A Kiss for the Enemy (60 page)

‘Marcia wrote it all fully, very interesting,' said Anthony steadily. He had received Marcia's letter on 1st June, two days after his visit to Arzfeld. Not that it would have made any difference. He added,

‘She was lucky to get away from the Red Army, unraped, unmurdered. Very lucky. She was caught in the east you know, in the last days of the war.'

‘Quite. Well, I'm glad she's safe, of course. But – and I'm sure you and your family fully understand this – she is, inevitably, being investigated.'

‘Investigated? For what?'

Robert looked at him, his frown expressing a little irritation. Anthony was being obtuse.

‘Anthony, people who – er, gave comfort, help, to the enemy in this war are liable to be tried for treason. Some will undoubtedly be hanged. You probably know that trials on a big scale are going on in France, of collaborators with the Germans. There've been a considerable number of executions already.'

To his annoyance, Anthony laughed.

‘Are you suggesting a British judge is going to condemn Marcia to death for nursing? Is that the point we've reached?'

‘Of course not. But her actions – her attitude – are bound to be investigated. It's not entirely plain sailing. I'd better tell you – in fact it's one reason I wanted to see you – I've seen a file on her. There's an immense amount of collation going on. We've got all the Gestapo records, they were most meticulous people, very thorough. Indexes and cross-references immaculate. Marcia was on a Gestapo index.'

‘I would imagine so. She was, to them, an enemy alien. Presumably, she was only at liberty on sufferance. What's odd about that?'

‘Marcia was interviewed by the Gestapo several times. At an interview in January this year, Anthony, she said – and it was recorded – “In my own way I have been able to serve the Reich.” That's going to take a good deal of explaining, you know.'

‘I hardly believe the note of a Gestapo interrogator will be preferred to my sister's explanations.' Anthony spoke coldly.

Robert sighed. He wished to help Marcia but it was discouraging that her own brother was so difficult to persuade of the need. He said,

‘I think it's all going quite well. Probably best not to get your parents too worried if you mention it to them. I've seen a note on the file – “A frightened as well as a silly girl. I doubt if this should go to prosecution.” So I
hope
Marcia's not in bad trouble. But she's got some explaining to do.'

Anthony looked at him thoughtfully. ‘I understand, Robert. And I'm grateful for your visit – very. You've told me some pretty dreadful things. I hope you – we – don't get infected. I hope we don't catch the awful virus of supposing that because some evil things have been done, everybody we've fought against is evil.'

‘Of course not.' Robert sounded impatient again.

‘Or that only our enemies are capable of evil. You've got a sword of righteousness in your hand, it seems to me. It needs to be a double-edged sword, doesn't it?'

They said goodbye, affectionate and cool.

‘I know perfectly well, Marvell,' said the General, ‘that you had a bad time as a prisoner. It's for that reason you have been treated with a good deal of consideration. None of your experiences in the least excuse your behaviour. As I understand it, you admit the facts specified in this charge, and you understand that the charge is a serious one, and that the facts add up to a serious case of insubordination?'

‘I do, sir.'

‘On 30th May, you said to Brigadier Pringle, “You are an ignorant and stupid little man”?'

‘I did.'

‘Do you wish to tell me why?'

‘Why I said it, sir?'

‘Why you said it.'

‘Because he is. Brigadier Pringle ordered me to be arrested when he observed me talking to a German. I tried to explain the circumstances to him. He appeared incapable of imagining that what I told him could be true, or, if true, that it could be relevant.'

‘You are aware of the orders forbidding fraternization with the German population?'

‘Certainly. But in this case the young lady in question, whom I knew well before the war, was my sister's closest friend. She escaped from the Russians, she reached her home, and it was important to me to learn something about my sister. I made a visit to her home when nearby –'

‘It is alleged,' said the General, ‘that you took a military vehicle on an unauthorized journey when you were
not
nearby: that you, unexpectedly I presume, found Brigadier Pringle's mission established in this house, Arzfeld: and that you did not report yourself, but sought out this young woman. It says here you were seen kissing her.'

