On the Brink of Tears

by Peter Rimmer

  “Princess says it’s Africa. Africans are always happy with each other in the villages. The harmony only gets broken when outsiders interfere.”

  “Who’s Princess?”

  “Tembo’s fourth wife. Tembo Makoni. They have a first son they called Josiah. Tembo really runs the place. He and Uncle Harry go back to when they were boys together. Everyone listens to what Tembo has to say.”

  “Sounds like it, with four wives to keep under control,” said Fleur.

  “Why don’t we finish the wine and go back to the flat?” said Celia. “We don’t just have beer in the new refrigerator from America. It’s party time. We must hope tomorrow they don’t hit a ball up in the air for you to catch, Tinus. I don’t think you can come to any harm standing on the boundary with a hangover. We’d come with you both to Hastings Court after the game if we weren’t playing at the Mayfair. All work and no play. That’s Celia and Fleur. Are they all really happy in Africa? No wonder they didn’t bother to so-called civilise themselves.”

  “Tinus loves Elephant Walk,” said Andre. “Everything on Elephant Walk is perfect. My father says the same about Venterskraal, our farm in the Karoo.”

  When the taxi dropped the four of them in the street outside the girls’ flat in Paddington the green two-seater Morgan was still parked where Tinus had left it. Everything looked safe including the suitcase Andre had brought from the boat and train to the cricket. For a man on a long journey it was a remarkably small suitcase, Tinus thought, as he pulled it out from behind the seats of his car.

  “Better to be safe,” said Tinus. “Someone may try and walk off with it.”

  “What about the car?”

  “I have the key and it’s heavy.”

  Upstairs, Fleur took Andre straight into her bedroom shutting the door, leaving Celia and Tinus alone in the sitting room.

  “Shall we dance?” said Celia, as she took his hand and led him into the second bedroom, closing the door with the back of her foot after pushing Tinus back onto the bed. “You’ve had quite enough wine.”

  Mildly wondering what Barnaby St Clair would think of his predicament, Tinus held out his arms for the girl gently swaying on her stockinged feet, the shoes kicked off around the room.

  “What would we do without wine?” she said, folding herself one knee at a time onto the double bed. Then she stretched over Tinus and turned out the small bedside lamp she had left on before they went to the restaurant.

  Remarkably, when Tinus woke in the morning it was without the trace of a hangover.

  “Pick you up after the match,” he called to Andre through the still closed door of Fleur’s bedroom. “Luckily I can shower and change at the Oval.”

  “Make sure you win,” called Andre.

  “If we’re gone to the Mayfair, have a nice time at Hastings Court,” called Fleur, who still sounded to Tinus to be half asleep. Then he let himself out of the flat, leaving Celia fast asleep in the big bed with his note on the bedside table.

  Downstairs, the Morgan started at the first press of the starter button. He was in good time for the eleven o’clock re-start of the match. As he drove through the streets of London Tinus knew he had never felt happier in his life.

  They arrived that evening at Hastings Court in the glow of the twilight, the countryside passing by gently on their slow drive out of London, both of them savouring this moment in their lives. Both of them satiated from their women, the thoughts of the girls still playing pleasantly through their minds. It was nine o’clock when Tinus took the Morgan up the long drive towards the ancient home of the Mandervilles.

  “Which is more your home?” asked Andre. The red glow of the twilight was playing tricks with the small turrets and battlements silhouetted against the last light in the evening sky. On either side birds were calling to each other from the trees to let their friends and lovers know where they were roosting once they were shrouded in night.

  Tinus did not answer at first. He could see a clutter of cars parked below the house on the forecourt, the last light playing on the glass of the windscreens. Some of himself came from the Mandervilles. Some of himself came from the old Pirate his great-grandfather Brigandshaw, who had bought for himself both the house and bloodline of the Mandervilles. But all of that beckoning as he slowly drove the last yards up to the old house was no stronger than the pull of Africa in his veins, of the Oosthuizens who had given him his name.

  “I don’t know, Andre. Come on. Some of them are still up by the looks of it.”

