two busloads of female SS auxiliaries from the camp arrived not long after the last of the families left and Brandt wondered if they had been kept waiting further along the valley until the coast was clear.
Certainly, once they arrived, the party took on a different tone. The furniture was pushed back against the walls of the entrance hall and someone put a record on the gramophone. It helped, of course, that many of the officers had been drinking for some time, but it wasn’t long before couples filled the impromptu dance floor. Brandt noticed married officers who’d said farewell to their wives and children not long before dancing cheek to cheek with telephonists half their age.
It wasn’t clear exactly when the news about Paris began to spread but its effect was soon apparent. Many of the officers stood like statues, lost in contemplation, moving only to raise a glass to drink from it. When the record on the gramophone stopped playing, no one moved to replace it – the dance floor was empty by then – and the silence that replaced the tinny music was disconcerting.
Brandt walked among the officers, filling their glasses. Even the Commandant was not immune to the general atmosphere. Brandt found him on the terrace, leaning forward against the rail, looking out at the reservoir and the hills on the other side of the valley, apparently lost in contemplation.
‘Some more wine, Herr Commandant?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
At first he spoke as if not fully aware of Brandt’s presence, but then he turned to examine him.
‘The new steward, isn’t that right?’
‘Yes, Herr Commandant. Brandt.’
‘You’re from this place?’
‘My father’s farm is past those trees to the left. Not far.’
‘It’s a lovely part of the world, this valley. I have often thought I should build myself a house here, after the war – with a terrace much like this. It’s a wonderful place on a summer’s evening.’
‘It is beautiful at this time of year,’ Brandt said, after too long a pause.
The Commandant reached out to take a paternal hold of Brandt’s shoulder.
‘You have suffered for the Fatherland, I can see that. Don’t be downhearted at this news. The war isn’t over yet. The Führer has never failed us, remember that. Happier times will come again.’
The Commandant’s touch made Brandt’s skin crawl. He had to fight the urge to shake off the SS man’s grip.
‘Herr Commandant?’
Neumann’s voice came from the other end of the terrace, where the door through to the entrance hall was open. Neumann’s dog advanced across the terrace towards them, his tongue lolling and his tail wagging, and Brandt took advantage of the interruption to take a step back, leaving the Commandant’s hand alone in mid air. The Commandant looked at him, surprised, but was distracted by Wolf – his nose pushing at his leg. The Commandant smiled down at the dog.
‘This is a fine hound. Isn’t it, Brandt?’
‘Herr Commandant?’ Neumann repeated quietly. Brandt noticed the way he looked over his shoulder, as if he didn’t want to be overheard. The Commandant sighed.
‘Yes, I know, Neumann. You think I should take some action to cheer everyone up. I agree. We don’t want them to hang themselves.’
Brandt followed them towards the entrance hall, watching as the Commandant clapped his hands at the officers he passed, breaking up their conversations. The Commandant’s smile was wide, his teeth sharp and white.
‘Come on, gentlemen, come on. We’re not here to mope about. Talk, drink, sing, be merry. Anyone with a sad face will be shot. Ladies, that applies to you as well.’
The Commandant laughed as he made his threat but, even so, his words awoke the officers and the auxiliaries so suddenly that they seemed to bounce like breadcrumbs on a shaken tablecloth. They smiled. They laughed. They began to move about. The bottle Brandt was holding was empty in moments as they sought him out for refills. He went to fetch another.
All seemed well, and yet it wasn’t. Despite the sudden cheeriness, he sensed malevolent eyes following him. The skin on the back of his neck felt cold. It was like walking through a room of smiling wolves. He brushed against a laughing doctor who turned around, saw who it was and leaned in close to him, still smiling. His eyes a pale grey. He whispered: ‘Watch where you’re going, idiot.’
The doctor took a hold of his arm, digging his fingers into the flesh. Brandt nodded his agreement, doing his best not to show his pain.
‘I apologize, Herr Doktor.’
The doctor’s smile didn’t slip as he pushed him and Brandt stumbled back a step before he managed to regain his balance. Brandt waited to hear if his apology was accepted. He didn’t want to turn his back on this man. He saw curiosity in the doctor’s gaze, as if he found Brandt’s lack of reaction intriguing, but it was soon replaced with contempt.
‘Be more careful. Next time I won’t be so gentle.’
‘Thank you, Herr Doktor.’
Brandt made his way to the long table that was serving as a bar. The incident had shaken him. Now when he looked around the room he saw it with a layer of subterfuge removed. The smiles seemed strained, the faces contorted, almost grotesque. The Commandant appeared in front of him, a thin film of sweat glittering on his forehead.
‘Champagne, Brandt. We need champagne.’
‘There’s some in the cellar.’
‘Then what are you waiting for?’
Brandt walked through the dining room, disturbing a couple just inside the door, their mouths fused and their hands pulling at each other’s clothes. They didn’t see him. He passed the long table, a buffet meal laid out on crisp white linen, and saw a hundred versions of the writhing couple reflected in the silverware and glass.
When he reached the bottom of the staircase he stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself. The younger of the Bible students, Katerina, glanced over at him. One of the SS cooks looked up from the table, where they sat around a bottle of wine they had helped themselves to.
‘Is the hot food ready to go upstairs?’ Brandt asked.
The largest of them considered the question. The other two examined the backs of their hands, ignoring him.
‘Yes,’ he said.
Brandt looked at his watch. It was nearly seven o’clock but still bright outside.
‘It had better be good,’ he said. All three SS men looked up at him in unison, pulling back their shoulders. Brandt held up his hand and shook his head in half apology. He’d no desire for another confrontation.
‘I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that there’s a strange mood upstairs. The news, I suppose.’
The one who had spoken turned back to his glass.
‘Why wouldn’t there be a strange mood?’ he said, lifting it towards his mouth. ‘Everyone is in the shit.’
Brandt glanced at Katerina, at her prison uniform, and thought about the men upstairs. He looked over to the scullery, where Agneta was washing glasses. The evening sun from the other side of the building reached across the room to bathe her in golden light. He could do something for them.
‘You women can go to the bunker in a couple of minutes. I just need you to help me get some champagne out of the cellar. The boys from the village will bring it up.’
The women would be safer in the bunker, he decided, and he’d send the boys home early.
The SS cooks could earn their keep.