When he looked down from the Tiger Moth’s open cockpit Guy could see the winter-brown quilt of Oxfordshire fields spread out below him. When he looked up he saw infinite space – all his to explore and conquer. He was going to be able to climb and dive and soar through the skies just as he had always planned. It was a dizzying thought. For now, though, the instructor had been annoyingly specific. ‘Take off, do one circuit at a thousand feet, then come in and land. Take off again and go round again to do a second landing. Not more than ten minutes in the air. We’ll see what sort of a mess you make of it on your own, Mr Ransome.’
The take-off had been easy. He’d taxied the biplane to the downwind side of the airfield, leaning over one side of the cockpit to see his way, swung the nose into the wind, tested the rudders, opened the throttle and gone. The Tiger Moth had raced across the grass, lifted her tail, hopped into the air and climbed steadily upwards. The exhilaration had been tremendous. At a thousand feet he’d levelled off. He was on his own with the plane, actually flying it solo for the first time. It climbed, it banked, it turned, all to his will. It was bloody fantastic! He made one circuit and nearing the final approach did a gliding bank, bringing the Moth down in a smooth descent towards the airfield and in low over the boundary hedge. The trick was to get the angle just right. She touched down OK but with quite a few bounces. He let her run on for a short way before taking her off again. Next time he’d do it perfectly. The second landing was only slightly better so he went off again, determined to make a perfect landing. He thought the third one was pretty good and, pleased with himself, taxied back to the boundary where his instructor was waiting.
‘I thought I said two circuits only, Mr Ransome, not three. And you’ve been in the air for twenty minutes, not ten. What the bloody hell did you think you were playing at?’
‘Sorry. I wanted to get the landing right.’
‘You’ll never get it right if you don’t do what you’re told. You lost a hundred feet on downwind, you ignored another plane over your shoulder on base leg and all three landings were bloody awful. You’ll never make a decent pilot.’
Guy walked away, furious. Back in his rooms at Trinity he tried to settle down to some reading but the instructor’s contemptuous verdict rankled. Damn and blast the chap! He’d got his knife into him, for some reason. He’d flown perfectly well and the landings hadn’t been bad at all. Of course he’d make a decent pilot. He was going to be a bloody good pilot. He was a natural, for God’s sake. He’d known that today as soon as he took off solo. He’d always known it. And what’s more he wouldn’t always be flying slow old biplanes, like the Moth, but a fast monoplane. And he wouldn’t be tootling about on pleasure trips if the rumours were anything to go by. A lot of the chaps thought there was going to be another war with Germany. They’d talked about it late into the night, discussing the chances and what they’d all do. A couple of them had said they’d probably join the Navy, another the Army, one was an out-and-out pacifist and another chap had said he was blowed if he was going to fight for King and Country at all – why should he get himself killed because of a lot of bungling old fools in the Government. Guy knew he would join the RAF, but as a means to an end, and that end was to become a fighter pilot. If it meant killing Germans as well, then so be it. In the middle of the discussion, at some stage, Otto had come into the room. They hadn’t noticed him at first and when they did there had been an awkward silence, broken by somebody saying casually, ‘Just talking about whether we’re going to have to put the brakes on you lot again.’ Otto’s English was damn good, but he hadn’t understood the idiom until it was explained to him. ‘Go to war with Germany all over again, old chum.’
He had said stiffly, ‘Why should that be necessary?’
‘Your people can’t seem to stick to the Versailles Treaty.’
‘If you are referring to the Rhineland, the people there have long wished to be a part of Germany once more. They are our people. They welcomed us back.’ He had looked round the gathering. ‘The Führer has no wish to make war with anybody.’
‘Well, he’s got a bloody funny way of showing it. You’ve been building up your army and navy on the q.t., haven’t you? Most probably your air force, too, for all we know. Troops marching around, waving those swastika banners and armed to the teeth. Doesn’t look too friendly to us.’
‘The Führer only wishes peace. He says so frequently in his public speeches.’
‘Ah, but what does he say in private, that’s what we all want to know? Can you find out for us, Otto, old chap?’
