Which was the day after tomorrow.
His first instinct was to refuse. But he decided that would be stupid, and besides, he did not want to refuse. It would surely be amusing to see Reger again...and he could obviously know nothing of that strange interlude in 1906; while the very fact of the invitation made it apparent that he had recovered from his former hostility.
And then, Margriet herself...but did he want to see her again? Of course he did, the more so now that there was no risk of him again falling under her spell. He was married, in the happiest possible way, and as Lee knew all about her, there would be nothing clandestine in having dinner with her. In fact, he would write and tell Lee about it afterwards, and they would have a good laugh.
And he might be able to find out something about little Paul. Little Paul! The boy would be damned near twelve years old by now.
Additionally, the Regers were on his territory, for whatever reason. They would have to accept things as he wanted them to be. Besides, it might be important to discover just what they were doing in Ireland and how they had known where to find him.
He sent an acceptance, and arranged to have the night off; it would be too late after dinner to return to the camp, so Reynolds booked him into another hotel in Dublin. They arrived at five in the afternoon. Murdoch changed into sky-blue shell jacket and dark blue overalls, then took a cab, arriving in the lounge of the Royal Dublin at six o’clock sharp, as invited.
‘Murdoch Mackinder!’ Reger wore evening dress, and came forward with hand outstretched. He had changed very little in a dozen years; his yellow hair might have receded slightly, and he might have put on a little weight. He looked very fit, although Murdoch knew he could not be all that far short of forty. But his face had definitely coarsened, the curl of the lip more arrogant than Murdoch remembered, the eyes brighter, the smile more brittle. ‘You are more handsome than ever,’ Reger declared. And those medals...my dear fellow, I have never shaken hands with a genuine hero before.’
Sarcasm, obviously, but Murdoch reckoned that if that was the worst he had to put up with it would be a successful evening. ‘Being a hero is a matter of luck. But you, a baron?’
‘Also a matter of luck. But uncles do die, eventually, and nephews then prosper, even wildcap nephews. Now come...you remember Margriet, I imagine?’
Murdoch allowed himself to be escorted across the room to where the woman waited. Here was beauty, and wealth, and composure. Margriet von Reger wore a pale blue satin gown, cut square across the bodice to expose her throat and the tops of her breasts, over the left of which was pinned a huge dark blue satin rosette. The gown and bodice were decorated with wide vertical silver bands; the gloves were white kid, she wore a pearl necklace, and there was an aigrette in the upswept golden hair. Murdoch did not care to estimate the value of the rings on her fingers. And even the clothes and the jewellery could not match up to the calm beauty of the face.
Yet his gaze was more taken with the boy standing at her side, hardly up to her shoulders, dark-haired where both his parents were blond, also wearing evening dress.
‘Major Mackinder,’ Margriet said softly. ‘How good it is to see you again after all of these years. You have not met our eldest son, Paul.’
Murdoch bent over her hand, inhaled her scent—the same scent he remembered from eight years before—and then shook hands with the boy, who gazed at him with solemn eyes. My son, he thought—a fact of which both Reger and Margriet were aware. Perhaps he had, after all, walked into at least a sentimental trap.
‘Ha ha,’ Reger said at his shoulder. ‘He is interested in uniforms. And confused. He thinks all British officers wear red jackets.’
‘Most of them do,’ Murdoch acknowledged. ‘My regiment is an odd one.’
‘Unique, one could say,’ Reger agreed. ‘And do you see that crimson ribbon, Paul? That is the Victoria Cross. It is the equivalent of our Pour le Mérite, eh? Major Mackinder is a true hero.’
He was being almost offensively effusive. But Murdoch smiled, and accepted a drink. He had walked into this with his eyes open, and must now enjoy the evening.
‘And the blue and red one?’ asked Margriet.
‘That is the Distinguished Service Order.’
‘Again, an award given only to men who have proved themselves on the field of battle,’ Reger said. ‘And the orange and blue?’
‘That shows that I served in the South African War,’ Murdoch told him quietly.
