‘This is my last party in this apartment, dear children. Perhaps my last party ever. Don’t you think the table looks pretty? Tomorrow we will leave and everything that happened here will be only memories, but I wanted you all, especially my grandchildren, to remember me as a hospitable mother and grandmother.’
Frau Mamma had summoned the family the evening before she left for Salitz. For the first time in years, the stoves were lit throughout the apartment. Some of the guests had almost forgotten what it was like to be in a properly heated interior. Most of the rooms had been dismantled, but in the Salon, lit with candles, a semblance of domesticity survived. On the round table covered with a white tablecloth stood wine glasses and decanters, the Berlin bowls and plates, stuffed rolls and fruit, marzipan and sweets.
In the old days they’d all talked volubly. Now they could hardly speak. The grandchildren eyed the sweets in silence. Frau Mamma’s children stood in a semi-circle, uncertain what she might say.
She looked around the room and smiled. ‘You all look very solemn, my dears, but this is not a funeral, just a farewell. Whatever the threats outside, let us allow ourselves a few hours of family happiness. We should remember those who are no longer with us. Heinz. Freddy. Paul, in his way.’ Elise crossed herself but betrayed no emotion. She might be English, Irene thought irritably, the way she hides her feelings. ‘But let us be grateful that so many remain, that Thomas returned safely, that Irene is here, that there are so many young people in the family. These terrible times cannot last for ever – I know Germany is strong enough to rise again. I am confident that Thomas will build his housing schemes, that Irene will become the finest painter of her generation, that Max will become a professor, that Puppi will be the principal of a Gymnasium, that Elise will find happiness again. As for the grandchildren, why, there is no saying what they will achieve, living as they will in a new Germany, strong not in its military power but in its prosperity, its creativity, its respect for justice. Dear children, let us drink a toast to Germany, to the old Germany we loved and the new Germany we look forward to.’ She looked around her. ‘But you have nothing to drink. Thomas, Max, some punch. . .’
They drank toasts, they emptied the plates, they talked loudly, they could almost imagine it was a party before the war. Before they left, Frau Mamma summoned them to the dining room, which was filled with packing cases.
‘We are not keeping very much, we are not sentimental. I’ve never believed one could take one’s possessions in a van to Heaven, still less the other place. Cases will be delivered to each of you tomorrow. Keep what you want, sell what you want. There will be some surprises, I hope nice ones.’ She looked rather impish. Taking Irene by the elbow, she pointed out several large cases. ‘Irene, I know which of my pictures you like best. Well, I am keeping the Liebermann for the moment, since you persuaded us not to sell it, but there are some other things for you. And, my dear child, you will find something you may not want, but it is suitable you should have it. That iron necklace. . . Here you will find the rest of the parure – tiara, bracelets, earrings, rings – all in their velvet boxes. I cannot enjoin you to wear them, but at least I can say, you must promise never to dispose of them. Keep them one day for Dodo, to remind her of her Prussian grandmother.’
And she made a noise, a sort of snort, almost mocking. Though Frau Mamma had never spoken about her daughter-in-law’s long stay in London, Irene realised that she had understood – intuitively, Thomas would never have revealed anything – how nearly Irene had never come back.