Little Grey Mice (50 page)

Elke left the car where it was, walking once more to the KD German Rhine kiosk below the bridge to get a timetable of the cruiser and hydrofoil service, to plan her amateur observation, which appeared to her to be quite simple. There was a high and walled park area directly adjacent to the river edge. She climbed the steep steps and realized, as soon as she reached the top, that it gave her a vantage point she hadn't at first imagined, a high elevation from which she could see far down the river, spotting the vessels long before they pulled alongside, giving her more than sufficient warning.

It proved to be a long and frustrating wait. Elke checked four crowded, bustled arrivals, straining for just two people, and became worried when the light began to dull that it might become dark and make her identification difficult, if not impossible. It wasn't. She picked out Otto Reimann, a figure she knew so well, long before the steamer even pulled against the jetty. Tightly alongside, clinging proprietorially to his arm, was the woman, uninterested in anything around her, gazing up at him with absolute concentration. As Elke watched the woman said something and laughed, her hand on a brooch at her left shoulder, and Reimann laughed back. The woman held up her face, so that her neck was stretched taut, and Reimann bent slightly to kiss her.

Now that it had happened, now that she had seen them, Elke didn't know what to do next. She remained staring down, experiencing a different sensation from that first sight on the ferry, but something very similar: the same tingling-skinned numbness and some clinging disbelief, but mostly hurt, terrible hurt, because there was the confirmation of everything displayed down there directly in front of her eyes. She couldn't remember any of the calmer reasoning or objective resolve that had seemed so sensible in the taxi on the way from Andernach.

Far below, Reimann and the woman disembarked and began walking slowly – the slow walk of long-time lovers – parallel to the river. There was another automatic movement from Elke, as there had been on the steamer. Without positive awareness she found herself going quickly out of the grassed area and down the steps, towards the river. When she reached the bottom, entering the throng of disembarking passengers, she was just able to pick out Reimann far along the road. Unaware of the concealment the other people might provide, not ever considering the possibility of Reimann turning and maybe recognizing her, Elke set out in pursuit. Was she pursuing them? The conscious thought entered her mind, with another quick to follow. What would he do if she caught up and confronted them? Would he remain composed, as he always seemed composed? Introduce the woman and explain? Or become confused, flustered? Composed, decided Elke: she couldn't imagine Reimann ever losing control of himself. What about her? What would she do, if she confronted them? What
could
she do? No engagement, no understanding, no commitment, she reminded herself again. So there were no demands she could make, no explanation she could insist upon. Elke shook her head, actually making the gesture as she continued on: she couldn't pursue or confront.

Ahead of her they went out of sight as they turned into Zweite Fährgasse. Elke missed their doing so and tried to go even faster, unsure what had happened. She got to the junction in time to see Reimann and the woman go into the minor street and stop at a dirty grey Audi car. Elke halted too, still on the river road and protected, although she still didn't consider the advantage, by the passing people and a clump of ornamental trees. She saw the woman take something from the windscreen and wave it. laughing still, at Reimann. A parking ticket, Elke guessed. The woman made as if to throw it away, but Reimann called out something and instead she put it carefully into her handbag. She appeared to have difficulty unlocking the car door and Reimann went around, doing it for her. As he did so, the woman offered her face again and Reimann kissed her once more. Inside the car he sat with his arm around the back of her seat. Absurdly the Bonn registration of the Audi – BN-278 – seemed like a taunt to her: without knowing why she was doing it, Elke scribbled the number on the back of her chequebook, looking up in time to see the vehicle take a far corner and disappear.

So what were the answers to her earlier questions? An old romance, she decided: settled, comfortable, each sure of the other. Close then. Loving. Everything she hadn't wanted to see: hadn't wanted to infer.
Won't lose,
she determined once more:
couldn't
lose. She could be hard, if she had to be: harder than anyone would ever guess.

