‘Anna Stein, will you see me after class, please.’
The girl sitting in front of her turned round with a smirk on her face. ‘You’re for it.’
What could she have done wrong? Her marks were always either A plus or A and her spoken French easily the best in class. When the bell rang for the end of the lesson she went to the desk where Mademoiselle Gilbert was gathering her books together. The teacher spoke to her in French.
‘You have been helping Elizabeth Ellis with her homework, isn’t that so? No use denying it, Anna. The French language is not Elizabeth’s strong subject and suddenly she is giving me perfect translations and a composition that I know very well she could not have written by herself. I wonder how this can be and then I remember that you live with Monsieur and Madame Ellis and, voilà, I have my answer.’
‘I may have helped a little.’
‘More than a little, that is certain. And it does not help Elizabeth. No doubt you meant well, but she will not learn if she does not need to do the work. You must not do it all for her. Do you understand?’
‘Oui, mademoiselle.’
Mademoiselle Gilbert picked up her books. ‘Good, then we need talk of it no more. Instead, I want to speak of a different matter. My mother is visiting me from Lille in France for a few weeks. She speaks no English and is extremely bored with only myself for company. It would be a great kindness if you would come to visit one day and she could converse with you in French.’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you, Anna. Shall we say tomorrow, immediately after school? You need not stay long.’
Guy knocked on the door of the Head’s study. ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’
‘Ah yes, Ransome. Come in and sit down. There’s something I wish to discuss with you.’
What bee had old Simpkins got in his bonnet now? Guy sat down in the chair in front of the desk and waited warily while the headmaster searched around in one of the drawers.
‘I have received this letter from a Herr von Reichenau in Berlin.’ Throat-clearing went on, spectacles readjusted. ‘It seems that he is to take up some special post at the German Embassy in London. He expects to remain in this country for some time.’
‘Really, sir?’ Guy looked suitably interested.
‘Herr von Reichenau has a son of approximately your age, Ransome, and he would like him to attend this school. He has been told, quite correctly, that it is one of the best schools in the country. As head boy, I’d appreciate hearing your views.’
‘My views, sir? On what, exactly?’
‘On how the other boys would take to having a German in their midst.’
‘I’m not sure, sir. Of course, the war’s been over a long time, hasn’t it?’ There was a sharp intake of breath. He’d obviously said the wrong thing.
‘It may seem so to your generation, Ransome, but for some of us the memories remain very clear. Indelible, I might say.’
Any moment now I’m going to hear about the trenches, Guy thought. The thousands dead, the mud, the wire, the gas, the rats, all the grisly horrors. The Head’s history classes frequently had a way of winding up on the Somme and refighting the battle. He said cautiously, ‘Some of the boys’ fathers were killed in the war, sir. I don’t know how they’d feel about it.’
‘I appreciate that. I lost two brothers myself.’
‘I’m very sorry to hear that, sir.’
‘However, it is part of our Christian teaching that we should forgive our enemies.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Only savages hold grudges for ever.’
‘Oh, absolutely, sir.’
‘Nothing against the German nation yourself, I take it?’
‘Not specially, sir. My father fought against them in the war, of course, but he doesn’t talk about it much.’
‘Naval man, isn’t he? Not quite like the trenches.’ Father had actually been sunk by a German U-boat and spent two days on a life-raft in the Atlantic before being picked up, but there was no sense in mentioning the fact. ‘A generation virtually wiped out,’ Simpkins was saying. ‘My generation. Hard to forgive and forget sometimes, I must admit.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Even so, I am of a mind to accept this boy. Show to the world that this school is capable of magnanimity. Set an example to others.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Provided, naturally, that he passes an entrance examination satisfactorily. He would be joining us next term. I understand that his English is already excellent. According to his father he is of well above average intelligence. He may even contribute something to the school. A better understanding between our two countries. We must try to look forward, not back. Put the past behind us.’
‘Yes, indeed, sir.’
‘I should expect you, as head boy, to keep an eye on him and make sure that there are no unpleasant incidents which might reach the ears of the press. Nothing that would reflect badly on the school. We pride ourselves on being English gentlemen, isn’t that so, Ransome? Tolerance, decency, decorum.’
‘Absolutely, sir.’
‘Very well. You may pass the word round. It’s probably as well to give everyone plenty of time to become accustomed to the idea.’
Guy left the study, groaning inwardly. He’d been wrong: there was something to worry about: having to play wet-nurse to some Hun and stop him getting punched up. Damn silly idea of the Head’s. He would have told him so outright only it would have been a waste of breath. The old boy had already made up his mind. He was determined to show what a good, forgiving Christian he was and never mind the consequences.
Mademoiselle Gilbert’s apartment was in the basement of a house in South Kensington with the entrance door at the bottom of an iron staircase leading down from the pavement. The sitting-room, with windows below the level of the street and a fireplace big enough to take a range, had once been the kitchen. It was the same as the kitchen in the house in Wimpole Street, only much smaller. The woman sitting in the gloom was old, like Grandmama, but ugly not beautiful, and her hair was grey, not white, and coiled tightly in the pattern of a snail’s shell. Anna greeted her in her best French.
The woman nodded. ‘Very good. You have been well taught by my daughter.’