Murdoch glanced at Paul; the boy’s face seemed to have closed.
‘He is a fine boy, is he not?’ Reger asked, observing the glance. ‘We have five others at home.’
‘Five?’ Murdoch raised his eyebrows.
‘Not all of them are boys, of course. Two are girls. Including our baby. But I believe in keeping my wife occupied. Do I not, dear?’
‘I am always occupied,’ Margriet agreed.
It was difficult to decide whether she had inspired this evening, or was as uncomfortable as himself; Murdoch thought. Her face was certainly serene, but her fingers were nervous.
‘But Paul is the only one of them to be born in one of your Lord Kitchener’s concentration camps,’ Reger said. ‘He cannot remember what it was like, of course. But I have told him all about it. I felt it was my duty. What do you think of the way the British treated your mother, Paul?’
‘It was hateful,’ Paul von Reger said. ‘The British are hateful people.’ His eyes glowed.
‘Paul!’ his mother remonstrated. ‘You...’ She glanced at Murdoch and bit her lip.
‘That was unforgivably rude,’ his father told him. ‘I will speak to you later. Now go to bed. After apologising to Major Mackinder.’
The boy stood up, took his place before Murdoch. ‘I apologise for my rudeness, Major Mackinder,’ he said, clicking his heels and bowing as he did so. Then he said good night as formally to each of his parents and left the room.
‘I hope you will not be hard on him,’ Murdoch said. ‘After all, you did ask the question.’
‘And children have the rare privilege of speaking the truth, without giving offence, one trusts,’ Reger observed.
‘It is absurd to be offended by a child,’ Murdoch agreed.
‘Nevertheless, he was rude. But I shall only whip him a little.’ Reger grinned at him. ‘Now tell me, what are you doing in Ireland with your splendid regiment?’
‘Training,’ Murdoch said, trying not to think about the boy, because he could not help him now; the pair of them had been equally entrapped. ‘That is all we ever do, nowadays.’
‘Ha ha. But that is true of all armies. It is becoming too expensive actually to fight, so they train. Even in Germany we train, and send observers to look on at these little wars in the Balkans to see if we can learn anything.’
‘We?’ Murdoch inquired.
‘Paul is a colonel in the Uhlans,’ Margriet said quietly.
‘A colonel? I remember you telling me that you were a reservist...my congratulations.’
Reger grinned some more. ‘Being a baron helps.’
‘But you mean your reservists have been called to the colours?’
‘We are called to the colours several times a year. Our reservists are not...what do you call yours? Militia?’
‘Territorials. That is because they cannot be forced to serve outside England.’
‘Of course. Your last line of defence against invasion, eh?’
Murdoch stared at him. ‘We prefer to rely upon our first line, the Royal Navy.’
‘Oh, indeed. The never-broken shield. Our reservists, having no water frontier behind which we can hide, are required to be as professional as those in the regular army, to be able to join that army at a moment’s notice and take their places in the line of battle.’
‘That must be very comforting for you,’ Murdoch remarked. He turned to Margriet, ‘If not for your wives and families.’ Having riposted as best he was able, he hurried on. ‘But what brings you to Ireland?’
‘Horses,’ Reger told him. ‘I am looking for some new blood for my stables, and Ireland, so I am told, has the finest horses in the world. Would you agree with that, old friend?’
Murdoch didn’t care much for the term of affection, but he nodded. ‘I would say there are some fine horses to be had here.’
‘Good. Good. I am looking forward to discovering some. Ah, our table is ready. I took the liberty of ordering. I hope you do not mind?’
‘Saves time,’ Murdoch agreed.
*
The food was good, if somewhat heavily weighted in favour of cabbage and sausage, the wine was excellent, and the conversation deliberate.
‘It was a wrench, ,in many ways, giving up the farm, the whole community, in the Transvaal,’ Reger said. ‘We had been friends for so long, fought together, worked together, experienced many hardships together, and died together. But of course, you saw something of our life at first hand.’