They’d all laughed – except Otto, of course. He’d taken it all dead seriously. That was one of the great pleasures of Oxford, Guy had quickly discovered. Nothing need be taken too seriously. The three years up at university were for having as much fun as possible while doing only enough work to get a decent degree. There were so many things to do and enjoy: so many clubs and societies, so much sport.
He never really knew what to make of Otto and nobody else was quite sure either. He was always around, standing on the edge of groups, sitting in on discussions, listening and watching, rather than taking part. English humour escaped him – he took everything so bloody literally – but he had stopped blowing his own trumpet long ago. And he was spectacularly successful with girls, it had to be said – probably because he was foreign and also had plenty of money to spend on them. An irresistible combination to some. Not that Guy found he had any trouble himself. At parties girls always clustered round him, which was a very satisfactory state of affairs. He would stand there, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, and wait for them to come up and make the overtures. He had three of them on the go at the moment. The most satisfactory thing of all had been the brief encounter with the wife of a history don who was a notorious nymphomaniac and dedicated to relieving as many undergraduates as possible of their virginity. His turn had come when the don was away in London giving a lecture on Oliver Cromwell, and the experience had been highly enjoyable. She’d been quite complimentary too.
All in all, Guy felt pretty pleased with life and with himself. Or had done until today’s little episode with the flying instructor. He snapped the book shut and lit a cigarette. No point brooding about it. In a couple of weeks he’d be going down for the Christmas vac. He’d do a bit of work on the Rose perhaps. Matt would be home from school later on and he could give him a hand. Spruce her up ready for the next season. He’d got rather fond of the old girl since she’d beaten Grey Heron. Tom and Harry had been livid and it still made him laugh to think of it. Whenever he saw Tom around Oxford, he pulled his leg about it.
‘There’s a young gentleman asking for you, Miss Elizabeth.’ Hodges had struggled all the way up to the attic and stood in the doorway, panting like a mountaineer short of oxygen. ‘A Mr Rikenow. A foreigner. He’s waiting in the hall.’
‘I don’t know anybody of that name, Hodges. What on earth does he want?’
‘To see you.’ Hodges winked. ‘Asked for you specially.’
Lizzie put down her brush. ‘I suppose I’d better come and see, though I can’t imagine who it could be.’ She followed Hodges and a waft of alcohol down the several flights of stairs. Otto von Reichenau was standing in the hall.
‘Please forgive this intrusion, Lizzie. I am returned to London now from Oxford and I thought to call to see you and Anna at your home. I hope I do not disturb you.’ He was wearing a suit – a very expensive one, she could tell that, and the shirt and tie were expensive too. It made him look much older and quite different. ‘No, not at all, Otto.’ He was the same age as Guy, of course. Twenty. A man, not a boy.
‘It is more than a year since we met at Tideways, but I always remember the visit very well. I thought it would be good to renew our acquaintance.’
She was very surprised; he hadn’t been in touch since. ‘How did you know where I lived?’
‘I remember that your father is a doctor and that you live in Wimpole Street, so I walk and look at every door until I see the brass plate with his name on it.’ He smiled at her. ‘It was not so very difficult. I do not need to be Sherlock Holmes.’
‘Actually, he was round the corner in Baker Street.’
He smiled again. ‘I know this. Number 221b. I enjoy the books very much.’
‘Of course he didn’t actually exist, but lots of people really believe he did.’ She wasn’t sure what to say next. ‘I’m afraid Anna isn’t here. She’s gone to have tea with someone. My father is working and my mother is out, too. There’s just me. Would you like some tea?’
‘Oh, no, please … I do not wish to trouble you. You are busy, I am sure.’
‘Just doing a bit of painting, that’s all.’
‘Ah, yes, you are an artist. You were making sketches at Tideways when we were there. They were very good. May I see your work?’
She said doubtfully, ‘If you want to.’
‘Oh, yes, I should like that very much.’
‘It’s right at the top of the house, if you don’t mind.’ She led the way up to her studio. He followed her and, as everyone did, admired her attic studio and the view. He looked at the still life that she was working on. ‘This is excellent. You are most talented.’
