‘You will!’ Ida insisted. ‘You’ll lose it if you wallow about like this. And it’ll be entirely your fault.’
She wouldn’t, Elke determined, positively. If Otto Reimann showed any interest in deepening the relationship she’d do everything she could to make it work. Everything? she asked herself, at once. Too soon to start posing questions like that. ‘We’ll see,’ she said.
‘I hope we do,’ said Ida, always someone who wanted the last word.
‘The Soviet Union is disintegrating into chaos!’ protested Cherny. ‘The Russian Federation is ignoring us! Lithuania and Estonia and Latvia are defying central control! We are going to end up at best a confederation, bowing to the God of Market Forces. Have you any conception how exposed we’ll be then, as a country? No buffer states! No protection!’ In deference to his rank, Sorokin had today come to Cherny, to the General’s personal dacha set among the wooded military complex on the outskirts of Moscow, off the Zagorsk highway.
‘I know the arguments. And the fears,’ said Sorokin. It was the nearest the General had come since they had been brought together to hinting that he was only paying lip-service to glasnost and perestroika and that he might regret the passing of the old order. Sorokin supposed it was an understandable attitude, particularly for a soldier. He’d had problems adjusting himself. Sorokin held up his thumb and forefinger, allowing the narrowest of gaps. ‘Reimann’s that close. He made a convincing argument against going too fast and losing her.’
Cherny, who was wearing his uniform but with the tunic undone and his shirt collar open, shook his head. ‘You know what worries me? I still can’t imagine how we could stop them building up a military machine again, if we discovered it was going to happen.’
‘That wouldn’t be our responsibility,’ Sorokin pointed out. ‘That would be the task of the politicians.’
‘That worries me, too,’ said Cherny. ‘It’s politicians who have destroyed the Soviet Union!’
Chapter Twenty
It was a morning when Gïnther Werle had no meetings away from his office, and at the end of their daily diary discussion he asked Elke to return directly after he had given the low-classified dictation to the secretaries. Werle was at the window overlooking the Chancellery park, seemingly deep in thought, when she re-entered the Cabinet Secretary’s suite. He was still reflective when he turned to her, the smile coming as an apparent afterthought. ‘Congratulations!’ he said. He’d tried to rehearse the announcement but remained unsure of the words to convey precisely what he wanted.
Werle was not a man given to obscure remarks, and Elke wondered why he was doing it now. It was as if he was trying to impress her, something she could not remember his so obviously doing before. She said: ‘Upon what?’
‘Your security classification is being raised, to Top Secret, Eyes-Only rating,’ he declared.
Elke was utterly astonished. It gave her access to every grade of classified material passing through the office: it was, she supposed, the ultimate acknowledgement of her professional ability. An honour, in fact, although she didn’t think that was quite the right description. Inadequately she said: ‘This is totally unexpected!’
Werle’s smile widened. ‘It was upon my personal recommendation. And for a particular purpose.’
‘What is that?’ She had to prove herself worthy, whatever the responsibility. And so she could. This was work: she knew what she was doing, always, when it came to the workplace.
Werle seated himself finally, leaning forward towards her at her smaller desk. In his soft, barely andible voice, he said: ‘A Cabinet committee is being created: at the moment it is undesignated, although some title will be evolved. Its function is to consider all ongoing and developing aspects of the East German situation … the entire situation in the East, if necessary. And more than that. There is our position in NATO, after full unification. There have already been exchanges between the American State Department and our Foreign Ministry: soon there is to be a delegation here from Washington, in advance of a possible visit from the Secretary of State himself.’
‘I thought the NATO position had been virtually resolved?’ said Elke. She realized that she was going to be privy to the innermost workings and secrets of the government on perhaps the most important changes in its post-war history. What had she to feel inferior about in her private life if this degree of trust and approval could be accorded to her, here at the Chancellery? It would have been good if she were able to tell someone, boast a little, to show how highly she was regarded. She couldn’t, of course. Top Secret meant top secret in everything. She suddenly felt very important, a privileged person able to look out from a situation into which everyone else was looking in. Or wanted to look in.
