Without ever having been told, he knew intuitively that Irina was closely tied to one of the secret movements which aided Jews, Catholics, Protestants, dissidents, and so-called ‘political offenders’ of all kinds, who sought to flee Germany and the persecution of the Third Reich. From a few things he had picked up, here and there and at different times, he was aware that there were several such movements operating in Berlin; all were run by German aristocrats, for the most part, although some of the young international emigres were also apparently involved. All were opposed to Hitler and his regime, and violently anti-Nazi.
When he had approached Irina four weeks ago he had not made any reference to the various resistance movements, deeming it wiser not to do so, and had merely asked her if she could put him in touch with someone who might help him get exit visas. She had replied that she would see what she could do, and a week later she had invited them to dinner with her mother Natalie and the baron, at the baron’s house on the Lutzowufer. She had found an opportunity to get him alone for a moment, had murmured that the matter was in hand, and that there was no need for him to approach anyone else. ‘Patience, Sigi. Trust me,’ she had said softly, before gliding away to speak to another guest. Three more weeks had gone by until she had finally passed the note to him on Thursday. He had been vastly relieved, and had hardly been able to contain himself until today.
As he continued along the same path that ran parallel with the Hofjageralle, walking in the direction of the Siegessaule, Sigmund saw a man coming towards him. He was tall and thin, dressed in a dark-green Ioden coat and a Tyrolean hat, and he was striding out purposefully, swinging a walking stick. He seemed oddly familiar to Sigi, who within seconds was filled with dismay. He had recognised the man,—it was Kurt von Wittingen. The last person he wanted to run into when he was on this kind of delicate mission was a friend who would engage him in conversation, and in the process most probably scare off his contact. But Sigmund knew there was nothing he could do. He was trapped. He could not turn around and walk in another direction because Kurt had already seen him, was raising his stick, waving it in greeting. There was nothing for it but to act in the most normal way, chat for a few minutes and then walk on. Fortunately the weather played in his favour. It was so icy he was sure Kurt would not wish to linger.
A moment later the two men were drawing to a standstill, greeting each other warmly, and shaking hands.
After the initial greetings were over, Kurt said, ‘It’s far too bitter to stand here chatting like this.’
Relieved to hear him make this comment, Sigmund instantly agreed. ‘Yes, it is. Very nice running into you, Kurt, give my love to Arabella, and we’ll see you next week. I must be on my way.’
Kurt said, ‘I’ll walk with you.’
Sigmund’s dismay spiralled into alarm. When his contact saw him with a companion, he or she would not dare to approach him, but would simply disappear, he was quite convinced of that. For a split second panic rendered him speechless. He stood staring at Kurt, desperately wondering how to get rid of him courteously, and without giving offence.
‘It’s all right, Sigi,’ Kurt said. ‘Relax. The blue gentians are not in bloom in the Tiergarten today.’
Sigmund was not sure that he had heard correctly, and he continued to stare at Kurt, looking slightly dumbfounded.
‘Let’s start walking,’ Kurt said swiftly, and set off at a brisk pace.
Recovering himself immediately, Sigi fell into step. ‘Why didn’t Irina tell me you were my contact?’
‘She wasn’t sure it would be me. So why risk exposing me unnecessarily, albeit to a very old and reliable friend?’
‘I understand.’
‘The eight exit visas you require are for Ursula, Maxim and yourself, and your immediate family. And Theodora. I am correct am I not?’
‘Yes. I would like to get new passports for all of us. Passports not stamped with a J.’
Kurt threw him a quick glance and frowned. ‘I am positive I cannot get new passports, Sigi. Does it really matter that they’re stamped with a J?’
‘No, I don’t suppose so.’ Sigmund cleared his throat. ‘But I was hoping that if you could get them, they could be issued under a different name. At least, for the Westheims.’
‘Why a false name, Sigi?’
