Death in Berlin (4 page)

There was a long, long silence.

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Brigadier Brindley beamed complacently upon his audience, pleased at the sensation his dénouement had created. Robert was looking thunderstruck, Miranda’s face had paled and she and Stella were staring at him literally open-mouthed.

Well, I’m damned!’ said Robert with explosive violence.

Stella’s face flushed a vivid pink and she stuttered a little when she spoke.

‘B-But - but - Oh, it can’t be true! This is the most incredible thing I ever heard!’

‘My dear lady,’ said the Brigadier a little stiffly, ‘I assure you…’

‘Oh, of course he hasn’t made it up!’ interrupted Miranda, her face pale and her eyes enormous. ‘It’s just a staggering coincidence. It’s fantastic!’

‘I am afraid I do not quite understand,’ began the Brigadier, patently bewildered.

‘No, of course you don’t!’ said Stella. ‘How could you? It’s just that your story has knocked all the wind out of us. You see it really is the queerest possible coincidence. That hospital you mentioned

- the one in Sussex-well, it wasn’t a proper hospital. It was only being used as a sort of nursing home during the war. It was my house - Mallow - and I was nursing there. And Miranda was the little girl with the doll!’

‘Well, I’m damned!’ said Brigadier Brindley, echoing Robert’s words with equal fervour. He pulled out a handkerchief, and mopping his forehead looked a little wildly round the table. ‘You are not by any chance pulling my leg?’ he inquired suspiciously.

‘No, I promise you we’re not! It’s quite true. Isn’t it, Robert? Ask Miranda! She must remember it.’

‘Of course I do,’ said Miranda unsteadily, ‘I dropped Wilhelmina - that was the doll - on the paving stones of the terrace, and her head came off. It had always been a bit wobbly I think. I was bathed in tears and despair, and a nice young doctor said he would mend her for me. He started in to see how she worked and before we knew where we were the place was a mass of

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diamonds and emeralds and banknotes. No wonder she was so heavy!’

Miranda shivered and made a little grimace, as though the memory was an unpleasant one.

‘Amazing!’ The Brigadier’s voice was almost devout as he realized that he now had a story with which he could hold the attention of fellow diners for years to come.

‘Wasn’t it? I hadn’t an idea how they got there, and I still haven’t. To tell you the truth, I don’t really remember much about what happened between the time the bombing started and arriving at Mallow. I don’t think I wanted to remember it. But I do remember that they confiscated all Wilhelmina’s stuffing, and I howled the roof off. I didn’t mind about the banknotes, but the jewels sparkled, and I naturally thought that as they had come out of my doll I should be allowed to keep them. In the end they gave me a cheesy little chain bracelet to keep me quiet. It wasn’t even gold or silver. Just a lot of thin links in some white metal, with a little Egyptian charm, an ankh, dangling from it. I lost the bracelet years ago, but I still have the charm. And what’s more, I’m wearing it now! How’s that for proof?’

Miranda held out her left hand with a flourish. About her wrist she wore a gold charm bracelet jingling with an assortment of miniature nonsense in the form of lucky coins, signs of the Zodiac, replicas of windmills, sailing boats and ship’s lanterns, and among them, slightly larger than the rest, was a small ankh - the ancient Egyptian life-sign that appears again and again on the walls of tombs and temples in the Land of the Pharaohs, and can best be described as a loop standing on a capital T. It was fastened to the bracelet by a link attached to the top of the loop, and was made of some steel-grey metal that had been engraved on the flat surface with Egyptian hieroglyphics, and on the edge by deep parallel lines.

‘I’ve worn it for years,’ said Miranda. ‘Stella gave me this bracelet for my tenth birthday, and I’ve added something to it almost every year. The ankh was the first thing to go on it, because at the time it was the only charm I possessed.’ ‘ •<’ •

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‘Really? This is most interesting,’ said Brigadier Brindley. ‘Extraordinarily interesting. Incredible! Might I have a look at that trinket?’

‘Of course. Wait a minute and I’ll undo the catch. It’s a bit stiff. I’ve often meant to jettison that charm because it doesn’t really go with the others, but now I shall cherish it as my prize piece.’

