The Edge of the Fall (18 page)

Celia

‘How could it be?' he was saying, wonderingly, as they pushed their way past two plump gentlemen.

‘Easily,ș she said, briskly, still hurrying him on. ‘Heinrich came to stay with my parents in 1898, when they were living in Hampstead. Father would never talk about it, said he was out a lot, and Mama always looked angry if it was mentioned. I suppose it happened then, and they knew about it.'

‘They knew about it?'

‘Of course.' She started to speak, then stopped.
Why else
, she wanted to say,
do you think Papa always loved you so? Why else would Rudolf call you ‘my boy'?
He said it so often that they had thought Tom his child!
Why else would your family have come from Hampstead to Mareton with us?
She thought, her mind flashing, about those terrible days at the end of the war when she had believed him, had been prepared to believe that Rudolf had been his father, the sickness in her heart that her father had chosen someone else, her hatred of him being near her. The same pain that Johann and Hilde must be feeling now.

‘So I am a de Witt after all.' His voice was hushed.

‘You are.' She hated herself then, burnt for how she felt relief in her heart that Heinrich was his father. Her relief, she knew, her peace of mind, came at the expense of her cousins'. She felt hot, her stomach hurt, her head throbbed. All she wanted to do was run back to her room and throw herself on the bed. But she couldn't Hilde would be there, weeping.

He shook his head. ‘I need a drink. Where can we go around here?'

That was the last thing she wanted. All these years – especially after that night drinking champagne with Jonathan – she had thought: maybe if Tom and I took a drink together, then something would happen. He would look at me and think of me differently. Now he was asking her for a drink and she didn't want it. She wanted only to be alone somewhere, let her heart join together again, stop hearing the sound of Hilde's tears, over and over in her mind.

‘I suppose there must be something like a public house,' she said. ‘I don't know.'

He shook his head. Then, suddenly, ‘I know! I've got it. Let's go to the Kaushaus! What do you think?'

‘We can't go in there, Tom.'

‘What, the most famous casino in the world? I think we must! Let's play for luck. I'll throw money on the tables.'

‘I haven't got any money. Anyway, I always lost when we played at school.' But he was off, and she was hurrying after him, picking up her skirts to keep them from the mud.

‘Come on, Celia,' he shouted over his shoulder. ‘Hurry!'

The casino was handsome inside, gold-painted, thick red carpets, a ceiling covered in cherubs and goddesses. You'd assume, Celia thought, that it was a ballroom or a palace – until you looked down and saw hundreds of people, bent over tables or crowding around them to watch. The avid concentration reminded her of her old school hall at exam time.

‘What do you want to play?'

‘You choose. I always lose.' They'd played cards for money quite a lot in the ambulance station. Waterton usually won. She said Celia showed everything on her face; that you could see exactly what cards she had just by looking at her. ‘You need to work on your deception,' she'd said, firmly.

‘Let's try roulette,' he said. ‘Did you know that Dostoyevsky lost all his money at the tables?'

‘Then he wrote
The Idiot
, yes.' She'd heard every tour guide reciting that fact as they shepherded people past the building.

He moved forwards, ordered wine from the waiters, handed over cash to get chips, and led her to a table. She stood behind two ladies in glittering dresses as he pushed forward to the group of men standing close to the table. A waiter brought her a glass of wine as she watched the dealer pass cards back and forth. The colours – bright red, white, black – hurt her eyes. She sipped her wine. Tom, she saw, had already drunk nearly all of his.

He pushed back to her. ‘Lost that time. Let's try another one.' She followed him over to another table, watched the cards flicker back and forth under their fingers. The game ended and the croupier handed him a set of red tokens. He turned to her, smiled. ‘I won. Now, again.' He ordered another drink. She shook her head. ‘I still have mine,' she said, pointing at it.

‘Come next to me,' he said. She stood next to him, leant on the table. It was a heavy mahogany thing topped with green. It had probably been beautiful, once.

He took a great gulp of wine. ‘Right then,' he said.

‘I'll try now,' she said. ‘I'll play against you and the others. This table.'

‘I don't like roulette much. It's all chance. I like some skill.'