‘Look, I’ve not been touched so far, nor has the bank been taken over by them, because I’ve been extremely useful to the Government in various financial transactions, notably those to do with foreign currencies and such. And I’m still very useful to them. Frankly, I just don’t think they’d like it if I tried to leave Germany at this time. They might even try to prevent me from going, if they got wind of it. And so obviously if I were travelling out under a different name I would not be so easily spotted.’
‘Yes, of course, I see what you mean. But I know I cannot get you the new passports. I’m so sorry, but that’s not something my contact could pull off.’
‘All right, never mind.’
‘Arabella tells me that you and Ursula are coming to supper on Monday night. You must bring the eight passports with you then. I will need them for the exit visas. Put them in the inside breast pocket of your overcoat. I will take them out of your coat at some point during the evening.’
‘No problem. I’ll collect the passports from my family tomorrow.’
The two men walked on in silence for several seconds and then Sigmund said worriedly, ‘Are you sure you can procure the exit visas?’
‘I won’t lie to you, Sigi, I don’t know that I can,’ Kurt said. ‘It won’t be easy. But I have a good source and I am extremely hopeful. Let’s just say that I’m ninety per cent certain.’
‘I have money on me, in my overcoat pocket. A great deal of cash. Do you want it now?’
‘No, I don’t, but thank you for offering.’
‘What about entry visas to another country?’
‘They’re not going to be easy to get either.’
‘Have you any idea which country we might be able to go to?’
Kurt shook his head. ‘Not at this moment. I doubt that it will be America, though. The US Congress doesn’t seem willing to modify the immigration laws, to allow any more Jewish refugees from Germany to enter the country. Nor does Roosevelt seem prepared to act.’
‘What about England?’
‘I believe that’s your best chance, since the British have been very generous about taking in Jewish refugees from Europe for some time. And anyway, my influence and contacts are much stronger with the British diplomatic service. Never fear, I will pull every string available to me.’
‘I know you’ll do your damnedest. Where will we actually go when we leave Berlin?’
‘To one of two cities, Lisbon or Paris. But more than likely it will be Paris, where you could pick up your entry visas from the British Embassy, if you didn’t have them in your hands when you left Germany.’
‘Have you any idea when that will be?’ Sigi asked.
‘I daren’t promise anything, or give you a specific date. But I don’t think it will take much longer than a month to get the documents. Let’s say early January.’
Sigmund nodded. ‘I can tell Ursula, can’t I? Just to alleviate her awful worry about Maxim’s safety.’
‘Yes, but do warn her not to discuss your plans with anyone outside the family. And don’t tell her who is helping you. The less you say, and actually the less you know, the safer it is for me, Irina and our friends. And for you too, in the long run,’ Kurt said.
‘You have no cause to worry, Kurt. I will be discreet, and so will Ursula. And not one member of my family will know any of the details, only that we are going to leave. I realise that there will be hefty pay-offs involved, and I would simply like to add that money is no object.’
‘I know that, Sigi. I also know that it is now impossible for Jews to transfer any assets abroad. I hope you took care of that some time ago.’ Kurt gave him a questioning look.
Sigmund nodded. ‘I
managed to get some money out.’
‘But not enough, perhaps. You must have Ursula sew her most valuable jewellery into the linings of the clothes she will be travelling in, such as a suit jacket and its skirt, her top coat, even under the lining of her hat. That is the best way to get valuables out undetected. And have your mother and sisters do the same thing.’
‘I will.’
‘Oh, and one other thing, they must do this themselves. I’m not suggesting for one moment that your servants are disloyal, but it’s wise to be cautious. One never knows about anyone these days. Brother is informing on brother, so just be careful in front of the servants. The last thing you want is the Nazi guards at the border alerted that you are carrying valuables. They would confiscate everything.’
‘I am quite positive our servants are trustworthy, they have been with the family for years. However, I will naturally heed your advice,’ Sigi promised.
‘And also be careful what you say on the telephone… at home and at the bank. Phone-tapping has become a favourite Nazi pastime,’ Kurt remarked in a disdainful tone.
‘Do you think my phones are tapped?’ Sigmund asked swiftly.
