Kissing Kin (38 page)

“I hope I didn’t frighten you. But the Adlon is really no place to speak privately.”

“And what have you to say that is so private?” she asked with determined lightness.

“I want to ask you to arrange for me to attend the
Independence
Day reception at your Embassy—to go with you, I mean, as one of your family party.”

“Is
that all!”

“Will it be so easy?”

“Bracken knows the Ambassador quite well. He can ask for an invitation for a friend of ours, or whatever needs to be done.”

“And he will not object to my being one of your party?”

“Of course not, if I want you to come with us.”

“I would be most grateful.”

“Why?” she asked curiously, and again he gave her that long, thoughtful glance, and returned his gaze at once to the road ahead.

“It is advisable these days to take a little trouble about where one is seen—or not seen,” he said coolly.

“And you think it would do you good to be seen with us?”

“In certain circumstances—yes.”

“And your father?” she inquired, and saw his face harden. “Would he care to come too?”

“My father and I are not now on terms,” he said briefly, and the car quickened its pace.

“You mean you’ve quarrelled with him?”

“Hardly that. But many of the old Imperial Army officers, like my father, have held too long to ideas which have become—obsolete.”

“You mean you’ve gone Nazi and he wouldn’t? You’re not a Monarchist any more yourself?”

“We have a Leader,” he said stiffly. “We do not need the Hohenzollerns too.”

“You
believe
in Hitler now?” she cried in open
disillusionment
.

“When did I not believe in him?”

“That day at Cannes—talking to Johnny in the garden, after the September elections. And you always said that Hitler could not last—you always said he was an outsider and would be got rid of—you said—”

“You are mistaken,” said Victor flatly. “You have confused me with someone else.”

“I have
not!
” she cried indignantly. “Johnny was there and he heard you too!”

“You will do me the favour not to refer again to a matter in which your memory obviously plays you false,” said Victor with a rasp in his usually pleasant voice and the somewhat
stilted idiom which sometimes betrayed that he had read English more than he had heard it spoken. “Especially at the American Embassy on the Fourth of July,” he added more politely, and she was silent a moment, thinking it over.

“Victor, are you in some kind of trouble here?” she asked then.

He drove for what seemed like a long time without replying, and she waited, watching his rigid profile.

“I am sorry you have come to Germany just at this time,” he said at last, choosing his words. “We are not—ourselves.”

“What are you, then?” she asked with a touch of flippancy which he ignored.

“We are a revolution,” he said solemnly.

“But I thought you’d had that. A bloodless one, when Hitler came to power by elections.”

“It was necessary, of course, to—regulate the voting,” said Victor, and added coldly, “There is no such thing as a
revolution
without blood.”

“Oh, come, what about the English one somewhere
roundabout
1688?” she challenged, deliberately trying to provoke him out of what she considered a melodramatic mood, for the sun was shining and people were strolling in the gardens, and the world looked a very normal, pleasant place even in Berlin.

“The
English!
” Contempt hissed through the word. “And nearly three hundred years ago, besides! As a nation they are bloodless, anyway, cold as codfish, greedy, two-faced, and decadent. The English are finished! It only remains for them to find it out.”

“Stupid about that, aren’t they!” she flashed back resentfully. “Very obtuse, aren’t they!”

There was an angry silence in the humming car, for they had argued about the English before, to no effect. Camilla, realizing that she had asked for it, was the first to speak, making an effort to restore normal conversation.

“Well, who is revolutionizing against whom?” she asked,
ready to take a polite interest in German politics and report later to Bracken.

“It is within the Party, entirely, Espionage—tale-bearing—accusations, probably well-founded, of intrigue against the Leader—it is useless to mention names to anyone who does not know all the nuances. Those of us who do know too much in any direction—we can trust no one.”

“I don’t quite see why you think being seen with me can help you.”

“There is still tremendous caution regarding American opinion. Your friendship would be a protection to me, if you would allow it.”

“Victor, why don’t you leave Germany for good, if this is the way it’s going to be?”

“Nonsense. My place is here, with the Leader.”