‘Not really.’
‘The English are very modest. I know this now. They never admit to being good at anything. They always deny it. May I see more?’
She showed him the paintings stacked against the wall and he admired those too. ‘Very good. You should make a career of this.’
‘Well, I’m hoping to go to art college, when I leave school next year. If they’ll have me.’
‘I am sure that they will.’ He went on looking at the paintings, crouched on his haunches. ‘And Anna, what does she hope to do with her life?’
‘I think she might study music at one of the colleges in London …’
‘Yes, of course, I heard her play when I was last at Tideways. She has a great talent. She will not return to Vienna to study there, then?’
‘Well, it’s not very safe, is it?’
He went on looking at the canvases. ‘Because she is Jewish, you mean?’
‘Well, yes. Her parents are trying to come and live in England as well, only her grandmother’s been very ill so they can’t leave yet. Anna went to see them last holidays. She’s terribly worried about them.’
He held up one of her oils – a still life that she was rather pleased with – studying it at arm’s length. ‘It would be better for her not to return again at all to Vienna.’
‘It really could be dangerous?’
‘I think so, yes.’
‘But why? What have people got against Jewish people there, Otto? What are they supposed to have done?’
He stood up. ‘You would not understand, Lizzie. And I cannot explain to you. I’m sorry but it is better that we do not discuss this matter.’ He moved on to examine one of the paintings that she had hung on the wall. ‘This is Guy and Matt sailing? But it is a different boat and they are much younger.’
‘I did that one nearly three years ago. That was Bean Goose – the one they had before Rose of England. The one next along is the Rose. I did that the first summer that Anna went to stay at Tideways. She wore that long white dress and Guy got furious with her because it was hopeless for sailing.’
‘But the dress looks very beautiful. And this is you, next to Anna, of course. Your hair is different. You have it long and tied in – what do you call them in English?’
‘Plaits. I cut them off last year.’
‘So you go from little girl to young lady, in one step.’ He turned to smile at her and she smiled back uncertainly. He had the strangest eyes – such a pale blue that it was like looking into glass. Something about him had always disturbed her. She had felt sorry for him at Tideways because he had seemed so alone – to stand apart from everybody else, always like an outsider looking on. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
‘You’re in the same college as Guy, aren’t you? I expect you see a lot of him.’
‘Not so much. He is always very busy. Did you know that Tom is also at Oxford – the one who sailed Grey Heron with his brother? I sat beside him once at a lecture but he did not wish to be reminded of that occasion when we last met.’
Lizzie laughed. ‘I don’t suppose he did. The Chilvers don’t like losing.’
‘I do not like to lose either. I am trying to learn to be what you English call a good sport but I am not very successful. I have to pretend that I do not mind but it is hard for me.’ He went on to the next painting – her portrait of Anna – and stopped. ‘When did you do this?’
‘A few months ago. I’ve never done a portrait before and I haven’t got her very well, I’m afraid. She’s difficult to catch. And she’s much more beautiful than that, of course.’
He stared at it for a while in silence. ‘You have her eyes, and the hair … but she would be very difficult to capture completely. To paint a portrait must be very hard. You must show not only the features but also the spirit. The soul of a person.’
‘I don’t think I really know Anna well enough to do that.’
‘Not even after so long?’
‘No, not even now. There’s a part of her that she doesn’t let you know – that she keeps to herself.’
He nodded as though he understood. ‘Many of us do that. But even so, the portrait is good.’
‘You’ll recognize this next to it.’ It was the one she’d done of Rose coming in triumphantly at the end of the race against Grey Heron with Guy and Otto on board and Matt, Anna and herself small figures waving from the jetty. ‘That’s you, or meant to be. I had to do you from memory, of course.’
He looked amused. ‘You know, I have never had a picture painted of me before.’
‘Well, you’re only in the distance, I’m afraid. Wasn’t it wonderful when she won?’
‘Yes, of course,’ he said slowly. ‘It was wonderful.’