‘I’m not sure. Possibly they are at the bank. Just be aware, that’s all.’
‘I have been for a long time.’
‘Good. That’s it for now. We will go our separate ways. And when we meet again socially we will obviously not discuss this meeting, or anything else pertaining to the matter.’
‘Absolutely not,’ Sigi concurred.
‘Once I have the documents in my hands, I will arrange a rendezvous for us. We will meet somewhere exceptionally safe,’ Kurt said, then went on to explain, ‘And you must be prepared to travel immediately, of course. So be ready. And you must travel light. Take only one suitcase each, if possible. If it’s not, then do not take more than two each, at the most.’
‘I understand.’ Sigi came to a halt, turned to face the other man. ‘I don’t know how to thank you, Kurt, I really don’t. I am overcome with gratitude for what you’re doing for me and my family. The words thank you somehow don’t seem to be quite enough.’
‘Thanks are not necessary, my dear old friend. I am glad to help you. And for your own sakes, I’m glad you’re going. It’s obvious, after Kristallnacht, that this country is in the hands of mass murderers.’ Kurt’s sensitive, gentle face filled with a terrible sadness and he sighed heavily. There was a slight pause before he went on quietly, ‘Stay calm. Try not to worry. Everything is in hand. With a bit of luck you’ll soon be out of Germany. In the meantime, just continue to go about your business in the most natural way.’ He thrust out his hand.
Sigi took it, clasped it strongly. ‘Thank you again, Kurt, and from the very bottom of my heart. I will never forget this, never as long as I live. You are a true friend.’
The two men parted company.
***
Sigmund stood for a moment watching Kurt’s retreating figure. Then he turned up the collar of his overcoat, thrust his hands in his pockets, swung around and walked in the direction they had just come. He could not wait to get back to his house on the Tiergartenstrasse to tell Ursula the good news.
His thoughts turned to Prince Rudolph Kurt von Wittingen as he hurried along the path. He trusted Kurt implicitly. And if anyone could pull this off, then he could.
For several years Kurt had been a senior consultant to Krupp, the German armaments king. As such he roamed all over Europe, frequently travelled to England and the United States, handling top-level negotiations, entertaining foreign dignitaries and acting as a sort of roving ambassador for the Krupp organisation.
Sigi now realised that this job was the perfect cover for Kurt. He was able to come and go almost as he wished. He had access to all kinds of important people, who in turn were extraordinary sources of information, and probably privileged information at that.
This aside, Sigmund knew for a fact that Kurt was an anti-Fascist, an idealist who happened to be a realist, in that he viewed the totalitarian dictatorship that was Germany through clear, unblinkered eyes. Naturally he would be involved in some sort of resistance movement because of his convictions.
Sigmund wondered why he had never thought of this before. Perhaps because of the Krupp connection, which was undoubtedly the real reason why it existed in the first place. It was a red herring to throw people off the scent. A protection for Kurt. He was above suspicion as Krupp’s envoy.
And then there was Graf Reinhard von Tiegal. Sigmund considered his other close friend. The count was also an aristocrat, from an ancient Prussian family of Junkers, the conservative landholders who were descended from the Teutonic knights. And so by reason of birth and upbringing Reinhard also detested everything the Nazis stood for, and believed them to be criminals of the worst kind.
Was Reinhard involved in the resistance to Hitler? Sigi asked himself. More than likely, he decided after only a moment’s thought. And although he knew how dangerous it was for both men, the knowledge that they were fighting the Nazis with whatever means they had was immensely comforting to him.
As long as there were men of honour and humanity in Germany then Hitler and his evil regime would eventually be overcome and ultimately destroyed.
***
Ursula looked up quickly as Sigmund walked into the library and angrily threw the newspaper she had been reading down on the floor.
‘I don’t know why I bother with the papers anymore!’ she exclaimed, gesturing to the pile of discarded journals at her feet. ‘They’re only full of Hitler’s vile lies and propaganda, courtesy of Gobbels!’
Sigmund sat down on the sofa next to her. ‘I suppose we all keep reading the newspapers hoping against hope that we’ll glean a little bit of real news.’
