The Little Ship

by Margaret Mayhew

  All in all, Guy felt pretty pleased with life and with himself. Or had done until today’s little episode with the flying instructor. He snapped the book shut and lit a cigarette. No point brooding about it. In a couple of weeks he’d be going down for the Christmas vac. He’d do a bit of work on the Rose perhaps. Matt would be home from school later on and he could give him a hand. Spruce her up ready for the next season. He’d got rather fond of the old girl since she’d beaten Grey Heron. Tom and Harry had been livid and it still made him laugh to think of it. Whenever he saw Tom around Oxford, he pulled his leg about it.

  ‘There’s a young gentleman asking for you, Miss Elizabeth.’ Hodges had struggled all the way up to the attic and stood in the doorway, panting like a mountaineer short of oxygen. ‘A Mr Rikenow. A foreigner. He’s waiting in the hall.’

  ‘I don’t know anybody of that name, Hodges. What on earth does he want?’

  ‘To see you.’ Hodges winked. ‘Asked for you specially.’

  Lizzie put down her brush. ‘I suppose I’d better come and see, though I can’t imagine who it could be.’ She followed Hodges and a waft of alcohol down the several flights of stairs. Otto von Reichenau was standing in the hall.

  ‘Please forgive this intrusion, Lizzie. I am returned to London now from Oxford and I thought to call to see you and Anna at your home. I hope I do not disturb you.’ He was wearing a suit – a very expensive one, she could tell that, and the shirt and tie were expensive too. It made him look much older and quite different. ‘No, not at all, Otto.’ He was the same age as Guy, of course. Twenty. A man, not a boy.

  ‘It is more than a year since we met at Tideways, but I always remember the visit very well. I thought it would be good to renew our acquaintance.’

  She was very surprised; he hadn’t been in touch since. ‘How did you know where I lived?’

  ‘I remember that your father is a doctor and that you live in Wimpole Street, so I walk and look at every door until I see the brass plate with his name on it.’ He smiled at her. ‘It was not so very difficult. I do not need to be Sherlock Holmes.’

  ‘Actually, he was round the corner in Baker Street.’

  He smiled again. ‘I know this. Number 221b. I enjoy the books very much.’

  ‘Of course he didn’t actually exist, but lots of people really believe he did.’ She wasn’t sure what to say next. ‘I’m afraid Anna isn’t here. She’s gone to have tea with someone. My father is working and my mother is out, too. There’s just me. Would you like some tea?’

  ‘Oh, no, please … I do not wish to trouble you. You are busy, I am sure.’

  ‘Just doing a bit of painting, that’s all.’

  ‘Ah, yes, you are an artist. You were making sketches at Tideways when we were there. They were very good. May I see your work?’

  She said doubtfully, ‘If you want to.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I should like that very much.’

  ‘It’s right at the top of the house, if you don’t mind.’ She led the way up to her studio. He followed her and, as everyone did, admired her attic studio and the view. He looked at the still life that she was working on. ‘This is excellent. You are most talented.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘The English are very modest. I know this now. They never admit to being good at anything. They always deny it. May I see more?’

  She showed him the paintings stacked against the wall and he admired those too. ‘Very good. You should make a career of this.’

  ‘Well, I’m hoping to go to art college, when I leave school next year. If they’ll have me.’

  ‘I am sure that they will.’ He went on looking at the paintings, crouched on his haunches. ‘And Anna, what does she hope to do with her life?’

  ‘I think she might study music at one of the colleges in London …’

  ‘Yes, of course, I heard her play when I was last at Tideways. She has a great talent. She will not return to Vienna to study there, then?’

  ‘Well, it’s not very safe, is it?’

  He went on looking at the canvases. ‘Because she is Jewish, you mean?’

  ‘Well, yes. Her parents are trying to come and live in England as well, only her grandmother’s been very ill so they can’t leave yet. Anna went to see them last holidays. She’s terribly worried about them.’

  He held up one of her oils – a still life that she was rather pleased with – studying it at arm’s length. ‘It would be better for her not to return again at all to Vienna.’

  ‘It really could be dangerous?’

  ‘I think so, yes.’

  ‘But why? What have people got against Jewish people there, Otto? What are they supposed to have done?’

  He stood up. ‘You would not understand, Lizzie. And I cannot explain to you. I’m sorry but it is better that we do not discuss this matter.’ He moved on to examine one of the paintings that she had hung on the wall. ‘This is Guy and Matt sailing? But it is a different boat and they are much younger.’

  ‘I did that one nearly three years ago. That was Bean Goose – the one they had before Rose of England. The one next along is the Rose. I did that the first summer that Anna went to stay at Tideways. She wore that long white dress and Guy got furious with her because it was hopeless for sailing.’

  ‘But the dress looks very beautiful. And this is you, next to Anna, of course. Your hair is different. You have it long and tied in – what do you call them in English?’

  ‘Plaits. I cut them off last year.’

  ‘So you go from little girl to young lady, in one step.’ He turned to smile at her and she smiled back uncertainly. He had the strangest eyes – such a pale blue that it was like looking into glass. Something about him had always disturbed her. She had felt sorry for him at Tideways because he had seemed so alone – to stand apart from everybody else, always like an outsider looking on. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

  ‘You’re in the same college as Guy, aren’t you? I expect you see a lot of him.’

