LITMIR.BIZ

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      ‘He says it was in his arm, his good arm. He sat without moving for two and a half hours. “She softly passed away in my arms,” he says. But of England now, he says it is run by Jews and freemasons and is part of the conspiracy of international capital to encircle Germany.’

      Krebbs nodded. She was evidently a willing source. He would be justified in seeing more of her. ‘It is good that he says that, not only because it is correct but because it is good for him. And the Princess?’

      ‘I have never heard the Princess speak of England. But the old Empress, Princess Dona, is said to have hated the English.’

      ‘Does the Princess say anything of Germany?’

      ‘I believe she admires Herr Hitler and thinks he has done many good things for the German people.’

      Such ready co-operation could be either genuine, or naive, or a front. Her answers fitted each. Similarly, her apparent lack of resentment of him, the representative of the invader, was either encouraging or something more sinister.

      As they approached the moat some of the ducks waddled towards them, quacking. ‘His Highness feeds them every day,’ she said. ‘It is part of his routine, like sawing and chopping wood.’

      There was sudden barking behind them as Arno bounded across the lawn, his thick black fur raised and his fangs visible. The ducks took fright, splashing and squawking back into the water. For the first time, he thought, she appeared to lack confidence. She stood still as the dog approached.

      ‘Be careful, this is Arno, the Princess’s dog. He bites strangers sometimes.’ She held up her hand as the dog ran at them, calling his name, but he did not stop.

      Krebbs faced the dog, keeping his hands behind his back. He was confident with dogs, proud that they respected his authority. He particularly liked German Shepherds, beautiful, strong, loyal dogs. Anyway, he had already made friends with Arno at the gate lodge. Arno slowed as he neared them, barking still, his hackles up. This was a warning, not an attack. Krebbs could tell.

      ‘Arno, sit,’ he said quietly. The dog stopped, uncertain and growling. Krebbs held out the back of his hand. ‘Arno, come.’ The dog advanced warily and sniffed the back of his hand. Its hackles went down and it wagged its tail slowly. Krebbs carefully fondled its head, then held out his hand, palm down, above it. ‘Arno, sit.’ Arno sat. Krebbs sensed the maid relax behind him.

      ‘You must be good with dogs. Normally, Arno heeds no one but the Princess.’

      ‘You do not like them?’

      ‘Some dogs, but not Arno. He does not like me. I can tell.’

      ‘It must be something he senses about you, perhaps that you are frightened. They sense fear.’

      ‘Maybe.’ She resumed walking parallel with the moat, heading for the rear of the house.

      Krebbs tapped his thigh for Arno to come to heel and continued beside her. The dog obeyed. ‘Also Jews,’ he said. ‘Some, especially these Shepherds, can sense Jews.’

      ‘Is that so?’

      ‘Probably by their smell.’

      He did not want to go any nearer the house, not yet. He stopped. ‘I must see to the guard. Will you be serving at dinner this evening?’

      ‘I don’t know. It depends who else is on duty.’

      ‘It would be best if people do not know the subject of our conversation.’ She said nothing. Her silence and self-containment made him uneasy. ‘What is your name?’

      ‘Akki.’ She added no other.

      ‘My name is Martin. Untersturmführer Martin Krebbs. I am from Leipzig.’ She said nothing. The ducks milled about on the moat while Arno sat at Krebbs’s heel. ‘I hope you do not feel too badly about the occupation of your country. It is necessary because of our enemies but it is not ill-intentioned.’ He spoke rapidly, his words unplanned. She gazed into the moat. He observed the turn of her neck and the profile of her cheek with his eyes but felt them in his chest, as if he had been hit. ‘While I am here I shall try to make it all right for you.’ It was foolish, unnecessary, wrong, he knew; but he wanted her to react to him.

      She glanced at him, still saying nothing, then turned and headed for the house. Arno went to follow but Krebbs tapped his thigh and led him back to the gatehouse.

      Major van Houten returned from lunch not very long after, to Krebbs’s relief. He seemed sober but said little. Krebbs decided to escort him to the barracks himself. It was some distance away but the lorry that had taken the Dutch soldiers there had returned with those of his own he had sent to escort them. Motor transport was something else that had become mysteriously scarce of late, at platoon and company level, anyway. Perhaps, with the continent all but conquered, the High Command was considering opening another front, such as the invasion of England, so long overdue. That would be harder fighting than anything they had yet faced, if Le Paradis were anything to go by, though the pathetic little English army was now much depleted even allowing for those that had escaped from Dunkirk, and its equipment was anyway inferior. But they would be bitter, the English, if they ever found out about Paradis.

      Meanwhile, the Dutch major showed no sign of wanting to flee – indeed, he had had his chance over lunch – and permitted himself to be relieved of his side arm without demur. He answered questions put to him, volunteered nothing and seemed perfectly correct, although his imperturbable, doleful manner made it impossible to tell what he was thinking, and therefore what he might do. Krebbs disliked ambiguity and uncertainty, and wanted to be rid of him. He also disliked the driver of the lorry, an unfortunately all too typical representative of the transport platoon of the Wehrmacht battalion to which he was attached. The drivers appeared to regard their vehicles as their own and gave the impression that transporting soldiers was at best a favour, at worst an imposition. Not that the driver said anything, of course, but his expression on realising that he would have to bring Krebbs back after dropping off the major and so miss the HQ company meal was eloquent enough for Krebbs to consider a charge of dumb insolence. However, there were plenty of other things to be doing and he did not want to miss his own dinner because of the formalities of disciplinary action. The driver turned the lorry round and sat with the engine idling. Krebbs left Arno with the guard, telling them not to feed him. German Shepherds had to be kept in good shape.

      Princess Hermine sat before her ornate dressing-table mirror, contemplating the ruin of her face. Hair one could do something with, other bits could be covered up, but the sagging and wrinkling of the face, the drawing-down of the lips, the stretching and pouching of the cheeks, the awful, daily collapse of an entire landscape was saddening beyond words. Why could not God have made an exception of the face? Let everything else age, let it all go, but keep the face young, or at least presentable. The worst thing was that the wrinkles showed most when she smiled. Yet she liked to smile, when appropriate. In youth, her smile had been a great asset; it would be hard to give it up now.

      She touched her wiry hair a few more times with the delicate silver brush, part of her wedding present from Willie. Her blue dress with white silk lower sleeves would do for dinner, along with a single string of pearls. It would be sensible not to be too ostentatious and anyway it was not as if their guest were important in himself, only for what he represented. It was essential that he should report back – surely he would report – on a modest and well-disposed household. After all, if one could not keep one’s face one could at least take some satisfaction from one’s achievements, and nurture one’s ambitions.

      As for achievements, she had not done badly. First, she had escaped her family. The Poison Squirt, as her sisters used to call her, had stunned them all with her rich and successful first marriage and then her five children, bang, bang, bang, like peas from a pod. Then came her comfortable widowhood and everyone had assumed that was it with her until, bang, she had stunned them again – stunned them speechless – with her marriage to the widowed Kaiser. What did it matter that he preserved Dona’s room as a shrine, with only himself and the cleaning maids allowed in while she, the Princess, had to make do with lesser rooms?

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