‘Pregnancy and birth is such a strain on a woman. I do hope Carolyn is looking after herself. I was never the same after Claus and young Erich were born –’
‘Carolyn is a fit young woman. Pass the salad,’ Erich broke in impatiently.
Charlotte saw Ulrike’s bottom lip tremble and, although she had little patience for her daughter-in-law’s hypochondria, she gave her a sympathetic smile. Erich’s brusqueness had brought an unwelcome reminder of life with his father.
‘Claus is taking care of Carolyn beautifully.’ Charlotte clasped Ulrike’s hand briefly before unfolding her napkin.
‘I can’t imagine that young layabout taking care of anything. The hamster we bought him when he was six starved to death,’ Erich growled. ‘I went into his room every morning to check on it. There was never any food and he hardly ever changed the bedding or water.’
‘Claus never stops working, Erich,’ Charlotte protested. ‘His business is thriving.’
‘If he had worked when he should have – in school – he wouldn’t have to do manual labour now.’
‘Claus is a craftsman, Erich, not a labourer. I think he inherited his love of working with wood from my father.’
‘Venison, Mutti?’ Ulrike gave a fragile smile as she offered the dish.
‘Thank you, Ulrike.’ Charlotte took the smallest steak from the plate, and looked across at her grandson, who had been given the same name as his father and was universally known to family and friends as ‘young Erich’. Six years younger than Claus, he had also inherited his father and grandfather’s tall, blond good looks, but there was a downward, disapproving turn to his mouth that was entirely his own. ‘Are you looking forward to going to university this autumn, Erich?’ she asked.
‘Yes, although it is a lot of responsibility knowing that it is up to me to carry the family’s good name into the future.’
‘University isn’t for everyone, Erich.’ Charlotte took a potato from the tureen Ulrike handed her.
‘No, Oma. It is only for those who work hard,’ he replied pompously.
‘Sauce, Mutti?’ Ulrike held out the jug.
‘For pity’s sake, Ulrike,’ Erich senior snapped, ‘there’s no need to offer food that’s on the table for everyone to help themselves to.’
‘How is business, Erich?’ Charlotte asked, in an attempt to defuse the escalating tension.
‘We’re surviving. It’s not easy at present. All the large companies are shedding staff. Their cutbacks have affected Germany’s economy.’
‘I thought your firm specialized in corporation law.’
‘It does. But all the multi-nationals, as well as the national companies, are scaling down.’
‘That is a lovely suit, Mutti; may I ask where you bought it?’
Charlotte knew what it had cost Ulrike to ask her a direct question in Erich’s presence. She racked her brains in an attempt to recall all she could about clothes and designers, although she had given up following the vagaries of fashion when she had escaped England and Jeremy in the 1950s, ostensibly to save money, but really so she could create her own style. She embarked on a conversation to which Ulrike struggled to contribute, and only after looking at her husband to check his reaction to every opinion she dared voice.
Ulrike had suffered three nervous breakdowns since her marriage, illnesses Charlotte attributed as much to Erich’s innate lack of sensitivity as Ulrike’s disposition. Judging by her present jittery state, she seemed to be on the brink of a fourth.
‘Mutti?’
‘Sorry, Erich, you said something?’ Charlotte waited until Ulrike finished speaking before turning to her son.
‘I asked what prompted you to decide to visit Poland now.’
‘No specific reason, apart from the fact that I’m not getting any younger and I’d like to see the old country one more time.’
‘Everyone I’ve spoken to who has been there has said it’s changed beyond all recognition.’
‘So I’ve heard, but I would like to see those changes for myself. Do you remember anything of Grunwaldsee or the countryside?’
‘Very little, but as I was only four when we left, and given what happened to me afterwards, it’s probably just as well my early memories are sketchy.’
‘Thank you.’ Charlotte handed her plate to the Filipino maid who had entered the room to clear the table.
‘Perhaps we could have coffee and dessert in the conservatory,’ Ulrike ventured, glancing apprehensively at her husband again.
‘That would be lovely, Ulrike,’ Charlotte agreed, ‘but if you don’t mind, I’d like to see Erich alone for a few minutes first. I need to discuss some business with him.’