She remembered that he had seemed just as pleased as the rest of them and how he had laughed with them and how she had thrown her arms round him and kissed him on the cheek. She blushed about that part but he didn’t notice. He was still looking at the painting intently. ‘I like this very much.’
She said, on impulse, ‘Would you like to have it, Otto? As a sort of souvenir.’
‘Oh, no, please … I did not mean that, Lizzie.’
‘Honestly, I’d like you to have it.’ She took it off the wall and placed it firmly into his hands. ‘There. You can’t refuse now. It’s a present for you.’
He said gravely, ‘Then I thank you, Lizzie. It will be a good memory for me. And thank you for showing me your excellent work. And your studio. It is a very nice place. But I must not keep you longer. I am sorry to miss Anna. Would you please give her my good wishes when she returns.’
She went downstairs to see him out and at the door he paused. ‘My father is away in Berlin at the moment; he does not return until next week. Would you and Anna come and have dinner with me one evening? I am very bored with my own company.’ Seeing her hesitation, he went on, ‘Anna, of course, may not wish to. You will let me know. Here is my telephone number.’ He handed her an engraved white card. ‘Perhaps on Thursday, if you are free.’
She closed the front door after him, feeling uneasy.
The old mother was sitting in the corner of the basement room, as before, with her snail’s-shell hair and her coal eyes. Anna greeted her politely. The woman looked up at her. ‘I remember you. You are the one who speaks French so well. The pupil of Janine. The Jewess.’
Mademoiselle Gilbert said, ‘Anna has come to take tea with us, Maman. You will be able to converse with her.’
‘Perhaps I may not wish to.’
‘She is very difficult,’ Mademoiselle Gilbert had warned her. ‘Worse than before. Her mind wanders and she can be very rude. Please excuse her. It is the curse of old age.’
Anna sat down. ‘How are you, madame?’
‘Terrible. I am very ill. Full of aches and pains. But Janine does not care. If she cared she would return to Lille, not force me to come to this dreadful place. She wants me to remain here with her, you know. As if I would! I visit, that is all. Next week I go home.’
She was incapable of living on her own, Mademoiselle Gilbert had said. There had been no alternative but to bring her to England for the time being. Eventually she would have to give up her teaching post and return to France because her mother would undoubtedly be miserable in England. She would be miserable anywhere, Anna decided. She’s a horrible, selfish old woman. She thought of Grandmama lying in the hospital in Vienna, in great pain after the operation but uncomplaining and trying so hard to persuade Mama and Papa to leave her. Naturally, they wouldn’t. How could they? Grandmama was as much in need of looking after as Madame Gilbert. They could not desert her and go to England. Uncle Julius and Aunt Sybille and the little ones had already gone to America, to live with the sister in Detroit. And although Uncle Joseph had offered to look after Grandmama, Aunt Liesel had not been well either. The doctors said that Grandmama would need to convalesce for several months when she came out of hospital. Then Anna’s parents hoped to bring her to England with them.
Mademoiselle Gilbert had gone to the kitchen to fetch the tea. Left alone with the old mother, Anna proposed a game of cards.
‘I do not play any more. I cannot see well enough.’ The black eyes looked perfectly sharp. ‘Janine tells me that your mother and father want to come and live in this country.’
‘Yes.’
‘They are mad. Who would want to live in such a place? But of course, they must leave because they are Jewish. They have no choice. Jews are fleeing like rats. There are many who are trying to come and live in France. They are not welcome. We do not wish them to come to France. They will make too much money for themselves out of good, honest French people. They will be everywhere, in every place—’
‘Here is our tea, Maman.’ Mademoiselle Gilbert set the tray down. She lowered her voice. ‘Please pay no attention, Anna. She has no idea what she is saying.’
‘She knew exactly what she was saying, Lizzie. She is a spiteful, wicked old hag. It was only for the sake of Mademoiselle Gilbert that I was not very rude back to her. I am very sorry that I went at all.’
‘Well, guess who called while you were out.’
‘How can I guess? I have no idea.’
‘Otto.’
‘Otto?’
‘The German boy who was at Tideways the summer before last. Surely you remember him.’
‘Oh, the Nazi.’