‘I did,’ Murdoch agreed. ‘And, of course, it was Margriet’s home.’
‘Oh, I think she was more pleased than I to leave it. Wouldn’t you say so, my dear?’
‘I would have hated to live all of my life in one place,’ Margriet said.
‘Exactly. And yet...once the war was over and we were allowed to get back to work, we prospered. It is a pity you never saw our little valley after we had rebuilt it, Murdoch.’
My God, Murdoch thought: he knows about our meeting in Johannesburg. He glanced at Margriet, but her expression had not changed.
‘However, duty called, so we sold up and came back to Germany, and my estates there. You must visit us in Prussia, Murdoch. You would enjoy it. It takes me a whole day to ride from one end to the other of my property.’
‘Sounds gross,’ Murdoch said, carefully accenting the word to make it into the German grosse, meaning great.
‘So I have become a farmer and a part-time soldier, while you have been soldiering and earning more medals,’ Reger observed. ‘And leading your men in famous cavalry charges, I understand.’
‘It seemed the right thing to do at the time.’
‘You were badly wounded,’ Margriet said.
‘That was afterwards. But I recovered. I always do.’
‘And now you are a major. Soon to be a colonel?’
‘One day, perhaps.’
‘So we are both prospering,’ Reger said. ‘In our own chosen fields. I am glad of that.’ His complacency would have been insufferable save that he obviously had no idea that Broad Acres existed—even if Murdoch could ride from one end to the other of his property in a couple of hours.—and more surprisingly, neither of them seemed aware that he was married. No doubt that news had not been important enough to reach either the Transvaal or Prussia. But now that he realised Reger knew all about his visit to Africa in 1906, he could only wait for the German to show his hand.
Sure enough, when the meal was finished and they adjourned to the lounge, Margriet made ready to leave but her husband shook his head. ‘You remain here and entertain our guest for a few minutes. I shall not be long. Unless you would care to accompany me, Murdoch?’
The correct thing would be to say yes, Murdoch knew. But then Reger would just engineer another tête-à-tête, and he was both curious and impatient to arrive at the reason for the evening. ‘I’m content, thank you,’ he said.
‘Of course.’ Reger gave one of his cold smiles and left the room, while a waiter hurried forward with a decanter of port, three glasses and a box of cigars on a tray.
‘Have you really recovered from all of those wounds?’ Margriet asked.
‘Yes. I must congratulate you on having realised all your ambitions.’
‘My ambitions,’ she said. ‘Murdoch...I must speak to you. In private.’
He gazed at her through a cloud of smoke. ‘You believe in living dangerously. Don’t you know that’s why your husband has left us alone?’
‘Oh...he suspects nothing of us.’
‘You mean you didn’t tell him about Johannesburg?’
‘My God...he would have strangled me, I think.’
‘And you think he has forgiven me for “raping” you, back in 1901?’
‘It would appear so, or he would hardly have invited you to dinner. But he has not forgiven me for allowing myself to be raped. Murdoch.’ She leaned forward. ‘My life is hell. It becomes more of a hell with every day.’
‘I find it hard to believe that.’ He looked at her fingers.
‘Oh, these baubles...do you think they are mine? They are his, and he decides which ones I shall wear, and when. If I am heavily laden tonight, it is because he wishes to impress you. The same with my clothes...my very life. He parades his beautiful wife in public, so that he can take her back to his bedroom and humiliate her afterwards. My God, if I were to tell you some of the things he does to me...’
‘I would prefer if you did not,’ Murdoch said. ‘What a man and his wife do together is private to them alone. You can always leave him, if he ill-treats you.’
‘A wife, leave her husband, in Germany? And that husband a baron? I would be arrested.’
‘You could have left him in South Africa,’ he reminded her. ‘Under the protection of British law.’
‘I was so foolish not to. And you have not forgiven me for that.’
‘On reflection, I thought you did the right thing. I could never have given you what Reger has, the things you wanted to have. I was angry with you for deceiving me, yes. But I got over it.’