‘Jeremy telephoned me last night,’ Erich informed her as they walked into his library, which was six times the size of Jeremy’s study and more austerely and expensively furnished. The custom-made desk and glassed-in bookshelves were solid, dark-stained oak, the chairs upholstered in rich burgundy leather.
‘I didn’t know you two kept in contact.’
‘We don’t generally, apart from the Christmas and birthday cards our wives send. He wanted to warn me that you’d cut us out of your will.’
‘I see.’ Charlotte sank down on to a chair, grateful that, unlike at Jeremy’s house, all the chairs were comfortable and exactly the same, placing host and guest on equal footing.
‘Is he mistaken?’ Erich reached for the brandy bottle on a side table and poured out two measures without asking if she wanted one. He looked her in the eye as he handed her a glass.
‘I have set up trust funds for the children. Young Erich’s is of equal size to Claus’s, Laura’s and Luke’s.’
‘That is very generous of you and much appreciated.’ He sat opposite her.
‘Thank you.’
‘Jeremy told me that you have left your house and land in America to Claus.’
‘As his house and mine are within a stone’s throw and we have never separated the plots, it seems only fair.’
‘Jeremy thinks that it is anything but fair.’
‘And you?’ She met his steady gaze.
‘I am of the opinion that you have the right to dispose of your possessions in any way you see fit.’
‘That is precisely what your father would have said.’ Charlotte hadn’t expected Erich to say anything else. He was a past master when it came to concealing his emotions and doing and saying the correct thing. Excellent qualities, but there had been occasions when she had wished that both father and son had been a little more spontaneous, human, and tolerant of the failings of others.
‘Jeremy also said that you want both of us to sign a clause stating that we won’t contest your will after your death.’
‘I do.’
‘I have no problem with that. If you have nothing else to discuss we can rejoin the others.’ He finished his brandy.
‘Erich, before we do,’ she looked up earnestly at him, ‘I want you to know that I do love you very much.’
‘Mutti –’ he broke in impatiently, embarrassed, as he always was, by any display of emotion.
‘Your life didn’t quite work out the way your father and I intended.’
‘Yes, well, it’s all water under the bridge now,’ he responded, switching from German to perfect, clipped English.
‘But I want you to know how proud I am of you.’
‘Thank you,’ he replied awkwardly, leaving his chair.
‘Just one more thing, Erich. Please, try to be a little more patient with Ulrike.’
‘Highly-strung women need a firm hand.’
‘She needs help, Erich.’
‘She has the best medical help available.’
Charlotte knew when she was beaten. They might have been speaking in different languages. She took the arm he offered her.
‘I know young Erich would like to thank you for the trust fund. May I tell him about it?’
‘Yes, Erich, you can tell him. And, after coffee, if you don’t mind, I’ll go to bed. I have a lot of travelling to do. Berlin to meet Laura, then on to Warsaw and Allenstein – I mean, Olsztyn.’
‘I have to leave the house at five-thirty. Business meeting in Brussels,’ he explained briefly, ‘but Ulrike will be here to supervise breakfast, and young Erich will drive you back to Frankfurt airport.’
‘I could take a taxi.’
‘No need. Let’s find Erich and have coffee before we say our goodbyes, Mutti.’
Dessert, coffee, more meaningless kisses from Ulrike, two more cold, firm handshakes from her son and grandson. Her sons’ houses and their languages were different, but the sterile atmosphere that stifled all emotion was identical.
Guilt smothered Charlotte like a winter quilt when she closed the door of Erich and Ulrike’s principal guest bedroom half an hour later. Then she remembered Claus, Carolyn, Luke and Laura, and the close, affectionate relationship she had with all four of them. Somewhere, sometime, she must have done something right to have deserved grandchildren as warm and loving as them.
SUNDAY, 27 AUGUST 1939
The Grand Hotel, Sopot
After today I will have to find somewhere secret and secure to hide this diary, a place where no one will find it, especially Claus, but for now I have to tell someone what has happened, if only myself, so I can see it written down. Perhaps it will not seem so terrible then.
Yesterday, I was married. Already it seems as though the ceremony was held years ago and involved someone else. Despite all the rush it was the wedding of my dreams. But now … what am I to make of it and the rest of my life? How am I to bear it?
In a few weeks Claus will go back to his regiment and I will return to Grunwaldsee and Papa and Mama, and, if I am lucky, I won’t have to see Claus very often. But I cannot, dare not, ever tell anyone how I feel, outside of this book.