“Don’t call him by that silly name!” she cried irritably, and saw his neck redden with quickly-controlled anger. “You know I’ll do whatever I can for you—gladly. But I think you ought to see Bracken himself and make the arrangements to go with us on the Fourth.”

“As you wish.”

“We’re dining out to-night, as I told you. But you might take me back to the hotel in time to have a drink with us before we have to dress.”

“Thank you.”

“Victor, don’t be cross, darling—it all seems so fantastic!”

“Fantastic?” He repeated the word as though he had never heard it before. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“All this marching and stamping and saluting and
flag-carrying
and sabre-rattling! It’s so—so
childish!
”

“You use some very odd words,” he said, offended.

“Why can’t you
relax,
Victor, why can’t you Germans ever enjoy life a bit, and try to see a joke, and make love, and behave like mere human beings instead of supermen?”

“You think a German never makes love?” he said
dangerously
. “You are always a little put out, aren’t you, that I do
not. And do you suppose that if just once I kissed you I would ever let you go again?”

“
Well!
” said Camilla inadequately, taken completely by surprise, staring at his immovable profile.

“I do not want you in my life, Camilla,” he went on, driving smoothly, watching the road. “Women, yes—but not a woman like you, whom it would be impossible to forget. Besides, you are too unreliable. I could not trust your discretion in Germany, either as my mistress or my wife.”

“Well,
really—!
” gasped Camilla, beginning to be angry.

“That is why I never asked you,” said Victor, his eyes on the road.

“You were so sure that I would accept!” she said, outraged.

“Would you not?”

“
No
, I would not!”

“Forgive me,” he said formally. “I misunderstood.”

She sat beside him, seething, while he turned the car back towards the Adlon. All the same, something inside her was gratified in a way. He had not been so impervious after all.

The June weather in Berlin was hot and beautiful. People sunbathed and took long walks and drives out to the lakes, and gave garden parties.

Bracken and Johnny with their friends and belongings were always welcome guests at the big house in the Tiergarten Strasse which bore the American eagle plaque, and the
Ambassador
’s daughter was a gay, intelligent creature who liked to have informal gatherings of a rather mixed and
undiplomatic
nature. Camilla asked and received permission to bring Victor to one of these afternoon affairs a few days before the Independence Day reception. He was not unknown at the Embassy, but had heretofore attended only large official functions. His good looks and impressive carriage
recommended
him to any young woman’s eye, and the Ambassador’s daughter received him with her characteristic friendliness—but he wore the black SS uniform, instead of the lounge suit
customary on such occasions, and it was the only one
there that day. The party was a little constrained, but no one could have sworn that that was the fault of the striking black-clad figure in its midst.

Camilla, who had known Victor only at his leisure on holidays outside Germany, began unwillingly to
recognize that he was now a badly frightened man. Everyone knew that something was brewing in Berlin—no one seemed to know what. On their drives together, for a car was almost the only place where there could be no dictaphones and no
eavesdropping
, she tried to draw him out and come at the cause of his increasing inward terror. Nothing so simple as the fear of death, she was sure, could act on a man that way—a man trained to courage and self-control as Victor’s kind were trained. People were shot at, were spirited away to
concentration
camps in the middle of the night, which was often worse, she was well aware—but surely not anyone with a
zu
in his name—surely not anyone in that uniform?

Victor seemed to think that he answered all her questions, he seemed impatient that she did not comprehend better, and he was furious if she blamed the Nazi system for the state of Berlin nerves at that time. There was dissension within the Party, he admitted—the men close to the Leader were in some cases unworthy—Hitler had nothing to do with the atrocities, they were committed without his knowledge by people who took advantage of him….

But how was it possible to take advantage of a man whose power was absolute, Camilla would insist, and why were these men retained—and why was Streicher the Jew-baiter known to be one of Hitler’s closest friends? To this Victor made no direct reply. He had himself protested more than once against the atrocities, he said, on the ground that they would have a bad effect on foreign opinion of the Nazi rule, just as better relations with other countries were beginning. He was so explicit on that point that Camilla looked at him oddly—it was not pity for the victims, it was not humane justice nor any
sense of delicacy that caused Victor’s objections to Nazi cruelty—it was what people outside Germany might
say,
people who were squeamish, he implied. Moreover, he had been
reprimanded
by his superiors for his impertinence, and dared not bring it up again.