Elke never really bothered to calculate how long it took her to work things out (or hopefully begin to work things out), because periods of time didn't seem important. The ideas came disjointedly, hardly ideas at all: just bits, floating driftwood she snatched at to try to keep afloat. It was a fitting analogy, because several times that first night her chest became tight and she had a panicked, suffocating sensation that she imagined to be just like drowning. Once, succumbing to the self-pity she was trying constantly to avoid, she decided that if she had been drowning she would have let herself go,
to
drown.

Discovering who the other woman was became important to her, although the desire wasn't accompanied by any reason or intention beyond finding an identity. Briefly – too briefly – she became excited at the thought that the name might show the woman to be a relation, a sister perhaps, until she remembered Reimann didn't have any surviving family and the driftwood sank beneath her. Elke couldn't think of a way to find the name and then believed she could: it would mean meetings she'd wanted to avoid, but the importance of one outweighed the disadvantage of the other and she was sure she could carry it off, just for one encounter. She'd already decided to tell Ida soon about the missed period, after all.

Ida sounded vaguely surprised on the telephone but agreed at once to her calling in to Bad Godesberg the following day, on her way back from Marienfels.

‘You
and
Otto?' queried Ida.

‘No!' said Elke, regretting both the quickness and the tone of the rejection.

‘Oh?' said Ida, at once. ‘Something wrong?'

Damn! She'd have to do better than that: far better, because it wasn't just Ida who had to believe she was still idyllically content. Elke said: ‘No, nothing's wrong! Otto's away: working.'

‘Just you then,' accepted Ida, reassured. ‘The kids will look forward to it.'

For most of that night, except perhaps for a couple of hours when she fell into a half-sleep, Elke lay open-eyed in the darkness, her hand frequently straying to that side of the bed where he normally lay, the reflections jumbled and confused. Why didn't she tell Ida tomorrow: there didn't really seem any purpose in waiting for a doctor's confirmation. Quite simple.
You're not going to believe this, but it's happened again!
Too glib, as if it didn't matter. Get it sorted out this time. Quickly, no nonsense. Have to fix leave from the Chancellery this week. Not definite dates: necessary to make the clinic reservation first. But warn Günther she wanted time off. Say she was sorry if it was inconvenient but she had to have it. All over in a month. Sooner, if it were possible. Where had they gone, the woman and Reimann? Not Andernach, certainly. But did he know another hidden valley, at another stop, where he'd served quails' eggs and champagne? Bastard! Elke blinked in the darkness, shocked at the word, which had been a long time coming. Was that how she really felt about him? Yes, she decided. He'd cheated and lied so he was a bastard: whether there was an understanding or commitment between them didn't come into it. Bastard. He shouldn't have done it.

Elke had bathed but not dressed when the telephone rang, startling her. Elke stare at it, not answering. It could be Ida, of course, but she doubted it. She could always check, from Marienfels. She didn't want to speak to the only other person it could be, not yet. She remained huddled in her robe, arms tight across herself, gazing at the receiver until finally the ringing stopped. She ignored it a second time, when she was almost ready to leave. Before setting out, she copied the car registration from her chequebook note.

At Marienfels she went impatiently through the greeting formalities with Dr Schiller, standing today before an overflowing vase of white and yellow lilies, which Elke didn't like because she always associated such flowers with mourning.

She didn't hurry or show any impatience with Ursula. The child was as Dr Schiller had warned, deeply enclosed, although she allowed Elke to take and hold her hand. Elke guessed that she would have been amenable to going out into the grounds, too, but Elke didn't try, not wanting to go out herself.

‘Mummy's upset, darling,' Elke told the unhearing girl, the monologue beginning. ‘We thought he was nice, didn't we? But he isn't, you know: not as nice as we believed. But don't worry. I'm going to think of something. I'm not going to let him abandon me, not like Daddy. Not again. Can't lose again: can't lose twice. That wouldn't be fair, would it? Not right. Mummy's going to work it out: think of something. You see.'

Elke left Marienfels slightly earlier than usual, and got to Ida's house by mid-afternoon. Ida had already arranged the chairs in the garden and Georg and Doris clustered around and kissed her, though she guessed they were disappointed Reimann wasn't with her. Georg openly said he'd got a book on American baseball rules, and Elke promised to tell Otto and suggest they try to play a game the next weekend.

