‘Here are the two families at Salitz, where Thomas’s Prussian aunt and uncle lived. It’s East Germany now, of course – the house is an orphanage. Mother told me that the weekend when her parents visited the Lützows was very important for her, she felt the two parts of her life had been joined together. There they are, lined up on the steps of the manor house.’
‘Who is the old man in the hat with a feather?’
‘That’s Herr von Lützow, and his wife beside him.’
Pandora studies the photograph intently. ‘The house is quite small. I’m surprised.’
‘They lived plainly, that was the tradition. They were darling people, I often stayed there when I was a child. They had a quality – it’s hard to explain – they were fully themselves, they were content though never complacent. They believed it was their duty to do everything they could for others, their people, their family, their country.’
‘What happened to them under the Nazis then?’
Her mother draws in her breath. ‘Under the Nazis they lived more quietly than ever, they were old by then. He died just as the war was beginning, and she lived on there till the end of the war.’
‘And then what?’
There is another silence.
‘I knew it would hurt, doing this.’ Dorothea is silent for a while, looks into the fire. ‘I last saw the Lützows in 1936 when I went to see Father. They seemed unchanged. Salitz showed no signs of being Nazified. . . That visit healed many things. I stayed several days, they were very pleased.’ She wipes her eyes. ‘Tante Sibylle was like her sister, my German grandmother, only quieter. When she was an old lady she was like an old apple – a little gnarled and twisted on the outside, all sweetness within.’ She makes a gulping sound.
‘Don’t tell me that story if it makes you sad. It’s probably better to suppress some memories, in spite of old Sigmund.’
Dorothea sits up straighter. ‘I’ll tell you another day. Let’s look at the album, there’s nothing sad there.’