She struggled with the stiff clasp of the bracelet and having managed to remove it, handed it across the table to the Brigadier, who examined the ankh with absorbed interest and seemed disappointed.

Tm afraid it’s not very exciting,’ apologized Miranda. ‘It hasn’t even got a date or a name or initials or anything on it. I remember a lot of men came and peered at it once, and one of them said it was modern and the signs on it were only for decoration, because they didn’t make sense, but that it was made from some alloy that might be worth looking into. He tried to bend it, I remember. But it wouldn’t bend, and because I thought he’d break it, I began to howl dismally, and one of the other men said, “Oh, let the kid have it!” and gave it back to me.’

The bracelet was passed around the table. ‘It is very interesting, is it not?’ said Mademoiselle, peering at it doubtfully before returning it to its owner.

‘It’s like a sort of fairy story, isn’t it?’ said Miranda pocketing the bracelet in preference to wrestling further with the clasp. ‘A rather creepy one by the Brothers Grimm. I never did like their stories, anyway.’

‘It is certainly a very remarkable coincidence,’ said Brigadier Brindley. ‘A most romantic story.’

‘It is even more romantic than you think!’ said Miranda with a laugh. ‘In fact if it hadn’t been for me, we should none of us be sitting here now. You see, I stayed at Stella’s house while the authorities were trying to trace my next-of-kin, who turned out to be mother’s brother, General Melville. Uncle David rushed over to see me, but he was just off to the battle, and as Aunt Frances was dead and their son - that’s Robert here - was fighting

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somewhere in the Middle East, he was in a bit of a flap as to what to do about me, and he simply jumped at Stella’s noble offer to keep me for the duration. I never saw him again, because he got killed about a year later, but when the war was over Robert turned up to collect the family burden, and stayed and married Stella instead. And Stella and Robert asked me if I’d like to spend a month with them in Berlin - and so here we all are!’

‘And there you have the end of your story,’ said Stella.

Brigadier Brindley turned and looked at her, smiling. ‘The end of your story, my dear Mrs Melville. But not the end of the story I have just told you. It is only another small piece of that story.’

‘I see what you mean, sir,’ said Robert. ‘Your story won’t end until the Ridders are discovered.’

‘Perhaps they will never be discovered,’ said Brigadier Brindley. ‘And if so, no one will ever know the end. Perhaps they are dead

- blown up by some bomb among the ruins of some broken city. I think it is very likely.’

‘Why, sir?’

‘Because if they were not dead, one of them at least should have been easy to trace. Frau Use had a deformity that was not a common one. The second and third fingers of her left hand were joined together. She had never attempted to have them operated on and was, curiously enough, rather proud of the fact, for she wore a specially made ring on the double finger. It was this ring that was largely responsible for establishing the ownership of the jewels found in - er - Wilhelmina.’

‘But surely she could have had an operation performed?’ said Robert. ‘That sort of thing is not so unusual, after all. I’ve known of a case myself, a child who

‘Ah, a child,’ interrupted the Brigadier with a tolerant smile. ‘If it is done in childhood it does not leave quite so noticeable a scar. But to perform such an operation on a grown woman would be a more difficult matter, since it would undoubtedly leave scars that would be impossible to disguise. And that is why I feel sure that Frau Use, at least, is dead. A physical defect or peculiarity is like

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an illuminated sign: it attracts attention. And not only that. Once seen it is not forgotten. It sticks in the memory of the observer when all else has faded to a blur. One seldom fails to notice, or remember, a freak of nature.’

Miranda saw Mademoiselle’s spine stiffen and her sallow face flush a painful shade of puce. The governess was one of those distressing persons who appear to be perpetually taking offence, and on this occasion she had obviously taken the Brigadier’s words as a personal affront, since she herself possessed a noticeable physical peculiarity in that her eyes were of different colour

- the left being blue and the right a grey that verged on hazel. A deviation from the normal that afforded Lottie and her young friends endless amusement. Mademoiselle had suffered a good deal from their uninhibited questions and comments, and Miranda, suspecting as much, smiled consolingly at her across the table. But Mademoiselle refused to be comforted. Her mouth narrowed into an offended line and she returned Miranda’s smile with a frosty stare, and turned to Stella.