‘Not by me,’ Mademoiselle Gilbert corrected. ‘Anna already spoke excellent French before she came to the school. She had been taught in Vienna. By a Frenchwoman, isn’t that so, Anna?’
‘What is she doing in England?’
‘She has been sent here.’
‘Whatever for? What is wrong with the schools in Austria?’
Anna said, ‘It is because my family are Jewish, madame. There is trouble for the Jews in Austria.’
The mother stared at her with eyes as dark as coal. ‘There is always trouble for the Jews … So, they sent you away to be safe.’
‘Also to learn English.’
‘I have never desired to learn English, and I never shall. I do not know how you can live in this country, Janine. You should return to Lille and France where you belong.’
‘For what, Maman? I have a very good post here and I enjoy my teaching. What should I do in Lille?’
The old woman lifted her hands in exaggerated supplication, mouth pursed. ‘She has deserted me – my only daughter. Abandoned her mother. But she does not care. Not the smallest bit.’ She was still staring at Anna with those coal eyes. ‘I can see that you are a Jewess, mademoiselle. It always shows in the nose, and the skin colour and the way the hair grows … The Jews can never hide themselves.’
‘We do not wish to, madame.’
‘Oh, yes, sometimes you do. Sometimes it is very politic not to be Jewish. To flee. To disappear. History is full of such times. Like now, in Germany. And in your country, too, it seems. The Austrians have never liked the Jews. Do you play cards?’
‘I play bezique sometimes with my grandmother. And patience.’
‘You have a grandmother in Vienna?’
‘Yes, madame.’
‘Does she live with your mother?’
‘No, but not far away.’
‘Then she is more fortunate than I. Her daughter has not deserted her. Janine, fetch the cards.’
She sat and played bezique with the old woman, but it was nothing like the fun it was with Grandmama. For one thing, Madame Gilbert did not like to lose and for another, she cheated. At the end of the game Anna escaped. Mademoiselle came to the basement door with her.
‘Thank you, Anna, for entertaining her.’
‘It was nothing.’
‘I am sorry for some of the things she says. She has been a widow for ten years and finds it hard to be on her own. It has made her bitter and often very tactless.’
‘I understand.’ But Anna didn’t understand at all. Grandmama had been a widow for even longer and it hadn’t turned her sour like bad milk.
‘Perhaps you will come again? It would help infinitely.’
‘If you wish.’ She didn’t want to in the least, but she liked Mademoiselle Gilbert and she had been kind to her at school from the very beginning when the other teachers had not. As Grandmama repeatedly insisted, debts must always be repaid and obligations met.
‘It is all arranged, Otto. You are to start at the school in January, immediately after we arrive in England.’
‘Very well, Father.’
‘It will be a valuable experience for you. You will perfect your English and make advantageous contacts among the sons of prominent families. See that you use the opportunity well.’
‘Naturally, Father.’ He would have much preferred to remain in Berlin and finish his education there, but it was pointless to argue. He was not looking forward to living in a country that had been the enemy of his own and a party to its humiliation at Versailles. From all that he knew of the British they were a degenerate, disorderly race, as well as slightly crazed. He despised them. They had not deserved their victory, nor the power it had given them to destroy the dignity and glory of the Fatherland; a glory that was only now being restored, thanks to the Führer.
His father gave him a thin smile, as though he could read his thoughts. ‘You are very intelligent, Otto. You should have no difficulty in running rings round them.’
Mr Potter frowns. ‘I wouldn’t have had a German in the place. Arrogant lot. Nothing but trouble. We never learn, though, do we? Never. What year are you talking about?’
‘Otto started at the school at the beginning of 1936.’
‘Huh. The King died that January – I remember it well. Molly was all upset; cried for days, she did. Then we had that good-for-nothing Edward and his fancy American piece thinking she could be Queen of England. Good riddance to him, I said at the time, though Molly was upset about that too. She thought he was Prince Charming before it all happened. His brother did a much better job and gave us a proper Queen.’ He fingers his unshaven chin. ‘Let’s see, now. 1936 … A lot happened that year. I used to keep news cuttings in those days – pasted them all into a scrapbook. Must have it still, somewhere. Mr Baldwin was Prime Minister, as I recall. There was that civil war in Spain going on and Hitler walked into the Rhineland, cool as you please and never mind the Versailles Treaty. They showed it on the Pathé news at the pictures: all those German troops strutting along and the people cheering and waving and swastikas everywhere. Of course we didn’t do a blessed thing about it. Missed the only chance we had of getting rid of him. I remember how he lorded it over everybody at the Olympic Games in Berlin just afterwards, like he was some sort of god. Didn’t like it when that black man won the gold medal, though, did he? A real poke in the eye for him. What else? The Crystal Palace burned down and the Queen Mary did her maiden voyage and won the Blue Riband. And, if I’m not mistaken, the first Spitfire flew. Yes, it was quite a year.’ The pipe has gone out but he doesn’t seem to notice. He is lost in the past again. ‘We weren’t thinking about war then. It was unthinkable after the last lot. We were living in a fool’s paradise, while the Jerries were getting ready on the sly. Right up to the last. No wonder they took us for a pushover.’ He shakes his head. ‘No, we were none of us expecting another war then. Not in 1936.’