  “There you are,” called Harry Brigandshaw, coming down the steps between the balustrades that marched along the terrace overlooking the forecourt. “Hello, Andre. Who won, Tinus?”

  “They did I’m afraid.”

  “Better luck next time. Come and meet my old friends from Germany. We’re having a nightcap on the lawn at the back of the house; Tina has put candles out on the table in paper cups. The owls have been calling, a sound that reminds me of Africa. Bring up your cases. You both have the same rooms you had before so you know where to go. Leave them for the moment in the hall and come and have a snifter of brandy. The servants have all gone to bed. Did you eat on the way? Good. Breakfast is served in the conservatory between eight and ten. Tina has taken to eating her breakfast among the potted plants. What a beautiful evening. What did you two do last night?

  “The RAF is most likely on, Andre, if you want to join. Rhodes Scholar and double blue coupled with the Oxford University Air Squadron should do the trick. You’ll have to go through an officer cadet training unit for six months. I don’t know what you would fly after that. Depends if they put you in bombers or fighters; there’s also Coastal Command. But that’s enough of business.”

  “When could I start?”

  “The next intake is the first of next month. You can stay with us until then. Tina and the children will love such illustrious sporting company. I’ll bring you down a rail pass so you can come up to the Air Ministry for an interview. Pure formality, but you have to go through the hoops with the rest of them... William Smythe is coming down tomorrow. Says he’s bringing his old friend, which will be nice for all of us. Tina just loves company at Hastings Court. So do the children. They’ve all been sent to bed by now, even Anthony. He’s fourteen now but likes his sleep. You two can teach him some tricks with a cricket bat and ball tomorrow after you’ve had your breakfast. There we are,” said Harry, shaking both their hands formally when they put their suitcases down in the hall. Then they all walked through the old, high-ceilinged house to the well-cut lawn where beneath the trees the candles were sending up light from the table where the rest of the guests were seated.

  “It’s been such a joy seeing Klaus and Bergit again after so many years. Such a pity they did not bring their children. I was looking forward to Anthony meeting Erwin. Despite the two-year age gap they would have a lot in common. Erwin’s already a pilot but he’s older than Anthony. We have so much in common with the Germans, our backgrounds are so similar. I imagined Erwin coming out to Africa. Anthony going for visits to Bavaria. The boys learning to ski together and pick up each other’s languages. It’s all part of a boy’s education. Makes his life much fuller. You two would know what I mean, living both in Africa and Europe. Gives us all a better perspective on life… Bergit and Klaus, I’d like you to meet my nephew. Tinus and his friend Andre. Mr and Mrs von Lieberman, may I present Tinus Oosthuizen and Andre Cloete? Tinus is my sister Madge’s son who was a very small boy when you visited Elephant Walk on your honeymoon.”

  Seeing the man he had last met as a small boy made Klaus even more sick in the stomach for what he was doing, abusing an old friend’s hospitality. The two confident young men reminded him of himself and his younger brothers before the war, when life in Europe was more pleasant for everyone, the rich and the poor.

  Uncle Werner had called him to Berlin the previous month to give him the Party’s instructions.

  “This is an order, Klaus, so I don’t want any argument. You s
aid you had refused the invitation to your friend’s birthday party. Now we want you to go to England. Your friend works for the British Air Ministry, close to Tedder, the chief of staff of the British air force. We know about the radar on the south coast of England. We even know how it works, bouncing a signal from a metal object to determine its position. What we don’t know is the sites of the radar masts or how the British will feed the information to their fighter squadrons. You will go with your wife to Hastings Court, old friends renewing a friendship.

  “The Party has information you spent your honeymoon on the man’s farm in Rhodesia, something I don’t remember. Back then your father was alive and would have known what you were doing, not your uncle.

  “Walking through the woods, riding horses, playing tennis and drinking together I want you to find out what the RAF are up to. Old friends talk about what they have been doing. Over days it will all come out if you listen carefully. The Party’s information has Hastings Court full of people at the weekends as Brigandshaw’s wife likes entertaining. The guests will talk to each other and Brigandshaw. All you have to do is overhear their conversations.”