‘He’s not like that, Anna.’
‘Yes, he is. They are all Nazis. Well, what did he want?’
‘He’s invited us to dinner, next Thursday. If we want to go.’
‘Of course I do not want to go. How could you think I would, Lizzie?’
‘He’s on his own in London. I think he’s lonely.’
‘You go, if you want to. You can listen to him talking about the great new Fatherland.’
‘I felt sorry for him, Anna. I think we should go.’
‘You are much too kind-hearted, Lizzie. If we did, I should not be so kind. I should ask him questions about his wonderful Führer and annoy him very much.’ Anna paused and then nodded. ‘It might be worth it just for that.’
Otto telephoned his father in Berlin to make certain that he would not be returning to London until the following week. His father was safely occupied on important affairs. There were military and diplomatic meetings and discussions, and, apparently, an audience with the Führer. There was no prospect of him arriving back sooner. It had been a great surprise to Otto to hear Lizzie’s voice on the telephone, accepting his invitation. He had fully expected it to be refused because of Anna. Anna, of course, saw him as an enemy of her people – he was well aware of that. It was unjustified in his eyes. He himself had never done any Jew any harm of any kind, though it was true that he had listened to and accepted many things that were taught about them.
It was a big risk that he was taking. The servants who staffed the rented house had been hand-picked. They not only served, but watched and listened. Everything would be noted and reported to his father, including their assessment of his guests. He had vetted the menu carefully. No pork, of course. Nothing that might be unacceptable to Anna. A rich chocolate dessert that he hoped would please Lizzie. The long dining-room table, usually seating twenty or more when his father entertained, looked absurd laid only for three, but everything was highly polished and the flowers were fresh. He himself had dressed formally and put on the heavy gold cuff-links inherited from his grandfather, bearing the von Reichenau crest. All was ready.
He went into the drawing-room. The curtains were drawn against the dark, the fire lit. He stood for a moment looking down into the flames, watching them burn brightly, feeling their heat and thinking of the great conflagrations that must surely lie ahead. He disliked the thought of war but he knew it must come. And that when it did, he would do his duty to the utmost. He was to serve in the army, his father had dictated. Perhaps one of the Panzer regiments. Colonel General von Rundstedt was a personal friend and would arrange for an immediate commission. Tanks were going to be of crucial importance. So, too, were the planes of the Luftwaffe, assembled in secret for years. Once Otto had tentatively suggested that he might go into the Luftwaffe – he had rather envied Guy his flying – but this had been instantly quashed. Von Reichenaus had always served in the army. But, his father had promised, there would be no more long-drawn-out trench warfare. No more digging in and fighting for months to gain a few metres of ground. Instead the Wehrmacht would sweep across Europe to conquer any country the Führer chose. And on the seas the U-boats would roam and kill like wolves.
He had fought a long, hard, private battle of his own to evict Anna from his heart but her image had haunted him since that summer of 1936. He had taken out girl after girl, hoping that one of them would erase her memory, but all to no avail. She had always come back just as he had thought he had succeeded. The only way out, he had finally decided, was to arrange somehow to see her again, to meet and talk with her face to face so that he could recognize and dismiss her for what she was – a crazy aberration on his part. An absurd fascination with forbidden fruit. That was the only cure.
But when she walked into the room with Lizzie he stood rooted to the spot, unable either to move or speak. He recovered in time to act the good host, welcoming them and offering them drinks. Lizzie asked for orange squash, Anna a dry martini. Anna produced a small silver case from her handbag, took out a cigarette and fitted it into an ebony holder. He fetched a table lighter quickly. He had not expected her to drink cocktails, or to smoke. Older English girls did both, of course, but no German girls he knew of her age did either and they were innocent of make-up or guile. Anna was wearing a dress of soft blue material that displayed every curve of her figure. Her long hair was caught back with combs on each side of her head, her full lips painted with scarlet lipstick. He forced himself to look away and pay attention to Lizzie who was being polite about the room.
‘This house is rented only. It is not ours, of course.’ Everything had been carefully chosen to impress, he knew. Paintings brought from Germany, including a portrait of the Führer.