  ‘Not so much. He is always very busy. Did you know that Tom is also at Oxford – the one who sailed Grey Heron with his brother? I sat beside him once at a lecture but he did not wish to be reminded of that occasion when we last met.’

  Lizzie laughed. ‘I don’t suppose he did. The Chilvers don’t like losing.’

  ‘I do not like to lose either. I am trying to learn to be what you English call a good sport but I am not very successful. I have to pretend that I do not mind but it is hard for me.’ He went on to the next painting – her portrait of Anna – and stopped. ‘When did you do this?’

  ‘A few months ago. I’ve never done a portrait before and I haven’t got her very well, I’m afraid. She’s difficult to catch. And she’s much more beautiful than that, of course.’

  He stared at it for a while in silence. ‘You have her eyes, and the hair … but she would be very difficult to capture completely. To paint a portrait must be very hard. You must show not only the features but also the spirit. The soul of a person.’

  ‘I don’t think I really know Anna well enough to do that.’

  ‘Not even after so long?’

  ‘No, not even now. There’s a part of her that she doesn’t let you know – that she keeps to herself.’

  He nodded as though he understood. ‘Many of us do that. But even so, the portrait is good.’

  ‘You’ll recognize this next to it.’ It was the one she’d done of Rose coming in triumphantly at the end of the race against Grey Heron with Guy and Otto on board and Matt, Anna and herself small figures waving from the jetty. ‘That’s you, or meant to be. I had to do you from memory, of course.’

  He looked amused. ‘You know, I have never had a picture painted of me before.’

  ‘Well, you’re only in the distance, I’m afraid. Wasn’t it wonderful when she won?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said slowly. ‘It was wonderful.’

  She remembered that he had seemed just as pleased as the rest of t
hem and how he had laughed with them and how she had thrown her arms round him and kissed him on the cheek. She blushed about that part but he didn’t notice. He was still looking at the painting intently. ‘I like this very much.’

  She said, on impulse, ‘Would you like to have it, Otto? As a sort of souvenir.’

  ‘Oh, no, please … I did not mean that, Lizzie.’

  ‘Honestly, I’d like you to have it.’ She took it off the wall and placed it firmly into his hands. ‘There. You can’t refuse now. It’s a present for you.’

  He said gravely, ‘Then I thank you, Lizzie. It will be a good memory for me. And thank you for showing me your excellent work. And your studio. It is a very nice place. But I must not keep you longer. I am sorry to miss Anna. Would you please give her my good wishes when she returns.’

  She went downstairs to see him out and at the door he paused. ‘My father is away in Berlin at the moment; he does not return until next week. Would you and Anna come and have dinner with me one evening? I am very bored with my own company.’ Seeing her hesitation, he went on, ‘Anna, of course, may not wish to. You will let me know. Here is my telephone number.’ He handed her an engraved white card. ‘Perhaps on Thursday, if you are free.’

  She closed the front door after him, feeling uneasy.

  The old mother was sitting in the corner of the basement room, as before, with her snail’s-shell hair and her coal eyes. Anna greeted her politely. The woman looked up at her. ‘I remember you. You are the one who speaks French so well. The pupil of Janine. The Jewess.’

  Mademoiselle Gilbert said, ‘Anna has come to take tea with us, Maman. You will be able to converse with her.’

  ‘Perhaps I may not wish to.’

  ‘She is very difficult,’ Mademoiselle Gilbert had warned her. ‘Worse than before. Her mind wanders and she can be very rude. Please excuse her. It is the curse of old age.’

  Anna sat down. ‘How are you, madame?’

  ‘Terrible. I am very ill. Full of aches and pains. But Janine does not care. If she cared she would return to Lille, not force me to come to this dreadful place. She wants me to remain here with her, you know. As if I would! I visit, that is all. Next week I go home.’

  She was incapable of living on her own, Mademoiselle Gilbert had said. There had been no alternative but to bring her to England for the time being. Eventually she would have to give up her teaching post and return to France because her mother would undoubtedly be miserable in England. She would be miserable anywhere, Anna decided. She’s a horrible, selfish old woman. She thought of Grandmama lying in the hospital in Vienna, in great pain after the operation but uncomplaining and trying so hard to persuade Mama and Papa to leave her. Naturally, they wouldn’t. How could they? Grandmama was as much in need of looking after as Madame Gilbert. They could not desert her and go to England. Uncle Julius and Aunt Sybille and the little ones had already gone to America, to live with the sister in Detroit. And although Uncle Joseph had offered to look after Grandmama, Aunt Liesel had not been well either. The doctors said that Grandmama would need to convalesce for several months when she came out of hospital. Then Anna’s parents hoped to bring her to England with them.

  Mademoiselle Gilbert had gone to the kitchen to fetch the tea. Left alone with the old mother, Anna proposed a game of cards.