‘I will come to you now,’ she said, and almost gasped at the boldness of her words.
‘Now? With six children?’
‘I hate the children. They are his, not mine. I will bring Paul, if you wish. He has been brought up to be a very proper little Prussian, but perhaps we could re-educate him; he is still very young. But I will come. Murdoch’—she rested her hand on his arm—‘I have always loved you. I dream of you at night. Murdoch, I would make you the happiest man on earth. I swear it. I will sacrifice everything for you, and keep on doing so. I...’
‘As you once said to me, I cannot.’
She stared at him. ‘It is cruel to throw my words in my face. I was very young and very foolish then.’
‘I cannot,’ he said again. ‘Because now I have a wife. And children.’
The stare grew in intensity, and then slowly relaxed. She released his arm and leaned back in her chair. ‘An English woman?’
‘An American.’
‘An American?’ Her voice was heavy with contempt. ‘Do you love her?’
‘Very much.’
‘As much as you love me?’
‘I do not love you, Margriet,’ he said. ‘I think I did, once, because of what we shared, and you risked and suffered, I shall always think of you with great affection, and if what you tell me is true, with pity. You are also the mother of my eldest son. But as you say, he has been adopted by Reger and brought up as his. To attempt to change that now would be to give the boy an intolerable burden of divided loyalties to carry for the rest of his life. And I am not in love with you now.’
‘I would make you love me,’ she said. ‘I would...’ She sat straight, fingers twisted together, then untangled them and sipped her cold coffee.
‘Do you know,’ Reger said, standing above them. ‘I have discovered that it is most remarkably mild outside. Why do we not all take a stroll in the garden? It is very pretty there, and there is nothing like a walk after a good meal to aid the digestion.’
‘I am very tired, Paul,’ Margriet said. ‘I think I will retire.’
‘You will enjoy a walk, my dear,’ Reger said, his voice laden with authority and menace.
Margriet hesitated, then stood up.
Murdoch stood up also. The next act in the comedy—or the tragedy—was about to begin, and he was more curious than ever to discover what Reger had in mind. They descended the side stairs, the doorman hurriedly producing the baroness’s wrap, and then went out into the scented garden, which ran down to
the waters of the Liffey.
Reger led the way until they were out of sight of the hotel. They looked down at the river itself and the moored boats gleaming in the dull light of the street lamps, half shrouded in a slowly gathering mist.
‘This will be thick by morning,’ Reger said. ‘But the more beautiful for that. I find Ireland a beautiful place. It is a shame the Irish hate the British so much. But then, so many people do hate the British.’
‘I have a feeling that you are amongst them, Paul,’ Murdoch said, deciding to force the issue. ‘I think I should leave.’
‘So soon? I was hoping you would tell me where you and Margriet have decided to meet.’
Margriet caught her breath, while Murdoch frowned; he had provoked more than he had anticipated.
‘I observed her hand on your arm, my dear fellow. You were certainly having a very intimate conversation. Or were you merely reminiscing about your last clandestine meeting, at the Union Hotel in Johannesburg?’
Margriet took a step backwards, almost as if she would have fallen. Neither man made any effort to help her, and she regained her balance.
‘I had you followed, my dear,’ Reger explained. ‘I have always had you followed. My wife, spending an hour in another man’s bedroom. I would have been within my rights to kill you.’
‘But you preferred to beat her instead,’ Murdoch suggested.
‘Oh, indeed. Without even telling her why I was doing it. She is a dull girl, really. But it is always a pleasure to whip Margriet. She cries so, and begs for mercy.’
‘God,’ Margriet whispered. ‘Oh, God!’
‘So I think I am entitled to challenge you to a duel,’ Reger said. ‘I still have the deposition of my agent in Johannesburg. His description is undoubtedly that of you, Murdoch. So I have the evidence that you are the adulterer, supported by evidence that you were in Johannesburg, using an assumed name, at the time. I am therefore in a position to demand satisfaction.’
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