Werle rocked his hands back and forth, in an uncertain gesture. ‘The United Kingdom is arguing against any military relaxation. The British attitude is that the changes have all occurred too quickly: that there should be a period of stasis for everything to be properly analysed. Washington has rejected the Russian idea of some link between NATO and the Warsaw Pact.’
‘If there were to be a linking, without any military purpose, it would virtually rival the European Common Market,’ said Elke, wanting to demonstrate some political grasp.
‘That’s a point already being made by some Common Market countries,’ Werle accepted. ‘A lot of analysts consider the Warsaw Pact as already defunct. Certainly it’s no longer subservient to Moscow. What’s the point – or the logic – of NATO absorbing something that doesn’t exist any more?’
‘Is that an argument?’
‘Certainly one that some countries in the Alliance – America particularly – find easy to accept. And then there’s the military position of NATO itself. Which is very political. The US arms industry is the major financial supporter of the US Republican Party. Without some tension, some suspicion, who needs an arms industry?’
‘It’s very complex,’ Elke responded. What other questions were there to show a political awareness? ‘How will a united Germany fit into the European Economic Community?’
Werle nodded, acknowledging her anticipation. ‘Another remit for the committee,’ he confirmed.
‘How often will it convene?’
‘Whenever it’s considered necessary. At least twice a month, I would have thought. More frequently, if situations arise which need immediate consideration and recommendation, to full Cabinet.’ Apart from any personal feelings and hopes he might additionally have, Werle had known he was right in sponsoring Elke as strongly as he had: her instant acceptance of what he was outlining showed sound political adaptability. Intellect, too.
‘And what will my part be in it all?’ She so much wished she were able to tell someone.
‘I shall officially be the committee secretary, of course. But the practical duties of secretary will be entirely yours. You will handle everything, with no delegation whatsoever throughout the department …’ He hesitated, to make the point, then said: ‘It will obviously be necessary for you to attend the sessions, as a support to me.’
The responsibility being put upon her was very great. Immediately showing the practicality about which her chief had spoken, Elke said: ‘I am to take care of all records and transcripts, either relayed by you or recorded by me personally?’
‘Yes.’
‘Researchers?’
‘Only in extreme and urgent circumstances. Always to be authorized by me.’
‘Otherwise?’
‘Conduct your own research.’
‘Records?’
‘The exact number, from each meeting, has yet to be decided. As far as this Secretariat is concerned, just one copy. Always locked in my personal safe, to which only you, myself and security have access.’
The mention of security reminded her. Elke said: ‘I’ll have to undergo positive vetting, I suppose?’
Werle smiled again, shaking his head. ‘You’ve been checked, extremely thoroughly, over several months. Your new classification was
only possible after such checks. The verbal question and answer stuff isn’t considered necessary, after all you’ve gone through in the past.’ It had been another of Werle’s decisions, to obviate that.
The idea of being spied upon, which she supposed was how they had done it, mildly disturbed Elke. But then there was nothing in her private life that gave her cause for embarrassment or concern. Her security credentials were incontestable. ‘When is the next meeting?’
‘Five days.’
Tuesday, she identified. ‘Will I attend?’
‘Naturally.’
‘Anything else I should know?’
‘There will be a salary increase, of course: the security classification automatically carries with it a job description upgrade.’
She’d bank or invest entirely whatever the increase was, Elke decided: it would go towards rebuilding her depleted savings after the loan to Ida. She hadn’t expected any repayment so soon there were the other more pressing debts – but Elke had looked to Ida to mention it occasionally, and her sister hadn’t. ‘What about preparation?’ she asked.
‘Nothing that I can anticipate, at this stage. The actual mechanics will be the same as those to which you’re already accustomed. There will be official stenographers, supplying transcripts.’
