When Mark, late and flustered, arrived in Trafalgar Square, he found Paul looking through the new triumphal arch at the park and the palace. He wore a light blue tie and grey suit, making Mark anxious about his own flannel trousers and shapeless summer jacket, but Paul seemed not to notice, shook his hand vigorously, grasped his arm. Mark didn’t think he had ever touched any of his friends like this. He must not flinch.
The city was quiet, as though nobody could be bothered to make much effort, not even the flower sellers with their wilting roses. The newspaper sellers urged passers-by to Read All About It, but sounded unconvinced that It really mattered. On such a day, who cared?
The great houses along Piccadilly and Green Park were being cleaned and tidied, blinds coming down, tubs of plants being removed. They talked about how in Prussia the nobility were poor and lived on their estates, and how Paul’s aunt and uncle survived on what they could grow or hunt; and how Mark truly wanted to enter the Diplomatic Service and that in any case his mother was determined that that was what he would do and she must be obeyed. At which they both laughed.
‘Would you like to go to Charlotte Street?’ asked Mark. ‘There’s a German colony there, a successful one. But perhaps you’re tired?’
‘Not at all. So if you are to be a diplomat, my new cousin,’ and he put his arm round Mark’s shoulders, ‘you will have to prevent the war between Germany and England that is approaching. You look shocked, but it is likely, is it not? We may find ourselves fighting on opposite sides.’
‘We think Ireland is more of a problem. The Irish are very unreasonable, though perhaps it’s reasonable for them to be unreasonable. And the Suffragettes are a nuisance too.’
‘You have so many problems, but who would guess it, seeing all this luxury? In any case, it is hot, perhaps we can go to a café?’ But Mark said that there were no cafés in London, really, and one had never been to a public house, was not sure what to do there. So they walked to Charlotte Street.
‘Ah, so this is the German colony,’ remarked Paul. ‘What will all these good Germans do when war breaks out?’
‘I’m sure our governments don’t want war.’
‘It’s hard to say what our Kaiser wants. He’d like to be a great war leader, but then he adores England. You respect your King, no? We make jokes about the Kaiser all the time, in Berlin we regard him as the best joke ever. My father likes him though, because of his position he sees him quite often. It seems the Kaiser is aware of this marriage – your sister, my brother – and approves. No, I fear war is inevitable.’
‘And so my poor sister is marrying into the enemy.’
‘She will become one of us, yes. National loyalty transcends individual loyalties. Don’t look so dismayed. We will look after her. Who are all these people in Charlotte Street, these Germans?’
‘Shopkeepers, I suppose, and musicians, waiters. Business people too, there are many German businessmen here.’
‘Well, there is money in England. You know Berlin, it is a rich city, and flashing – flashing?’
‘Flashy?’
‘My apologies. But there is so much poverty too. Thomas is always talking about it, he wants to make their lives better. . . You seem dejected, I’m sorry. It’s just that at home we talk about war against England all the time. At my university some visiting Englishmen were attacked by drunken students, they had to take refuge in a restaurant until the police arrived. It is so strange to come here, and find you all so friendly and. . .’
‘And?’
‘So like us, in many ways. Your sister, she will be among friends. We may not like the concept of England, but we like the individuals.’
They stood outside an Italian restaurant, where Paul declared the food should be good. He was right. They drank red wine. Mark drank a good deal, he was nervous, he seldom went to restaurants. Paul ordered. Mark had never eaten spaghetti.
‘A diplomat must learn to eat the food of foreign countries, you cannot always be eating roast beef.’ Mark smiled feebly. ‘You must come to Heidelberg, and I will show you a real German university. I suppose you want to be an ambassador?’
Mark shook his head. ‘Oh no. . .’ Yes, ambassador to Paris or Washington.
‘I am sure you will be successful. Of course, you will have to obey the rules, as we all must.’ Paul waved his fork in the air. ‘None of us is free, we believe what we’re brought up to believe, we behave as we’re taught to behave. We are guided towards a profession, and then we follow it all our lives. Look at me, I shall complete my second dissertation and apply for a post as an academic assistant and perhaps become a professor in Greifswald or some such place, taking tea with professors’ wives and trying to write a major book so I can be promoted to Berlin or München, as though a chair in Berlin or München were the summit of human aspiration. We are all slaves, and there is no escape, at least until our present society is destroyed, which is possible. I think Thomas would welcome such a resolution.’ He looked sideways at Mark, who blinked.
‘Am I a slave too?’ he asked, and laughed.
‘Yes, and it’s no matter to laugh about. You do what your mother says, you give up your academic ambitions in order to enter the Diplomatic Service, now you will fight elegantly to reach the peak, and there you will be subjected to the whims of politicians who know nothing about the real problems. Well, you are a charming young man, I am sure you will be most successful if you are content to remain one all your life.’ He spoke playfully.
Afterwards, Mark walked back with Paul to his hotel through the darkening streets, softly warm now, past the Soho shops and restaurants, past the parading women in Regent Street, through somnolent Mayfair to Bayswater.
The next evening Mark went to Charing Cross to say goodbye, clutching a little bouquet for Frau Curtius; such a sympathetic person, he thought. The Curtiuses were delighted to see him, and urged him to visit them in Berlin. Paul gripped his hand, and looked intently into his eyes. ‘Bis bald, mein Freund,’ he said.
Mark waved goodbye longer than anyone else on the emptying platform. If he became a diplomat, he would constantly be saying goodbye, not just physically but spiritually. Like other station halls, Charing Cross, banal as it might seem to the daily crowds, was an ante-chamber to the enchanting adventure of abroad.
The train had disappeared. The station had become quiet under its bright lights. It could, he thought, also be a place of nagging anxieties and larger fears, a portal to a dark world, foreign in every sense. He looked at the ticket office and the boards announcing trains to Bromley and Canterbury, and smiled at his own portentousness. But he shivered.
He moved slowly towards the Strand. As he passed the news stall, he saw a man looking at him, half-smiling. Why did men smile at him in the street? He did not want their friendship.
He wished Paul were not going so far away.