‘Well, it’s very nice. Awfully grand. Isn’t it, Anna?’
She was looking round. ‘So much gold … so much glitter.’
He said carefully, ‘As a matter of fact, it is not to my taste. But we did not choose the furnishings.’
‘Whoever painted these horrible pictures?’
‘They are all by German artists.’ He did not actually care for them much either. They were supposed to depict the many and varied glories of the Fatherland but, privately, he considered them rather overblown and vulgar; not even very well painted.
Anna had walked across to the large, full-length portrait over the fireplace. She blew a stream of smoke casually in its direction. ‘So this is your wonderful Führer, Otto? He looks just like Charlie Chaplin.’
She was goading him, of course. He would not rise to the bait. ‘It is always hard to capture the inner being of a person in paint. Is that not so, Lizzie? You will agree? We discussed this.’ Lizzie nodded, looking uncomfortable.
The drinks were brought in on a silver tray and he invited them to sit down. It was all very formal and very different from at Tideways where they had lounged around in casual clothes, chatting idly. Anna sipped at the martini and smoked her cigarette. ‘What exactly does your father do, Otto?’ She was still needling him.
‘He was appointed to our embassy here to do special liaison work.’
‘Oh, what sort of liaising?’
‘Fostering interests of all kinds between this country and Germany. Promoting the relationship between us. The Führer much admires Great Britain.’ They were his father’s very words, used to smooth over many awkward enquiries.
‘And have you ever met Herr Hitler?’
‘I had the honour, once, yes.’
‘The honour?’
‘I considered it so.’ He met her eyes in appeal. In German he said quickly, ‘Please, Anna, let us not talk like this. Can we speak of other things?’
‘Lizzie does not understand German,’ she replied in English. ‘Nor does she understand Germans. Do you, Lizzie? She does not understand what they are doing. She really has no idea. You should tell her more about your so-marvellous Führer, Otto. About his Sturm Abteilung and his charming Schutz Staffel and most especially about his kind and delightful secret police, the Gestapo.’
‘Lizzie does not wish to hear these things.’
‘I do not blame her. I wish I had not heard of them myself.’
‘Oh, Anna, don’t …’ Lizzie was pink with embarrassment, almost in tears. ‘Don’t let’s spoil the evening. Please.’
Anna hesitated and then shrugged. ‘All right. For your sake, Lizzie, we shall talk about nice, safe things, if you want. Just as though nothing at all was happening. We will all play let’s pretend.’
She kept her word and he was as charming as he knew how to be. He even risked some small jokes. He was especially complimentary about England and the English, about Oxford and about his visit to Tideways. They talked about the Rose of England and the race, and the tennis match, and about anything that he could think of that was pleasant and pleasing. He talked to Lizzie more than he talked to Anna because it was safer, and she chattered away to him. He could tell that she was anxious to make amends for Anna’s behaviour and he was grateful. Sometimes he felt that he loved her, too, but it was the love of an older brother for a younger sister. It was not the same as he felt about Anna. Whenever he dared, he looked at Anna. He watched her speak and laugh and smile. He watched her drink her wine and eat her food. He watched her smoke the cigarettes that he had lit for her. And, as he did so, he knew that his strategy had failed hopelesly.
His father returned from Berlin a week later. He was exultant about his audience with the Führer. ‘Everything is good, Otto. All danger, all obstacles have been eliminated. The way ahead is clear for the stufenplan. The Wehrmacht now has a million men. Germany will become a great power, step by step. First in Europe, and when this is achieved, overseas.’ His father walked excitedly about the room. ‘We are to expand first to the East. Austria and Czechoslovakia will be annexed as soon as possible. The groundwork has been well laid in Vienna and very soon the Austrian government will have no choice but to accede—’
‘I thought there was to be a plebiscite.’
‘The Führer has persuaded Dr von Schuschnigg to cancel it. What could be more natural than for Germany and Austria to be joined? We shall be welcomed there with open ams. The Führer will drive through the streets of Vienna in triumph, you wait and see. After that, it will be the turn of the Czechs.’