‘That is correct.'

‘That you talked at length to her.'

That is correct.'

‘About your sister, you say.'

‘Yes, sir.' But here Anthony was being less than exact.

‘Lise, dear Lise,' Anthony had said, not trusting his voice, knowing that he had no right to hope, ‘Lise, your cousin, Anna Langenbach. Does anybody know what has happened to her?' They were in the scullery off the kitchen at Arzfeld, used, by permission, for the family's needs. ‘Your cousin, Anna,' Anthony said, ‘she helped me, you know. Saved me. Does anybody know anything?'

He did not know how much Lise was aware of his own feelings where Anna was concerned. Lise seemed to be avoiding his eye. Their conversation was wholly unnatural. A British officer, member of an occupying Army, was talking (illegally) to a German girl about her (anti-Nazi?) cousin's fate. His lover, his beloved. He had first seen Lise, so pale, so exhausted-looking, outside the kitchen door, had embraced her spontaneously, taken her arm, steered her towards some sort of privacy. Anthony's driver looked on, bored, speculative.

Lise had said quietly, speaking as if embarrassed,

‘They arrested her. My father says she was taken to a place called Tissendorf. Nobody mentioned it, of course, but that is what people whispered. We are sure she is dead.' She said it flatly, not looking at him. Then she started to cry, to cry for Anna, for herself, for Frido, for all of them. He put his arm around her, wishing his own tears could come as easily, give him relief. Lise said, gulping,

‘They killed Frido, too.'

Anthony knew it. ‘I was at Langenbach, Lise, hidden at Langenbach for weeks. During last winter. Anna –' He couldn't go on. Lise watched his face, drying her tears. She whispered,

‘You have seen Marcia?'

‘No. She's in England. I expect a letter.'

‘Give her my love,' said Lise, ‘if I'm allowed to send it under your rules.' He ignored the sharpness, the bitterness. He spoke shakily.

‘Lise, what about Franzi – Anna's little boy?'

‘Nobody knows. They took him away. You must understand
nobody knows anything yet in this country. There's no feeling, no communication. We're lifeless. Germany is a corpse.'

Then Brigadier Pringle had arrived.

The General considered the folder in front of him and turned a page.

‘When Brigadier Pringle pointed out to you your breach of orders, you abused him.'

‘No, sir. I explained – I began trying to explain – the circumstances. He then told me he didn't care a bugger – his words, sir – whether the girl knew my sister or anything about her. She was a German and I was to clear off immediately. A report would be made on me. I couldn't do that, sir. I had to find out from this young lady –'

‘Fraülein von Arzfeld,' said the General, reading.

‘Yes, sir. She had, or might have information which was of great importance to me. I'm afraid I lost my temper and told Brigadier Pringle what I thought of him and his attitude.'

‘Additionally, Brigadier Pringle's statement runs:

‘Captain Marvell also attempted to interfere with the apprehension of an officer of the Wehrmacht who was concealing his military status and living on the same premises.'

Is that true?'

‘That, sir, refers to Colonel von Arzfeld. A civilian for many years but, I believe, a Colonel of the Reserve who may have been called up for a wartime job. By a coincidence he was being taken off just as I arrived at Arzfeld. I explained it was an absurd mistake to treat him as a member of the German Armed Forces. He left the German Army, wounded, after the First World War. I may say that his son was executed for playing a part in the plot to kill Hitler.'

‘That has nothing to do with the matter,' said the General. ‘That's for others to sift, do you understand? In the meantime, there are orders about all –
all
– ex-members of the German Army and it's not for you to start questioning them, still less interfering with your superior officer's execution of them. Did you know this von Arzfeld before, or something? You seem rather mixed up with these people.'

‘Yes, sir,' said Anthony, ‘I knew him. And a – a member of his family – saved my life – at great personal risk – when I escaped from prison camp.'