‘Where's Horst?' asked Elke.

‘The dutiful writer is at his desk,' said Ida, disdainful as usual. ‘He was disappointed Otto hadn't come. He wants to see you.'

And I want to see him, thought Elke. She said: ‘Let's not disturb him yet.' The children were at the far side of the overgrown garden, well beyond hearing. ‘What's the big news about Kurt?'

‘We've decided not to see each other.'

The announcement was obviously contrived. Elke said: ‘That doesn't sound right.'

‘For a trial period,' Ida admitted.

‘Then?'

‘He's talking of leaving his wife. Wants me to leave Horst. To go away together permanently.'

Elke sighed. At the beginning of the year a declaration like that would have frightened her. She sought a response now; all she felt was irritation. ‘Are you going to?' she asked. ‘It's been a pretty long-running saga: you must have made your mind up by now.'

Ida frowned across the narrow gap between their lounging chairs. ‘That wasn't quite what I expected you to say.'

It
was
a long-running saga and Elke was bored by it: bored and uninterested, although she was concerned about the children. But that was all: only the children. She said: ‘All right, what do you want me to say?'

‘You don't sound … well, not very sympathetic'

‘Sympathetic! What the hell are you talking about? You let a man grope your crotch, you fuck for most of the year, agonize around and around in circles about what to do, yet you still don't know what to do and I'm supposed to be sympathetic!'

‘I'm sorry!' said Ida, tightly but loud-voiced.

‘So am I, if I'm not saying what you want me to. I don't know what
to
say.'

‘What's wrong? You're really angry!'

And not about you or Horst or Kurt or the children, conceded Elke. ‘We've talked it all through before. You know how I feel.' She hadn't telephoned from Marienfels, Elke remembered. She said: ‘Did you call me this morning, around nine?' There was an abrupt stab of pain, a definite jab, deep down in her stomach, and Elke winced.

Ida wasn't looking directly across the space between them and she missed the grimace. She frowned to herself, further confused. ‘No. Why?'

‘There was a call. I was in the bath.'

‘Wasn't it Otto?'

‘It might have been,' she said. Honestly she added: ‘I don't know where he is: I couldn't call, to find out.' Had he been at Rochusplatz, with the other woman? Playing? Inventing?

‘Are you all right?'

‘Of course I'm all right! Why shouldn't I be?' Too defensive, too sharp, for a second time.

‘You just don't seem … oh, forget it … it's not important.'

If only you knew, thought Elke. She'd apologize later: when she told Ida and asked for her help. Elke felt a quick sweep of shame, at her hypocrisy. The pain came again, as sharp as before: she'd been lucky with the physical discomfort, apart from that one morning's sickness. She'd
felt
sick but hadn't
been
sick, not since. Elke said: ‘It isn't such a difficult choice, is it? If Kurt means more to you than Horst – which he probably does – and the children, about which I don't know, then go away with him. Chuck it all up and go away and live on a desert island or a single room or wherever it is you think you are going to be happy.' She'd started out intending to be kind, but knew she had ended wrongly.

‘You missed someone out of the equation,' said Ida.

‘Who?'

‘You.'

Elke shook her head, refusing the involvement. ‘I don't feature in this; never have. Of course I'd be upset: miss you. But I'm not part of any consideration or doubt. Don't try to impose any responsibility upon me!' Wouldn't she miss Ida: wouldn't she miss the reassurance of her sister always being readily to hand? Those familiar demands: except that this time her reaction wasn't familiar. It was quite different, quite new. Always before she had been frightened: frightened of not having Ida, not being able to depend upon her. Elke didn't have that apprehension any more. She felt she could survive quite successfully on her own. And
really
on her own: not even with Otto, if she didn't have to. Not that she wanted to try: didn't intend to try. Just
if
she recognized. No self-pity! She was strong enough now to resist any self-pity: strong enough now to be independent of anyone.