‘And will nobody oppose us?’
‘Oh, Great Britain and France may squeak and squeal and throw up their hands in mock horror, but they will do nothing. They want only to avoid another war. Peace at any price. We have both seen this for ourselves, Otto. You have told me how the young men at Oxford joke about a war. They do not take it seriously. They are not prepared. Some of them do not even wish to fight for their country. We have seen the way they play the fool; how slack and sloppy they have become. Once Great Britain was great; now her people are slothful, careless, weak … We shall have no difficulty at all. Herr von Ribbentrop says the same and he knows the English well. He has the ear of those who count.’ His father paused and glanced at him. ‘Naturally, you will not breathe one word of this conversation to a living soul.’
His father resumed his pacing. ‘The Führer always wished great Britain to become our ally, but he knows now that he cannot count on this. So he desires her to remain neutral instead. When Lord Halifax visited the Berchtesgaden, the Führer was told that Great Britain considers Germany as a bulwark against the Bolsheviks. She will turn a blind eye so long as we do not interfere with her Empire. Mr Chamberlain is anxious to appease us at all costs. Nothing could be better. The way is clear.’ His father stared out of the window for a moment and then turned round smiling. ‘I hear that you had guests to dine here in my absence. Two charming young ladies.’
‘That is correct.’
‘Who were they?’
‘One is a cousin of Guy and Matthew Ransome. The other is a friend of hers. They were both also visiting the Ransomes’ home when I stayed there. It was agreeable company for me.’
‘Of course, Otto, it is quite natural for you to wish to entertain young ladies … Remember, however, that any serious attachment to a foreigner is unacceptable. You will be expected to make your choice, when the time comes, from among your own people. The British have some excellent qualities but they are a mongrel race. I should not wish my grandchildren to come other than from pure German stock.’
Thank God he had no suspicion. None at all. The servants had not identified Anna. Thank God for the mongrel race, where as many were dark as fair. Otto listened to his father talking on again about the great future that lay ahead. Austria … to be annexed as soon as possible. Anna’s family in Vienna. The SS … There was, of course, nothing that he could do.
Anna heard her name being called as she walked down Wimpole Street. Otto von Reichenau came up behind her and spoke in German. ‘Excuse me, Anna, may I come a short way with you?’ He didn’t wait for her agreement but started walking along beside her. ‘You’re going shopping, perhaps?’ He looked strange. Very pale and tense. She wondered if he had been ill.
She said coolly, ‘Yes, I am, as a matter of fact.’ What was he doing here? What was his game?
‘I hope you enjoyed the dinner the other evening?’
She hadn’t enjoyed it a bit: the place had reeked of Nazis, and the portrait of Adolf Hitler had sickened her. He had looked down on her with his cruel stare – a silly little man all puffed up in a fine uniform with eagle badges and an iron cross and a big black swastika patch on his left sleeve. His moustache looked as though it had been gummed onto his upper lip and his hair cowlicked across his forehead. How could people pay so much attention to such a creature? How could they believe all his lies and his crazed rantings? How could they not see the evil?
Otto went on, ‘It was a great pleasure for me but I realize that it may not have been so for you.’
‘No, it wasn’t pleasant for me to sit and eat in a Nazi household. But Lizzie enjoyed it. She feels sorry for you, you know. I can’t imagine why.’
‘She has a kind heart.’
‘I know. She’s too trusting. I’m not.’
He walked in silence for a while, staring ahead, not looking at her. ‘I wanted to speak to you again, if you don’t mind. Just for a moment.’
‘What about?’
‘Lizzie told me that your mother and father still live in Vienna. That they wish to come and live here in England?’
‘They don’t wish it. They’d much sooner stay in Vienna, which is their home. I should much sooner be there myself. But they are afraid of your precious Führer and what may happen.’
She quickened her pace. They had reached Wigmore Street and crossed to Cavendish Square.
‘He only wishes the good of the German people.’
‘And what does he wish my people?’
‘I believe it’s thought better that they should find somewhere else of their own to live.’
She said angrily, ‘How is that possible? We are driven out from everywhere.’