‘That, too,' said the General, ‘has little to do with the matter. Now, you'd better understand one or two things very clearly …'

‘There's a great deal of work to do, Comrade Müller,' said the People's Police Major heavily, ‘a great deal of work. There's a huge task of record building and collation. There's been an inevitable but undesirable break in continuity. Our work needs continuity.'

East of the Elbe river, in Prussia, Saxony, Thuringia, Silesia, Germans were being entrusted where possible with domestic security, as the Red Army concentrated its troops and as Communist Party authorities started to organize: organize reliable elements: organize for permanence: organize for a new and dominant role.

‘Security information needs continuity. We all know that.'

‘Exactly, Comrade,' said Müller respectfully.

‘I'm glad you reported promptly for re-education. We're shorthanded. The people round here will need a lot of watching. It's going to take a long time to eradicate Fascist tendencies. We're going to need vigilance for years. And we lack experienced men, men who not only understand police work, political work, but who know this neighbourhood, know Saxony.'

‘May I make a suggestion, Comrade Major?'

‘You may.'

‘I have an acquaintance who's anxious to return to this part of Germany. He's very experienced and reliable. He would have risen higher in the Service but he was suspect – you see he always felt uneasy, felt in his heart that we, the Party, represent the future.'

‘Where is he now?'

‘He's in the west. He's unhappy there. There's apparently a rumour they're going to persecute him. Probably Fascist elements are after him. The British are hand in glove with the
Fascists, of course. He'd like to work for us. He's a first-class man. His name's Egon Schwede.'

‘Could we get him? There are procedures –'

‘Yes,' said Müller confidently, ‘I've been into it. I think we could.'

‘You will,' said the General, ‘be severely reprimanded. I am also recommending that you be posted to another part of the world immediately. You may regard yourself as treated with wholly exceptional leniency. Any further insolence, disobedience or nonsense of this or any other kind and you will have finally shown yourself as unfit to serve, and will undoubtedly be tried by Court Martial. Meanwhile, I don't care who helped you or didn't help you, I don't care what are your private views on the rights and wrongs of individual cases. You are here to enforce the regulations of an Army of occupation, not to question them.'

He nodded curtly. The Deputy Assistant Adjutant-General opened the office door. Anthony saluted, turned about and marched from the room.

‘My Darling Sister, it was a long time ago. A long, long time ago.'

Marcia's mind went back to Werner, to riding with Werner through sun-speckled woods, to finding herself breathless, naked on the green, green grass in Werner's arms. She found herself thinking of Werner quite often these days although she had some difficulty in exactly remembering his face. Lise had showed her a photograph last year, in 1957.

‘You must have it.'

‘No – that's not how I remember him! That looks a boy – charming, but a boy!'

Yet the photograph, Lise said, had been taken in the same summer that Marcia had first met him. Werner had been twenty-five, self-possessed, mature. Marcia had been nineteen. ‘Now I'm nearly forty,' she thought. ‘The twenty-five year-olds are certainly boys to me now!'

She and Anthony were walking slowly through the garden at Bargate, back to the house, back to dinner. They were walking along the length of the herbaceous border: delphiniums, peonies, cranebill, late irises, veronica, white daisies with huge orange centres – June was a glorious month and seven o'clock on a fine June evening England's most agreeable hour.

Hilda had died in 1953. Under sixty years old, worried about her husband's health, she herself had died suddenly, unexpectedly, leaving her family bereft and almost outraged. They depended upon her hugely. Before she died, she had done much to restore her beloved garden from the ravages of war.

John Marvell lived quietly in a house several sizes too big for him. To his continuing surprise his farms were infinitely more prosperous than before the war. It was, he told himself,
natural, inevitable, but he could not entirely get used to it. Land, before 1939, had been a most unproductive investment. Farmers had been a depressed class, paying uneconomic rents to impecunious landowners. Farms had been hard, often impossible, to let. John Marvell had taken the management of the three largest farms into his own hands, installed an expert young manager and found himself making a remarkable amount of money. Land was expected to go ever higher in price.