  “Are you asking me to spy on a friend? He saved my life, for God’s sake.”

  “I am not asking you, Klaus, I am giving you an order from the Party which you ignore at your family’s peril. You seem to forget that before the man saved your life, he had just shot you down. That the two of you were trying to kill each other, not playing a polite game in the sky like gentlemen at a fox hunt. You were enemies. You still are enemies. There is no chivalry in war, only death for one or the other.”

  “And if I refuse to do something dishonourable?”

  “You and your family will be sent to our camp at Dachau where we sent people who disagreed with us in the purge of 1933. I am told it is not a nice place. You will be most uncomfortable. Of course, I will keep young Erwin under my wing. He has dedicated his life with the best of our young boys to the Hitler Youth Movement, which of course is the Party of the Fuehrer.”

  “You are my uncle!”

  “Then do what I tell you. Do what I know is good for the family. Didn’t I save the family estate for you once already from the Jews? You are behaving like an ungrateful fool, Klaus. I am told on good authority that anyone sent to Dachau never goes home again.”

  “And you think that is the place to send a disobedient member of your own family?”

  “In such difficult times it is unwise to think. We Germans are good at taking orders. Please take yours. There are many unpleasant tasks we have to do in our lives for the overall good. The world was never a perfect place. Weak people die. The von Liebermans are strong. And don’t open your mouth again as I might just lose my temper. When you return from England you will report to me here. Wars are won with the right information. Knowing what to destroy is as important as having the means of its destruction.”

  “So there’s going to be a war?”

  “Of course there’s going to be a bloody war.”

  “Your Uncle Harry tells me you are also a pilot, Tinus. Of course I remember you. You and that pack of dogs on the farm were inseparable. Rhodesian Ridgebacks I think your uncle called them. I asked Erwin to come with me and his mother but he has a summer camp to attend. He’s also a pilot.”

  “So is Andre, here. How do you do, sir? It’s an honour to meet you again. I remember your visit to Elephant Walk but more from my mother who often mentions your visit. We don’t have too many visitors to Rhodesia to talk about afterwards so mother is inclined to go on a bit. But I do remember then your English was impeccable, as was that of Frau von Lieberman. My mother always said it was wonderful for one-time enemies to become such good friends.”

  “French cognac in a balloon glass, Tinus. What could be better?” said Harry Brigandshaw, enjoying the conversation.

  “Thank you, Uncle Harry. Something of the hair of the dog. After I’d finished batting we went to see Fleur and Celia and did a little celebrating. They were here for your party, playing in the band. Fleur hadn’t seen Andre since he went home to Africa so we all went out to dinner at a little Greek restaurant.”

  “So you did a night out on the tiles?”

  “Something like that. I didn’t drop a catch, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Youth doesn’t last for long, Tinus. Enjoy it. You lost the cricket anyway... There goes that owl again in the birch tree. It’s either the male calling to the female or the other way round. Their calls are the same. Listen to that. She’s calling him back. Give it ten seconds and he’ll answer her again. Nature is wonderful.”

  Klaus, following the conversation, felt like the hypocrite he knew he was, the fake smile on his face belying the gnawing pain in his stomach. Even in the half day that had gone so peacefully at Hastings Court he had found out more than he expected from the entire three-day visit; it was clear to him that Harry Brigandshaw had no idea what was going on and why his German friend had suddenly come to England. He even knew the site of the mast at Poling on the south coast of England, a mast the Luftwaffe would target when war broke out, making one blind spot in the British radar.

  There had been one good part of the trip; his wife Bergit knew nothing of the truth, which made finding out what they wanted so much easier when everyone around him was totally relaxed. It was also the first time he had lied to his wife by not telling her the real purpose of their visit.

  “A game of tennis after breakfast,” his friend was saying, the shadows turning to dark on the lawn that spread among the occasional trees. “To bed, to sleep, perchance to dream.”

  “Poor old Shakespeare going through it again,” said Tina, who liked to show off how well read she was, making Harry Brigandshaw grind his teeth sometimes unbeknown to anyone else on the darkening lawn.

