The Bensons’ visit to Berlin was a complete success. The Curtius parents had worried that the English party would not like Berlin, Lady Benson that she would feel poorly, Sophia that she’d seem like a schoolgirl, Thomas and Irene that the families might disagree, and everyone that there might be another international crisis. But when the Bensons appeared in the Lehrter Bahnhof – with Lady Benson, striking in a new travelling dress, at the front, Sir William resting his arm on the shoulder of his tall, flame-haired daughter, Wilson excitedly carrying bags – from that moment it was clear everything would be all right. Their guests reminded the Curtiuses immediately of Irene; it was endearing.
Irene ran along the platform in a most unladylike way, skirting travellers and porters, waving and calling, ‘Mamma! Papa! Sophia!’ and throwing herself into her mother’s arms.
‘Irene,’ said her mother, ‘Irene, my dearest,’ stroking her head.
Irene embraced each of them passionately, crying to her sister, ‘Fia, how tall you are, how beautiful!’
‘Welcome to Germany! We are so pleased you are here, it is such an honour for us,’ said Frau Curtius. ‘We planned to bring you a bouquet, but with all the luggage. . .’ (There was a great deal, on a phlegmatic but beginning-to-be-impatient trolley.) ‘So – we will all go to our apartment.’
Through the crowded days, everything went well. The family parties were numerous and convivial. Thomas’s family were indefatigably kind; only Elise and her husband hardly appeared. (‘They live in Potsdam, it is quite a journey for them, and they have small children.’) Endless amusements were arranged: a private visit to the Berliner Schloß, an event that Lady Benson mentioned to everyone she met; the Museumsinsel; a picnic in the Grunewald; a boat excursion on the Wannsee. One sunny afternoon they trotted in carriages up Unter den Linden, past the palaces and the Staatsoper and the university and the cafés with tables on the pavements and the Adlon. ‘You know,’ said Freddy, ‘that is where the Kaiser goes to take a good bath, the Schloß is so uncomfortable.’
Sophia enjoyed herself hugely, especially with Freddy and Thomas’s youngest sister, Puppi, who was in her last year at school. Freddy was going to London in the autumn to work in the City, and was anxious to improve his English. He talked and talked, and when Sophia corrected his English, cried, ‘I must be the stupidest man in the world!’ They showed her the great department store Wertheim, with its ceremonial hall, its library and post office and bank, its exhibition of Modern Living Rooms, the Carpet Salon hung with huge oriental rugs, the Onyx Hall, the Marble Light Hall and the Fountain Court, the winter garden, the summer garden. ‘This is the new Germany,’ said Freddy. ‘Wertheim is the most elegant department store in Germany, even the Kaiser and the Kaiserin come here. It is international, sophisticated. And who developed it? Why, a Jew, Herr Wertheim, because in our modern Germany Jews have all the best ideas. Only absurd ideas, like endlessly expanding our navy, come from Gentiles.’
When, in the Café des Westens, Sophia asked eagerly which famous people were there that afternoon, Puppi and Freddy looked uncertain.
‘Irene could tell us,’ Puppi said, ‘but she had to finish an illustration. She is always so busy. Do you plan to be an artist, Sophia, like your sister?’
‘No, I’ve no artistic talent. I might go to university. . .’
‘Oh no,’ Freddy cried, ‘that is so dull. In Germany only the plainest girls go to university.’
‘Hush,’ said his sister, ‘you sound so old-fashioned. I plan to be a teacher so I must go to college, and I am not dull, am I?’
They told the parents they were attending an evening party given by some highly respectable friends of Puppi’s. After half an hour at the highly respectable party they left for a dance hall somewhere to the east of the Schloß, and full of the most exciting-looking people. Sophia practised the new style of ballroom dancing with Freddy for hours and hours until Puppi insisted that they must go home. Stifling their giggles, they crept into the flat’s elderly, snoring quietness.
Sophia loved flirting with Freddy. She’d never really flirted with anyone before: talking to Andrew about Swinburne was hardly flirting. But she was not allowed to enjoy herself all the time. One morning when Freddy proposed a jaunt, Lady Benson announced, ‘I’m afraid today I am not feeling strong, I shall need Sophia.’ The next time, Sophia was released: she’d been a dismal companion, sighing, tapping her feet, staring longingly out of the window. Instead, Mark kept his mother company – his father, intrigued by the city, was not to be kept at home, and when not otherwise occupied visited and revisited the Dance of Death cycle in the Marienkirche. Mark seemed to appreciate the atmosphere of ordered comfort. The older Curtiuses found him a stimulating visitor, and Herr Curtius spoke to him at length about the relationship between Württemberg and Prussia, and the uncertainties of the German Diplomatic Service. Mark’s German was so good that even Major von Steinaeck unbent and treated him almost as an honorary countryman, to whom he spoke about Germany’s future as leader of a revived Holy Roman Empire. Mark was an attentive listener.