Yet he clung to Camilla’s companionship in a way which seemed to include a sort of gratitude for being allowed to take up her time, and which was very different from his arrogant assurance in the past, and which sat strangely on his uniformed prestige even now. He took her to all the most prominent and expensive cafés and dancing places, flaunting their friendship with a satisfaction so naïve as to have something of pathos in it. Victor was frightened. It didn’t make sense.

As that hot, bright June drew to its close, Camilla and Bracken were linked by a rising mutual excitement which was not shared by their travelling companions—a tingling
awareness
, natural enough in an old newspaper man like Bracken who had been through the wars, but in Camilla it sprang
unexpectedly
from an intense nervous perception, a sixth sense of hidden implications and of the mounting hysteria in the air she breathed. Dinah went round looking white and
apprehensive
. Jeff confessed that his tummy was inside out all the time, Johnny was moody and profane. But Bracken and Camilla watched everything with bright, recording eyes, listened with ears almost visibly erect to what went on around them.

Camilla had long ago learned German to sing in, and had used it easily at Salzburg and in Switzerland for years, just as she had learned French for her life at Cannes. Tri-lingual now, she repeated to Bracken in faithful detail whatever she heard that he hadn’t, in the streets, in the shops and restaurants, from the chambermaids, or at the French Embassy where she had a devoted friend in one of the young attachés. And she repeated to him also whatever she extracted from Victor and other Berlin acquaintances.

There were rumours of Hitler’s growing difficulties, even of
his possible collapse—now?—would it come
now?
—and who would be his successor?—
which
Hohenzollern, the Kaiser was too old and had failed once, the Crown Prince was always unpopular, his sons were lightweight and unreliable, one of them thoroughly inoculated with un-German ideas after a residence in the United States—rumours of rising discontent among the German people, who were growing tired of tight rationing and long working hours—would they turn against him in time?—would they free themselves, offering martyrs to the cause if necessary, could they unite before it was too late and choose a new government?—and what kind of
government
?—Germany was not naturally a democracy, it was a nation of bureaucrats, big toads in little puddles, big fleas with littler fleas to bite them, accustomed to a system of pompous authority and obsequious underlings. People were saying that von Papen was scared within an inch of his life now—von Papen who always worked both sides of the street, and whose switch to Nazism was one of the first sure signs that it was a force to be reckoned with. They said a faction was ganging up against Roehm and his S.A. troopers, and that Hitler liked it that way. They said von Schleicher’s number was up, though his easy, confident bearing had not changed, and von
Blomberg
’s, and von Fritsch’s—all the old guard were doomed. Conrad zu Polkwitz-Heidersdorf? Eyebrows were raised
noncommittally
. Keeping very quiet, doubtless behind von Schleicher, whose views he was known to share. His son was a rabid Nazi, of course, and lived in Goering’s pocket these days—good place to be if there was trouble. Maybe. Goering was too big for Hitler’s pocket, though, and little Goebbels had got there first. Von Hindenberg? Senile. If Hindenberg died it would be between von Papen and Hitler for the presidency. Odds on Hitler, yes, but von Papen had a curious knack of surviving….

Camilla and Bracken would mull it over endlessly,
speculating
, rejecting, surmizing—the keenness of their suspense left no room for personal nervousness or disgust. Like surgeons,
they examined with academic interest the festering sore which was the German crisis and awaited what the knife would reveal. Johnny said with some respect that she had missed her calling, and should have been a gal reporter like Sigrid Schultz, and added that if she and Bracken had seen as much between them as he had in his time they would both be sick as dogs like him. But Camilla said, “I wouldn’t miss this for worlds, it’s the biggest question mark since the war.” And Bracken said, with an awful satisfaction, “It won’t be long now.”