‘Yes, you’re right, darling,’ she agreed.
Sigmund took her hand in his and smiled into her drawn face. ‘I have some news, Ursula,’ he said softly. Moving closer to her, he kissed her cheek, then whispered against her hair, ‘I saw my contact a short while ago. The plans are progressing. We’re getting out. Hopefully within the next four to five weeks if all goes well.’
‘Thank God! Oh thank God!’ she gasped, holding onto him tightly. ‘Maxim’s going to be safe. Our little boy is going to be safe, and that’s all that matters, Sigi.’
TWELVE
Maxim stood outside the library, listening.
The door was open a crack and he peeped through it. Just as he thought, his grandmother was sitting near the fireplace in her favourite chair, the one in which she always sat when she came to visit them. She preferred its straight back, he had heard her say that to Mutti and Papa many times. She sat staring into the fire, her hands resting on top of her black cane with its polished silver handle that gleamed brightly in the firelight.
He liked her cane. It had belonged to his grandfather.
His Grandfather Westheim had died two years ago. He remembered many things about him, and he missed him very much. When his Grandfather Westheim used to come to visit them he would lift him up on his knee and tell him stories, and sometimes he would take him for a drive in his big black motorcar with Manfred, the chauffeur, at the wheel. They would sit on the back seat together and talk of many Important Things, like The Bank, where he would work with his Papa when he grew up, and which would be his one day. After their drive they always stopped at Grandfather’s favourite Konditorei and had an ice cream and sometimes cake as well, and his Grandfather Westheim would smoke a cigar and sip a small cup of strong coffee, very black and very sweet, which he was not allowed to have.
He wished his grandfather would come back. But dead people never came back. Not ever. Being dead meant that you had gone to Heaven to live with God, his Papa had told him that. His Grandfather Neuman was dead, too. He had died last year, and Mutti had been very sad and had cried a lot, and he had cried too, partly because she was crying and that made him sad. But he had loved his Grandfather Neuman as much as he had loved his Grandfather Westheim.
Suddenly he wondered if the grandfathers ever met each other in Heaven and sat and smoked their cigars and drank cognac and talked about Important World Matters, as they had when they had not been dead. He hoped they did. He wouldn’t like them to be lonely in Heaven. His Grandmama Neuman was another dead person, but he had never known her. At least, he had only been one year old when she had died, just a little baby, not grown up like he was now that he was four, and so he couldn’t remember much about her, not really. There was only Grandmama Westheim left. ‘We must treasure her,’ his mother kept saying.
Maxim bent over and pulled up his sock which had slithered down around his ankle.
As he straightened he heard the rustle of silk and a small sigh, and he smiled inside, waiting. Then he heard it… the low whistle like a bird chirping in the Tiergarten. He pursed his lips and gave a little whistle himself, and waited again.
The trilling response came almost immediately, and he pushed open the big double doors with both hands and bounded into the room, laughing as he rushed to her, exclaiming, ‘I am here, Grandmama! I am here!’
She laughed, too, as he drew to a standstill in front of her and leaned forward, proffering her cheek to him.
He gave her a big kiss, then stood back regarding her, rocking on his heels. His grandmother was dressed in a black lace and silk dress, as she usually was, with the long string of shiny white pearls like fat peas hanging around her neck and the sparkly clips on her ears. She had lots of silky white hair piled on top of her head, with tortoiseshell combs pressed in at each side to hold it there. Her skin was funny, all wrinkly like scrunched-up paper, but she had smooth, pink apple cheeks and bright shining eyes that reminded him of round blue pebbles.
He loved her a lot.
‘Don’t do that, Maximilian. Don’t rock backwards and forwards in that fashion,’ his grandmother scolded, but her voice was gentle.
‘Sorry, Grandmama.’
She took the box which lay on her lap and handed it to him. ‘This is from Auntie Hedy. She wasn’t able to come tonight, but she sent this to you and many kisses as well.’
The Women in His Life Page 12