The very centre of political power and influence, she thought, excitedly, and said: ‘I’m very aware of the trust you’ve placed in me.’
‘It will involve our working more closely together than we have in the past,’ said Werle pointedly.
‘Yes,’ agreed Elke. Why was he stating the obvious? It wasn’t necessary to explain operational practice in that much detail.
‘Sometimes necessarily late.’
‘That will not be a difficulty,’ said Elke. There was only Poppi to consider and that was no problem. What about…? Elke refused to let the question form. Ridiculous to invest with expectations a situation that hadn’t even arisen, she reminded herself. The workload involved in the promotion, which was how she believed she should regard it, would not be that onerous or time-consuming anyway, not to the exclusion of any private life.
As if aware of her thoughts about her workload, Werle said: ‘If there’s a need for additional staff, to take over some of your existing functions, just say so. I’m thinking of a personal assistant of your own.’
Elke was cautious. ‘I don’t think we should consider an early decision on that: let’s see how the job evolves, shall we?’ It was flattering to be offered a personal assistant – would be an indication to everyone throughout the Chancellery and beyond of her elevated stature – but her immediate thought was to integrate this new responsibility with her present function.
‘As you wish,’ Werle accepted at once. ‘But I don’t want you to be overwhelmed.’
This meant he did not want the proven efficiency of his office to suffer by her trying to handle too much, to the detriment of the established standards. Elke said: ‘I’ll be extremely careful to see that doesn’t arise. Before there is a risk of it happening.’
Werle gave another of his shy, reassuring smiles. ‘I know you will, Elke.’
Elke, she recognized, uncomfortably. She said: ‘I’m extremely honoured. I won’t disappoint you.’
‘I know that, too,’ said Werle. He remained looking slightly away from her. ‘I have read that the Vienna Boys’ Choir are coming on tour. Bonn is one of the cities to be visited.’
‘I haven’t seen that,’ said Elke, knowing what was to follow.
‘I was wondering if you would care to attend a performance? I understand they are quite unique.’
She didn’t want to, Elke decided, firmly. It wasn’t in any way connected with Otto Reimann: she assured herself she was equally determined not to inflate that situation. It was Günther Werle. It did not matter – did not affect any consideration – that his marriage might be an unhappy or unfulfilled one. He was married. With a son. It would be quite wrong, particularly in view of her new promotion, to invite any confusion or difficulty between them by allowing their private lives to overlap even slightly on to their working relationship. On the other hand he might be offended by an outright refusal. She anxiously sought an avoidance but couldn’t, not one that gave them both an escape from embarrassment. ‘Is Frau Werle still at the health spa?’ she asked, knowing well enough that the woman had been due to return weeks before. That surely indicated how – and what – she felt?
‘No,’ admitted Werle. ‘She is not much interested in the music I enjoy.’
It wasn’t the retreat for which she’d hoped. What else could she do? The working relationship, the amount of time they were going to spend together, was going to increase. So that relationship had to be correctly established on complete and honest understanding, from the outset. Still striving to be diplomatic (wasn’t professional, practical diplomacy what she was going to encounter in the future?), she said: ‘I appreciate the offer but I am not sure I will be able to accept.’ That wasn’t diplomatic: it was clumsy. Why didn’t she simply chance any temporary offence and refuse outright?
‘We’ll talk about it again, nearer the time,’ Werle persisted.
Say no, Elke told herself: say you don’t want to get involved and complicate things. Instead she said: ‘Why don’t we do that?’ In the interim she’d be able to think of a gentle refusal, she tried to convince herself.
Jutta entered the Bonner Cafe curiously, not knowing the precise table, guessed and took one near the back. It wasn’t, in fact, where Elke normally sat. Jutta ordered coffee and cake and surveyed the cafe, dismayed that it wasn’t a dowdy place of dried-up, pet-worshipping, behatted spinsters, which was the category into which she had put Elke.
‘Is everything satisfactory?’ asked the waitress.