  Only when Klaus reached his bedroom and the lights went out did he relax. At least one of the days was over.

  “What’s the matter, darling?” his wife asked in German.

  “Why? There’s nothing the matter.”

  “I’m your wife. I know your moods inside out.”

  “Then don’t ask. We’ll be going home on Monday.”

  “Harry says more houseguests are arriving tomorrow.”

  “That should be fun. Harry’s right. Those owls are calling to each other.”

  In the dark they both lay awake for a long time before finally going off to sleep. During the night Klaus dreamed he was being shot down in flames, waking in a fright just before his aircraft hit the ground. He was still awake on his back when the sun came up with the birds’ dawn chorus, a sound so beautiful in contrast with how he felt. Then he went back to sleep, waking in time to wash his face in the basin on the washstand before dressing and going down to breakfast with his wife, his face drawn from lack of sleep.

  “It’s never easy to sleep in a strange bed,” said Harry, looking at his friend. “Tea or coffee? Coffee will wake you up. I thought a horse ride for all of us before we play tennis. My wife has gone to the village with the chauffeur. She doesn’t ride or play tennis, despite my trying to put her on a horse in Rhodesia when we were first married. Then she had Anthony and we never got around to it again. None of the children ride horses. They prefer riding their bikes. Anthony wants a motorbike which he can’t have until he turns eighteen and can apply for a licence.”

  “Coffee, Harry. Thank you. Your owls were calling to each other most of the night.”

  “Better than listening to the London traffic. I could hear the hum all night from our house in Berkeley Square. In Africa as a boy I lay awake all night listening to the lions. They don’t exactly roar but the sound at night is so menacing it makes you think your blood has gone cold. Then you get used to it. Then it’s beautiful. The most beautiful sound in the world for a small boy growing up.”

  “If you miss Africa so much you should go home, Harry. I would if we had a place like Elephant Walk. We both say those memories are precious. Go home, Harry. Take the advice of an ol
d friend who has your best interests at heart.” The undertone of misery in Klaus von Lieberman’s voice was palpable.

  “I haven’t heard you talk like that before, Klaus. What’s the matter?”

  “The whole world.”

  “You’re among friends. Relax. Let the world take care of itself. A friend of mine once said it was pointless worrying. That ninety-nine per cent of what he worried about never happened. The trick, he said, was knowing which one per cent to worry about… Good morning, Tinus. You look bright and breezy. Did you sleep well?

  “Like a log. Last night’s sleep was the best sleep I had in my whole life. Now I could eat a horse. Andre’s on his way down. I beat him to the bathroom where I soaked for half an hour.”

  “Bacon and eggs, sausages, kidneys, fried tomato. No horse, Tinus. Instead we are going to ride them before tennis... Good morning, Andre. My nephew was telling us how he hogged the bathroom.”

  “No wonder the door was locked when I went past,” said Klaus, taking his cup of coffee from Harry.

  “Everyone help themselves. You make your own toast in the electric toaster. Another product from America to make us spend our money. The food is on the sideboard. I don’t like to make the servants stand around once they’ve done the cooking. Under the silver dishes are small spirit lamps to keep the food hot. It’s a trick we learnt in Africa where we don’t have electricity on the farm. Bergit, I’m so sorry. Klaus has his coffee before you. One look at him when he came down to breakfast said he needed perking up. I’m sorry. What can I give you?”

  “Sit down, Harry. I’ll help myself. That bacon smells good.” In contrast to Klaus, his wife looked perfectly relaxed.

  3

  The taxi left them standing with their luggage at the foot of the steps that led up to the terrace and the front door to the old house. Except for the taxi going off down the drive, there was no other sound. William Smythe had met Horatio and Janet Wakefield with one-year-old Harry in the pram at Waterloo Station where they all took the train to Leatherhead. The taxi had taken ten minutes from the station. They waited but no one came out to greet them. A little away stood the green Morgan sports car looking lonely by itself, small against the backdrop of the great house.