‘That is regrettable—’
‘Regrettable!’ She whirled round to face him. ‘Is that all you have to say to me, Otto?’
He was even paler. Ashen. ‘No.’
‘What else then?’
‘I want to warn you that you should tell your father and mother to leave Vienna and Austria as quickly as possible. They should not delay.’
‘They can’t leave at the moment. My grandmother’s ill.’
‘Is it impossible for her to travel?’
‘It wouldn’t be easy.’
‘Nevertheless, tell them that they must go immediately. Somehow they must find a way. It’s imperative. And on no account should you return to Vienna yourself.’ He looked at her gravely. ‘Please do as I say.’
She didn’t trust him. ‘What do you know about it?’
‘I hear things.’
‘What things?’
‘I’m sorry but I can’t tell you.’
‘Why should I listen to you? Why should you care? We’re only dirty Jews to you.’
‘No, Anna,’ he said. ‘You’re not.’
Before she could speak again, he had turned quickly on his heel and walked away. She stared after him, but he didn’t look back.
‘Waltzed into Austria in the March, didn’t they? I remember Molly saying to me: if we don’t watch out they’ll try and do the same to us one day. Of course, I didn’t believe her at the time. Nobody lifted a finger to stop them. Not us, not the French – nobody. Mark you, most of the Austrians didn’t mind too much. Like that German bloke said, it was a walk-over. They’d already got Nazis in their own government, and they were in a mess themselves, so they made it easy for Hitler. It was a joyride for him.’ Mr Potter reaches for his pipe and tobacco pouch from the mantelpiece, knocks out the ash into the fireplace and begins to fill it again. ‘They put the Welcome mat out when he went to Vienna.’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Did the daughter warn her family, like that German boy told her?’
‘She tried, but her grandmother was too ill to move. Anna’s parents stayed to look after her until she died the following October. By the time they were free to leave, they were told that their papers were no longer in order. The Nazi regime had set up a special office in Vienna that sold emigration permits to Jews. At a price.’
He strikes a match and applies it. The pipe bowl glows red and clouds of smoke rise into the air. ‘The daughter must have been a bit worried.’
‘She was desperate. Her friend, Mina, wrote to her and told her how badly the Nazis were treating the Jews. That they were making them scrub the streets of Vienna on their hands and knees. That she and her mother had been forced to wash buildings and pavements and that crowds had jeered at them and the Nazi soldiers urinated on them.’
He looks disgusted. ‘Did that happen to Anna’s parents?’
‘If it did, they never told her. They wrote that they would soon be coming to England. They had sold jewellery, furniture – everything they could – and expected to be given their new papers any day. Anna went on waiting. And hoping.’
He puffs out more smoke. ‘Then it was Munich, I remember. The Czechs were trying to hold out against the Nazis and we let them down. Sold them out for a worthless piece of paper with Hitler’s name on it. I remember Chamberlain coming back from the Munich Conference waving it. He thought he’d stopped a war. Soon found out he’d done nothing of the sort.’ He nods at me. ‘Carry on, then.’
I collect my thoughts. ‘Munich was in September 1938. Guy was just starting his second year at Oxford by then. Anna had gone to the Royal Academy of Music in London, to study the piano and violin. Matt had started as a medical student at St Thomas’s Hospital in London, living in digs, and Lizzie had been allowed to leave school and go to art college. In November the violence against the Jews all over Germany suddenly exploded on Kristallnacht when the Nazis burned thousands of synagogues and smashed the shopfront glass of Jewish stores. They killed a hundred Jews and marched thirty thousand more to concentration camps. All in one night. Goebbels, the Propaganda Minister, orchestrated it.’
He grunts. ‘Nasty piece of work, Goebbels. And Himmler. And Goering. The whole pack of them. Was that young German, Otto, over here then?’
‘Yes, he was still at Oxford, in the spring of 1939. His father hadn’t yet been recalled.’
‘Should’ve been kicked out long before. We’re fools the way we let these people into the country – spies, terorists, lunatics … foreigners all plotting against us and we let them stay. Like I say, we never learn.’