She shook her head. ‘I prefer only chance.' He handed her the chips and she put them on her numbers, six, four, eighteen, two. The attendant spun. The ball fell on seventeen.

‘I lose.'

‘Play again?'

She shook her head. ‘Listen, I'm going to sit down for a minute.'

‘I'll come with you.' He followed her to a set of pale gold tables arranged along the back wall.

‘Tell me about your uncle,' he said.

‘What do you want to know?'

‘Everything. Tell me everything.'

So she did. She talked about the first time that they went to the Black Forest and met Heinrich, how he had bent down to her, said, ‘And who is this little one?' He'd held her when she was
homesick, tucked her up, patted her forehead. ‘Soon you won't want to go home,' he said. ‘I promise.' He played with her, asked her questions about home.

She talked of Hilde, Johann, attempted not to mention Lotte. She tried to remember everything her father had told her about growing up with his cousin, their lives in Berlin, their love for classical music, but Heinrich had never wanted to study it, unlike Rudolf. She tried to remember what Rudolf had said about his aunt and uncle. ‘They're your
grandparents
,' she caught herself saying, wonderingly.

She talked about how kind Heinrich was, gentle, honourable, a good father. She kept talking, only stopping when he called the waiter forward, ordered more drinks. Once Tom was sat back down, she talked again. Around her, the people continued walking in and out of the casino, laying down cards, talking, collecting chips, arguing, congratulating each other. The words flowed out of her, through her; she kept talking, finding that the more she let the sounds come out, the less she had to think about the ugly scene on the terrace, the terror on Hilde's face.

Then, finally, he stopped her. ‘Celia, we've been here for hours.'

She looked at the pale gold hands of his watch (expensive, she registered fleetingly. Rudolf had sold his). It was nearly six.

‘One last game,' he said. ‘Let's play.'

‘Really? I've played enough.'

‘One last. This time, I'll win.'

‘I'll wait here.'

She leant back against the chair, watched him walk to the tables. Some of them were still ringed by the same men who had been there when they arrived, intent on gambling, taking in the cards. She watched Tom move to the front, smile at a woman in a long green dress as she let him pass, felt a stab of jealousy.

She closed her eyes, feeling swamped with tiredness. Her mind ran, untidy and too fast, over the day. She tried to think of something else, the face of the cards on the table. Her mind reeled.

‘I did it!' She opened her eyes and Tom was in front of her. ‘I told you I would!'

‘How much did you win?'

‘Fifty marks! You can tell my father that. It's fate.'

She stood up. ‘I should go to speak to Heinrich. I'll catch him on his own, ask him to come.'

He nodded. ‘Would you?' His eyes were bright with expectation, the notes crumpled in his hand.

‘Of course! And I'm sure he'll come. Like I said. He's a kind man. He'll want to see you.' She was about to say:
he loves you
, but stopped herself – that was probably too much, even if it was true. In the past Heinrich had always asked about Tom, always keen to hear about how he was. Of course Lotte was hurt. But once she understood Tom wasn't coming to them for money, she'd learn to love him too. Who wouldn't? ‘I'll hurry back,' she said. ‘But you must find somewhere nice for him.'

Tom thought. ‘The Belvedere!'

‘You can't afford there!'

‘I can. I don't care. I'm meeting my father for dinner.'

She shook her head. ‘They won't have any tables.' She thought of Heinrich, passing its golden brilliance. ‘He said it was only for royalty and people like that, it didn't matter how much money you had.'

‘Ah yes, but I have English pounds. Haven't you found they've opened doors?'

‘I don't know, really.'

‘Well, I have.' He looked at his watch again. ‘Do you think half an hour will be enough?'

‘Maybe forty minutes?' Heinrich would have to say goodbye to Lotte, after all. And he wasn't the quickest of walkers. She thought of his half smile to them, over Lotte's head. He would come with her, sit down with Tom. The future after that was a bit fuzzy, but she was sure it would be a good one. Tom could visit them when he came over on business. She and Tom might even come over together.

‘I'll wait there,' he said, patting her hand. ‘I'll wait at the table. Choose the wine.'

