It was already past midnight but hardly dark when Mark and Harry reached the street door. Harry was another honorary attaché, elegant but shrewd and hard-working and (Mark realised) no less ambitious than he was. Mark could not manage Harry’s air of detachment, however hard he tried: when he was working hard it was obvious. ‘Don’t look so worried,’ people would say, or ‘You do look tired.’ Harry just looked calm.
They were friends, within bounds. When Mark had arrived at the embassy, Harry said, ‘It’s a shame you’re not an Etonian, but a Westminster’s better than most.’ They’d get drunk together, and Harry would talk about the fun he’d had at house parties in England. But he could be lured into talking about poetry – English, Latin, Greek, French. They constantly watched one another’s progress, or at least Mark watched Harry’s; he was not sure that Harry observed him. Or rather, he suspected Harry did observe him but pretended not to.
They had been to the minister’s summer party for his staff. They’d sat on the terrace in the bright evening, gossiping about the Danish royal family and the strange death of the old King as he took a solitary walk in Hamburg. The minister told a story about a Danish government minister and an actress, imitating the voices, making them roar with laughter. They danced, Harry a good deal, Mark not much. Harry was very popular with the minister’s daughters.
Back in his rooms, Mark wondered, as always, whether he’d done well. At dinner he’d sat next to the minister’s wife. They’d discussed improving his rooms. ‘I’m so glad you don’t have hunting prints,’ she said. ‘Harry’s rooms are full of pictures of horses, family things.’
Mark was very aware he did not have ‘family things’ other than some faintly embarrassing Liberty vases his mother had pressed on him – but did this remark mean she had been to Harry’s rooms? ‘You should come and see my rooms,’ he’d said boldly.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’d love to,’ and smiled at him warmly. He thought she liked him, something he often needed convincing of.
Under the light-heartedness, the guests observed the minister’s movements, especially when the minister drew Mark away and down the lawn. The rest knew better than to follow.
‘You’ve been in the Service, what, almost two years? Shall we be able to keep you? So many young men are tempted away by business.’
‘I’m very happy, I want to serve my country.’ This was intended to sound cheerful and reliable but not too ambitious. Actually, he wanted to end up far senior to his host, who was merely Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary in Copenhagen.
‘By the way, you may expect to become Third Secretary, quite soon. Don’t tell anyone just yet.’ Mark looked respectfully gratified. ‘Tell me, do you want to be a specialist? I mean, in the commercial section, something like that?’
‘Not the commercial section, no, sir. I mean not particularly. I am very interested in Europe, and the United States. I suppose that’s not very adventurous. . .’
‘Travelled much in Europe, have you?’
‘As much as I can, sir, given how few holidays we get.’ The minister laughed. ‘But I am going to Berlin, to see my sister.’
‘Yes, I wanted to talk to you about that.’ His Excellency looked Mark in the eye. ‘Do you visit her often?’ The question puzzled Mark. ‘The thing is, old boy, we’d like you to look around you in Berlin. Things are changing in the Service. That report recently, you know, pointed out we have no agents at all – secret service agents, that is – on mainland Europe, only in Ireland. That seems perhaps a mistake.’ He gestured vaguely. ‘Beautiful, this herbaceous border, don’t you think? We’re not asking you to sniff around ports, we can leave that to the military and naval attachés, but. . . Who did you say your brother-in-law’s people were?’ Mark explained as best he could. ‘That sounds ideal. Just get a sense of what people are thinking. Present yourself as an intelligent young man interested in the workings of the imperial court, the army, even business. If people trust and like one, it’s remarkable what they’ll say. And you can ask about political issues quite innocently – do they think the constitution is workable, how much of a threat do the Social Democrats pose, that sort of thing.’ He tore a rose from its stem, sniffed it and stuck it in his buttonhole. ‘When you’re back, come and see me.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Mark, uncertainly.
‘Don’t let it worry you, old boy. It’s just that we need to be more precisely aware of what’s going on. The diplomacy I grew up with – courts, chanceries – that’s out of date. Germany’s particularly sensitive, of course.’ He scrutinised Mark amiably. ‘I may as well say, Whitehall is interested in your progress. No doubt you have ambitions.’ Mark tried to look self-deprecating. ‘Why not? Most of us worry about promotion, a waste of energy in my view.’ He gestured again at the border. ‘Delightful, isn’t it? Mark, you may feel you’re being asked to spy on your sister’s family, but we’re only asking you to observe. We all want Germany to turn out well. God knows, we depend on one another.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘Good. No pressure, old boy.’ He sighed. ‘We may not be living in such comfortable times much longer. By comfortable times, I don’t just mean all this.’ He gestured at the lawn stretching down to shrubberies, the ladies in white and lilac dresses. ‘I mean individual liberties, enjoying the freedom to live as we choose. I hope I’m wrong. Shall we join the party?’
By chance, Harry was coming towards them with – Mark thought – the faintest tension round his well-shaped mouth.
‘We’ve been discussing gardening,’ said the minister blandly. ‘Awfully dull subject for a young man. Hm, I hope the two of you find time to have some fun.’
‘Oh yes,’ they carolled cheerfully.
‘What on earth did the chief say to you this evening?’ Harry asked on the way home. ‘He talked to you for hours. Fourteen minutes, to be precise.’
‘He just asked how I was doing.’
‘I see. I’m surprised it took him so long to enquire.’ And they said good night.
Mark lived on the second floor of a plain classical house. He loved the light wood furniture, the walls painted green with a decorative border, the polished wooden boards. But he had to pack, following instructions laid down long ago by his mother: shoes and heavy items at the bottom of the case, layers of tissue paper to prevent creasing, a linen hand towel over the shirts, internal straps secured.
It was sad that Paul was only coming to Berlin for a few days. Mark sighed. The flow of Paul’s letters had dwindled. He’d written to say that his doctoral thesis had been accepted summa cum laude, he was beginning his Habilitation. Then he announced that he’d met a young woman, the daughter of one of his professors. She was his ideal of womanhood. Their walks by the Neckar, the evenings they spent round the table in her father’s house, were the happiest times he’d ever experienced. Her father was a remarkable man, with exciting ideas about the nature of Germany. ‘He’s not very enthusiastic about England. . .’
As he selected shirts and neckties, Mark remembered their own walks by the Neckar. He was happy for Paul, of course, but he would hardly be a special friend any longer: a married man, a different sort of friend. The professor’s daughter would probably not be friendly. They would never take those bicycling trips round Bavarian churches.
He briefly knelt beside his bed, a ritual memory of childish prayers. He slid between the sheets. He told himself he did not feel melancholy. He lay a long while in the dark, before falling into a restless sleep, dreaming of Unter den Linden and opera cloaks and walking beside some unidentifiable river.