‘Quite satisfactory,’ lied Jutta. The coffee had been disappointing, too.
Chapter Twenty-One
Elke felt the same jangle of excitement as before at the recognition of his voice, smiling to herself as she assured him he was not calling at an inconvenient moment (how could any moment be inconvenient?) and went through the ritual of saying she was well and was glad he was well, in return.
‘I enjoyed the …’ Reimann paused. ‘… anthology,’ he picked up. ‘That’s the right word, isn’t it?’
She’d known the correction had been a mistake. Pretend not to notice. She said: ‘He’s a brilliant writer, isn’t he?’
Reimann refused a literary discussion. He said: ‘And now I’d like to return it.’
‘Whenever you like,’ Elke agreed. Soon, she thought: please soon.
‘I hope you won’t think me presumptuous …’ opened Reimann, grimacing at his end of the telephone at his own feigned uncertainty. ‘… I have accepted a great deal of your hospitality: drunk all your whisky. I was wondering if I could reciprocate?’
‘Reciprocate?’ She felt her body tighten.
‘By inviting you to eat with me …’ Reimann introduced the false pause, to continue the impression of shyness. ‘Dinner, I mean …’ Another pause, carefully timed. ‘… At a restaurant… not here at my apartment. I didn’t mean that.’ Reimann decided he’d perfectly portrayed the hopeful suitor afraid of rejection.
It was happening! Elke didn’t want to appear too eager but equally didn’t want to sound uninterested, which was the last thing she intended to convey. Too important, then, to play the blushing reluctant, although she was blushing. But certainly not reluctant. She said: ‘I’d like that, very much.’
‘I’m delighted!’ gushed Reimann, in apparent relief. ‘I was thinking about tomorrow evening. But I suppose that would be too soon. So whenever is convenient to you.’ Jump Elke, jump.
‘Tomorrow would be fine,’ Elke jumped.
‘I’m so glad.’ It was the first sincere thing Reimann had said since the conversation began. He’d be spared too much contact with that fucking dog, as well.
‘How…?’
‘Seven,’ Reimann interrupted, tilting the pendulu
m from uncertainty to demand. ‘I’ll collect you at seven. The Otto Reimann Mystery Tour.’
Elke laughed, searching for a response. ‘Decorations and decorum? Or jeans and jollity?’
Not a bad effort, he conceded: she was trying. Which was what Elke Meyer had constantly to do, always try to please him. His mind focused on decorum: later he would deny her any decorum. He said: ‘I’ve never seen you dressed any other way but perfectly.’ Sometimes it was difficult not to be openly embarrassed at saying the idiotic necessary things.
Elke blushed afresh in the emptiness of the Kaufmannstrasse apartment at the compliment but not at the innuendo, which she missed. ‘Just a hint?’ she pleaded.
She had to stew – continue to marinate, he thought, remembering his earlier analogy – in doubt, about everything: those psychological seduction lectures had been invaluable. ‘A mystery tour,’ he reminded. ‘No help given. You’ll have to live with whatever mistake you make!’
‘No!’ she protested. She was laughing, enjoying an intimacy that didn’t exist.
‘Yes!’
‘Beast!’ Too much non-existent intimacy, she feared at once, apprehensive of his response. Fool! she thought: fool! fool! fool!
‘Except that I know you won’t make any mistake,’ flattered Reimann. Don’t have an orgasm too readily, he thought: I’m not there yet.
Again he was on time, to the minute. He wore a sports jacket and a tie under a button-down shirt: the trousers were immaculately pressed, just as the shoes were immaculately shone. Elke, after three telephone calls to Ida – one immediately after his call the previous evening, two during the day – wore a black, knitted woollen dress with an ornamental belt she could take off if she felt over-dressed on arrival at wherever they were going. On her left shoulder there was a small costume-jewellery brooch of imitation diamonds. She didn’t intend a pose, for approval, as she admitted him, but she later supposed that was how it had appeared, from his reaction.
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