But for now, I will write of what happened before my life changed for ever.
I was so happy when Wilhelm and Paul drove us to the station after our wedding feast. Everyone followed. Mama, Papa, Mama and Papa von Letteberg, Irena, all my friends and Claus’s fellow officers. The stationmaster joked that he would run out of platform tickets. I threw my bouquet and Irena caught it. The last Claus and I saw was Irena holding it up to Wilhelm and laughing. Claus had booked an entire carriage so we could be alone. The steward served us dinner in our private car. Caviar canapés, smoked salmon, wild boar steaks with potatoes and asparagus, French lettuce salad, and fresh strawberries and whipped cream. Claus had arranged for the dinner to be prepared at Bergensee by his father’s French chef and delivered to the kitchen on the train together with two bottles of champagne and ice for the bucket.
We ate, we toasted our future, we drank, and, by the time the train reached Sopot, I thought I would die from joy, perhaps because the platform seemed to wobble beneath my feet. The hotel had sent a limousine for us and for the first time I signed my name Frau Claus von Letteberg.
I love everything about the Grand Hotel: the reception area with Tiffany lamps in jewelled colours that reflect in the massive mirrors behind them; the curved twin staircases in wrought ironwork that sweep down from the upper floors; the murals in the dining room; the doors that open into the gardens that adjoin the beach.
Claus had booked a suite on the third floor: a bedroom, sitting room, bathroom and balcony overlooking the sea. There was more champagne waiting for us together with a basket of fruit, and all the rooms were filled with flowers.
Mama had insisted that I should have a proper trousseau in spite of the lack of time. It meant buying some clothes and lingerie ready-made, but the dressmaker had managed to finish a white silk nightdress and negligée, which she had trimmed with the Bruges lace Oma had left me in her will. While the maid unpacked and Claus opened the champagne, I went into the bathroom, perfumed the bath water and myself, let down my hair, brushed it out, dressed in my bridal nightwear and tried to make myself look as beautiful as possible.
Why?
Charlotte stared at the last tear-splotched word on the page, and the past returned so vividly she could smell the perfume that hadn’t been manufactured in over forty years. She was that naive, apprehensive eighteen-year-old girl again, studying herself critically in the mirror in the bathroom of the honeymoon suite in the Grand Hotel in Sopot, terrified that her bridegroom would find her ugly, repulsive or wanting in some way.
My heart pounded erratically because I was so eager to experience, yet so frightened of what was about to happen. I loved (already I speak of my feelings for him in the past tense) Claus so fervently I was terrified of disappointing him. I delayed as long as I could; brushing my hair until it clung to the brush with static, haloing my face. And, for the first time in my life, I didn’t plait it before going to bed. I knew it would be horribly tangled in the morning but I was so desperate for Claus to think of me as a woman, not the schoolgirl I had been a few short weeks ago.
Everything I had chosen for my honeymoon had been selected to make me look older. My perfume was French, ‘the most sophisticated in stock’, or so the girl in the Parfumerie had assured me. It was certainly expensive, as was the scented cream I had rubbed into my face to tone and make pale my skin. I studied myself in the mirror as I hung the towels back on the rail. My silk nightdress and négligée clung to my figure, but I was shocked when I saw how much of my body the delicate panels of lace revealed.
Claus called to me and asked if I was all right. I said I was fine and, unable to delay any longer, turned the key and stepped outside.
The door to the balcony was open and Claus was standing outside. He told me that I looked lovely. Then he offered me champagne. He had carried a bottle and glasses on to the balcony. I joined him, took the glass he filled for me, and saw that the bedroom door was open and the maid had turned down the bed before leaving.
Claus made a toast. ‘To a long and happy life together and many, many children.’
He touched his glass to mine, wrapped his arm around my waist and drew me close. The warmth of his body and the weight of his arm made me realize how strong he was – and how weak I am in comparison. Suddenly afraid, I tried to concentrate on the scenery, the poetry I’d studied, anything but him and what was about to happen.
The night air on my face and bare arms tingled, full of salt. The sands below stretched, indigo-blue in the moonlight. The lights on the pier gleamed in twin rows on out right, silver diamonds above the navy sea, the furthest blending with the stars glittering in the night sky.