‘If you will excuse, Madame, I would go now to find me some hot milk for the thermos. The little Charlotte will sleep better in the train if she drink the cup of hot milk when she is ready for bed.’ She rose from the table and rustled away, wounded feelings in every line of her back.

Miranda suppressed her smile and turned again to Brigadier Brindley: ‘What was she like?’

‘Frau Ridder? Not a very remarkable woman in any way. Youngish, dark hair and eyes. Medium height, medium size, passably goodlooking, but dressed in excruciatingly bad taste. I remember thinking that she must be colourblind. She favoured very bright colours. That peculiar and cruel shade of blue satin that sets one’s teeth on edge.’

‘And what about him? Herr Willi?’

The same. A rather average Teutonic type. Blond and ordinary, except for a pair of very pale blue eyes that somehow gave you the impression that they could bore holes through the side of a battle—

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ship. A deceptive sort of chap. The kind who would always choose to be the power behind the throne rather than the man who sits on it.’

Stella said: ‘Well, I’ve never been so thrilled in my life! I shall be able to dine out on this for the rest of my days. Robert, tell the waiter we’ll have our coffee in the hall, will you, darling? Coming, Miranda?’

‘•&

The train rocked and swayed to the clattering rhythm of the iron wheels, but Stella did not hear them for she was already asleep. She had borrowed two capsules of sleeping powders from Brigadier Brindley, who apparently never travelled without them, and these, combined with fatigue and the emotions of the earlier evening, had sent her into deep and dreamless sleep barely a minute or so after her head had touched the pillow. She had taken the upper berth, and the dim glow of the small reading-light at the head of Robert’s berth below faintly illuminated her face and the blond waves of hair that were as neatly pinned for the night as though she had been in her own bedroom at Mallow.

Robert stood looking at her for a moment, swaying to the swing of the train. In that dim light she appeared strangely young and exhausted. Poor SteP, thought Robert, how she does hate it! But there was nothing he could do about it. He could not, as Stella wished, leave the Army. It was the only profession he knew and he had few illusions as to his abilities. If I’m lucky, thought Robert dispassionately, I may be able to retire as substantive lieutenantcolonel - but only if I’m lucky. That’s about as far as I shall get. But if I chucked the Army now and tried for a civil job, I should probably end up as an office boy or a tout for vacuum cleaners. Stella doesn’t understand. I’d retire tomorrow and try and farm the place myself, if we had the money. But we haven’t, and that’s all there is to it. It’s a pity she hates this sort of life; it’s not a bad one really, but I suppose you have to have some sort of vocation or a military background to enable you to follow the drum and like

it.

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He yawned tiredly and sat down on the edge of his berth to remove his slippers. He had not realized that the Pages would be on the same train. A bit awkward, their being in Berlin. He would have to be careful. Sally was a sweet creature, but … Robert wriggled in between the sheets and switched off the light

Fancy meeting old Brindley again! He hadn’t seen him for over eight years - or was it nine? Not since before his father had been killed on the Anzio beaches. Queer story that. It had given Miranda a bit of a jolt. A fortune in diamonds, lost and perhaps still unclaimed. He could do with a handful of diamonds himself … and who couldn’t?

In the compartment next door Mademoiselle Beljame lifted a woollen dressinggown of Edwardian design from an aged Gladstone bag, moving quietly so as not to wake Lottie who lay in the shadows of the upper berth. A flannel nightdress followed, and a pair of hand-knitted slippers. Mademoiselle laid them out upon the berth and half filled the small washbasin with warm water. The

water sloshed to and fro with the movement of the train and made

a soft, slapping sound that provided a counterpoint to the squeaks and rattles of the train. Mademoiselle peered at her watch and then held it to her ear to make sure that it was still going; it was late then! She placed the watch carefully on a little shelf over the basin and, catching sight of herself in the mirror above it, leant forward and peered intently at her reflection. It was time she gave herself another application of the dye. She lifted a bony finger and touched the centre parting of her severely dressed hair. Tomorrow, or the next day, she must see to it.

Before the war, thought Mademoiselle, you were a young woman. Yet now you are an old one. Old and ugly.

She drew a long, quivering breath, and began to undress. It was well that she had been able to procure hot milk for the child. And what luck that the elderly Englishman should have offered her a sleeping powder, for to sleep well on trains was not always