  ‘I do not play any more. I cannot see well enough.’ The black eyes looked perfectly sharp. ‘Janine tells me that your mother and father want to come and live in this country.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They are mad. Who would want to live in such a place? But of course, they must leave because they are Jewish. They have no choice. Jews are fleeing like rats. There are many who are trying to come and live in France. They are not welcome. We do not wish them to come to France. They will make too much money for themselves out of good, honest French people. They will be everywhere, in every place—’

  ‘Here is our tea, Maman.’ Mademoiselle Gilbert set the tray down. She lowered her voice. ‘Please pay no attention, Anna. She has no idea what she is saying.’

  ‘She knew exactly what she was saying, Lizzie. She is a spiteful, wicked old hag. It was only for the sake of Mademoiselle Gilbert that I was not very rude back to her. I am very sorry that I went at all.’

  ‘Well, guess who called while you were out.’

  ‘How can I guess? I have no idea.’

  ‘Otto.’

  ‘Otto?’

  ‘The German boy who was at Tideways the summer before last. Surely you remember him.’

  ‘Oh, the Nazi.’

  ‘He’s not like that, Anna.’

  ‘Yes, he is. They are all Nazis. Well, what did he want?’

  ‘He’s invited us to dinner, next Thursday. If we want to go.’

  ‘Of course I do not want to go. How could you think I would, Lizzie?’

  ‘He’s on his own in London. I think he’s lonely.’

  ‘You go, if you want to. You can listen to him talking about the great new Fatherland.’

  ‘I felt sorry for him, Anna. I think we should go.’

  ‘You are much too kind-hearted, Lizzie. If we did, I should not be so kind. I should ask him questions about his wonderful Führer and annoy him very much.’ Anna paused and then nodded. ‘It might be worth it just for that.’

  Otto telephoned his father in Berlin to make certain that he would not be returning to London until the following week. His father was safely occupied on important affairs. There were military and diplomatic meetings and discussions, and, apparently, an audience with the Führer. There was no prospect of him arriving back sooner. It had been a great surprise to Otto to hear Lizzie’s voice on the telephone, accepting his invitation. He had fully expected it to be refused because of Anna. Anna, of course, saw him as an enemy of her people – he was well aware of that. It was unjustified in his eyes. He himself had never done any Jew any harm of any kind, though it was true that he had listened to and accepted many things that were taught about them.

  It was a big risk that he was taking. The servants who staffed the rented house had been hand-picked. They not only served, but watched and listened. Everything would be noted and reported to his father, including their assessment of his guests. He had vetted the menu carefully. No pork, of course. Nothing that might be unacceptable to Anna. A rich chocolate dessert that he hoped would please Lizzie. The long dining-room table, usually seating twenty or more when his father entertained, looked absurd laid only for three, but everything was highly polished and the flowers were fresh. He himself had dressed formally and put on the heavy gold cuff-links inherited from his grandfather, bearing the von Reichenau crest. All was ready.

  He went into the drawing-room. The curtains were drawn against the dark, the fire lit. He stood for a moment looking down into the flames, watching them burn brightly, feeling their heat and thinking of the great conflagrations that must surely lie ahead. He disliked the thought of war but he knew it must come. And that when it did, he would do his duty to the utmost. He was to serve in the army, his father had dictated. Perhaps one of the Panzer regiments. Colonel General von Rundstedt was a personal friend and would arrange for an immediate commission. Tanks were going to be of crucial importance. So, too, were the planes of the Luftwaffe, assembled in secret for years. Once Otto had tentatively suggested that he might go into the Luftwaffe – he had rather envied Guy his flying – but this had been instantly quashed. Von Reichenaus had always served in the army. But, his father had promised, there would be no more long-drawn-out trench warfare. No more digging in and fighting for months to gain a few metres of ground. Instead the Wehrmacht would sweep across Europe to conquer any country the Führer chose. And on the seas the U-boats would roam and kill like wolves.

  He had fought a long, hard, private battle of his own to evict Anna from his heart but her image had haunted him since that summer of 1936. He had taken out girl after girl, hoping that one of them would erase her memory, but all to no avail. She had always come ba
ck just as he had thought he had succeeded. The only way out, he had finally decided, was to arrange somehow to see her again, to meet and talk with her face to face so that he could recognize and dismiss her for what she was – a crazy aberration on his part. An absurd fascination with forbidden fruit. That was the only cure.

  But when she walked into the room with Lizzie he stood rooted to the spot, unable either to move or speak. He recovered in time to act the good host, welcoming them and offering them drinks. Lizzie asked for orange squash, Anna a dry martini. Anna produced a small silver case from her handbag, took out a cigarette and fitted it into an ebony holder. He fetched a table lighter quickly. He had not expected her to drink cocktails, or to smoke. Older English girls did both, of course, but no German girls he knew of her age did either and they were innocent of make-up or guile. Anna was wearing a dress of soft blue material that displayed every curve of her figure. Her long hair was caught back with combs on each side of her head, her full lips painted with scarlet lipstick. He forced himself to look away and pay attention to Lizzie who was being polite about the room.

  ‘This house is rented only. It is not ours, of course.’ Everything had been carefully chosen to impress, he knew. Paintings brought from Germany, including a portrait of the Führer.