‘Have some water too,' she said, but he waved her off. She
hurried out of the door of the casino, the sun striking hard on her eyes.

She rushed to the hotel, pushing through the groups of men and women – why were there people
always
standing around? – and dashed into the hotel, thinking that her hair was probably out of place. Her family weren't on the terrace. Or in the dining room. The library was full of old men, dressed in old uniforms, probably a meeting of a regiment from a long-ago war. They must be in their rooms. She wanted to go to hers, brush her hair, wash her face, but she couldn't, she was tasked with finding Heinrich. She had to keep going. She knocked on his door. There was no reply. She waited – and then pushed it open. Lotte was lying in the bed, staring at the ceiling. The curtains were half closed. Light was playing over her face. Her eyes flickered at Celia, went back to the ceiling again. Celia peered around the room. No sign of Heinrich. Easier, really, to speak to him alone. She shut the door and leant against it. He had to be somewhere else. He was probably walking somewhere, perhaps around the lake. It would take her ages to find him – and Tom was sitting at a table at the Belvedere, choosing wine for Heinrich to drink.

She walked down the corridor. Voices were coming from the doors, the sound of children's laughter, someone else talking about the servants. She rounded the corner towards her room – and saw a strange figure, half bent against the wall. It was a man, slumped, his head over his knees. She walked closer to him. He must be ill.

‘Sir?' She stepped closer, tried again. ‘Sir?'

He lifted his head. It was Heinrich. He gazed at her, face cloud-white, his eyes bloodshot. ‘What are you doing, Uncle? I thought you were ill.' His suit was creased, his trousers dirty at the bottom. He shook his head. A tear ran down his cheek. ‘I'm sorry.'

She sat beside him on the hard floor. ‘Sorry for what?' She patted the hand that was nearest to her. ‘Aunt Lotte will forgive you. You know she will. It was such a long time ago. Years.'

He shook her head. ‘Hilde won't see me.'

‘She will.'

He was crying in earnest now. She couldn't bear it.

‘This was supposed to be the holiday that made things different.'

‘I'm sorry I brought Tom, Uncle. I didn't know.'

He smiled at her, that half smile again. ‘I know you didn't. But Lotte won't believe it.'

‘She'll come round,' Celia said, patting his hand again. ‘I promise.'

He put his head back on his knees.

‘What about Johann?' she said.

He shrugged. ‘It's different for men. And anyway, he lives in his own world. You know.' He sighed.

‘But why are you sitting here?'

‘I'm waiting. I'm waiting until one of them will speak to me.' ‘I'll talk to them. I'll talk to Hilde.'

He looked at her. ‘Would you? Thank you. She'll listen to you.'

‘I'll go now. But while I am doing it, could you . . .' She stopped. Her heart swelled. She thought of Tom, sitting at the table, upright, waiting. Heinrich and he talking, smiling, eating together. Heinrich would have to brush himself down, smarten himself up – best not to go into his room to find new clothes. ‘Tom asked if you could meet him at the Belvedere. He's got you a table.'

Heinrich's head was still bent.

‘I'll get a hairbrush. We'll sort out your clothes and you can go.' She patted his leg. ‘I know, I thought the same, that Tom would never get a table, but he says he can. And you look smart. The suit is smart.'

A rich-looking couple turned around the corner, leading a child by the hand. She gave them a quick smile, hoping that would be enough to deflect them. Heinrich's head was still buried, shoulders shaking now. She put her hand on his arm, feeling the air on her face from the sway of the woman's skirts. She watched them walk to the end of the corridor, the pale blond child turning to stare.

‘Tom's so excited to talk to you, Uncle.' His shoulders shook again. Then he raised his head, his eyes red, the hair astray. She patted his hand. ‘Let's go.'

‘I can't.'

‘What?'

‘I Can't go.' He clutched her hand. ‘You understand, don't you, Celia? Not today.'

‘But Tom is waiting. He's waiting for you in the restaurant.'

‘Celia, I can't leave Lotte and Hilde. You must see.'

Panic was seizing her, curving into her heart. ‘But it would only be for a short time, Uncle. Two hours. Lotte is asleep. And I'll talk to Hilde. They won't know you're gone.'