The Grave of Truth (30 page)

Holler didn't answer for some moments. They were silent, watching him. He couldn't let Steiner write the truth; premature exposure would forewarn the Russians. The revelation that Hitler's son was killed had to be made by Holler, and when it was authorized by Bonn. There would be no mention of a twin sister.

‘If you do that,' he said at last, ‘and I want the same from Minna, then you can be present when I see the woman. On the condition that neither of you attempts to talk to her. Is that understood?'

‘Yes,' Max said. ‘If you draw up what you want us to sign—'

‘It'll be ready this afternoon. Come back here at three, and we'll go to the convent. I shall have an American colleague with me.'

‘She's there?' Minna said. ‘You're sure?'

Holler nodded. ‘I can't think of a better place to hide a girl, can you? I'll see you at three o'clock.'

They began to walk back to the hotel; Max held her arm linked close to him. ‘What's the matter, darling? You seem upset.'

‘He thinks she's a nun,' Minna said. ‘I can't believe it; it's too ironical. I am nervous, Max. I want to see her for myself, and at the same time'—she turned to him—‘I dread it.'

‘But why? Don't you see it's the best possible solution? She'll never know who she is, and she'll never pose any threat to anyone. There won't be any legacy from Hitler now. The Catholic Church will have seen to that.'

‘I can't imagine it,' she said. ‘Do you suppose she'll look like him?'

‘I don't think so,' Max replied. ‘Probably take after Eva.'

‘She was a very stupid woman,' Minna said slowly. ‘Hysterical, neurotic.… Girls tend to be like their mothers, don't they—my daughters look more like me than Sigmund.… A nun—I just can't imagine it.'

‘I bet she's a perfectly ordinary woman,' Max insisted. ‘Convent-reared, pumped full of religion and living a nice celibate life. No grandchildren, darling, no chance for anyone to make political capital out of her. Come on, let's take a taxi and I'll buy us both a drink before lunch. You mustn't be worried about seeing her—it's what you wanted, isn't it?'

‘Yes,' She managed to smile at him. ‘Yes, of course it is. I'd like that drink. What are you going to write about, if you can't tell the truth? And do you mind too much—giving it up for me?'

‘I don't give a damn,' he said. ‘All I want is for you to be happy, and put everything behind you. So we can start afresh. As for the story, it's going to be all about Sigmund Walther and how he tried to unify and help his fellow Germans. I've thought of the heading: “Death of a patriot.” Do you like it?'

‘It's wonderful,' she said softly. ‘And so are you.'

‘Children,' Ellie Steiner said, ‘we're going home.'

‘Oh no! Why—we like it here! I don't want to go back to Paris—' Peter's face flushed, and he scowled. He noticed that his mother looked red round the eyes and seemed to be nervous.

Francine made a face. ‘I don't want to go either,' she said. ‘I like it better here. Why do we have to go back?'

‘Don't you want to see Daddy?' Ellie asked.

‘Not much,' her son said. ‘Why can't he come here—'

‘Peter, you don't mean that. I know you've missed him, just like I have, and Francine too. And he misses us.'

‘He doesn't phone up and he doesn't write,' the boy pointed out. ‘I don't call that missing us. I'm not going.' He threw himself backward into one of the chintz armchairs; his mother had explained how this would damage the springs, but he went on doing it.

‘Ask Daddy to come here,' Francine insisted. ‘Tell him we don't want to go back to Paris. I hate the
lycee—
they make you do so much homework—English schools are much better.' Ellie looked at them in turn, begging for co-operation. They were seldom united about anything, but she saw their resistance as a proof that Paris was perhaps not the best place for them, since they disliked it so much. It was their home, and surely if children were well orientated and secure they would want to go back to it. Admittedly they were temporarily going to a progressive school where there was less emphasis on work and more on personal initiative, and of course nobody frustrated them—but even so, it was an indication of how badly she and Max had failed to make them happy at home.…

‘Please, Mummy,' Francine coaxed. ‘Let's wait for a little while longer—wait till Daddy sends for us?'

Which he won't, was Peter's silent response. With any luck, he's left. He won't hit me again, anyway.

‘I can't do that, darling,' Ellie said. Angela believed that absolute honesty was best with children. They only suffered through lies and treating them as inferiors. But Ellie couldn't tell them the truth because she had a miserable feeling that neither of them would care. Whereas she did, and nothing her friends could say could alter her unhappiness at losing Max. She felt bitter, and angry. If divorce was so bad for children—

‘Don't you love Daddy?'

‘No,' said Peter.

‘Yes,' Francine hesitated. ‘But I'd rather stay here.'

Then she began to cry; Peter, to his astonishment, felt like doing the same. He didn't love his father, he insisted to himself, biting his lips to stem the tears. He didn't, he didn't.… When Ellie put her arms round them both, she was crying too.

‘All right, all right, darlings,' she murmured. ‘Don't get upset, now, please … we won't go back then, we'll stay here—'

She didn't understand, and nor did he, why Peter suddenly wrenched himself free of her and raced upstairs to lock himself in his room. He had been fighting his father so long, and suddenly he was frightened and miserable because at last he'd won.

By teatime, their mother had recovered her composure. She was cheerful and made plans for the weekend. There was no mention of Paris or going home. She told Angela that evening that the children had decided for her what was best for all of them.

She would very much like Tim to handle the divorce.

Curt Andrews had put a call through to Washington the previous evening; he had gone to the American Consulate, and waited through until 1 a.m. to speak to his Director. It was a longer call than the Director normally tolerated with a subordinate; Andrews talked for most of the time. The Director listened, interposing a question or two, and then told Andrews to stay where he was and wait for a decision. Andrews dozed in the office, until the call came through at 4 a.m. His instructions were brief; he was smiling when he hung up. He went back to his hotel, showered and went to bed, without any intention of sleeping. He rested physically, and began to work on his plan of action. He had been trained to present himself with likely problems and then set about solving them; so far as he could see, the real initiative didn't rest with him or Heinrich Holler. But the directive was clear, and it had come down from the White House. Nobody who could be used as a focal point for German unity must fall into the hands of the Soviet Union. Assurances from Heinrich Holler were not sufficient guarantee to allay American anxiety. Andrews could hardly wait for the coming confrontation. He fell asleep in the early morning, and woke at nine; the appointment Holler had made was for late afternoon. Andrews had a large breakfast, and went back to the Consulate. There were no further messages and he had lunch with the Consul and his family. An official car drove him to the Convent of the Immaculate Conception at exactly three forty-five; he waited in the parked car until he saw Holler arrive and get out. To his astonishment he saw that a man and a woman were with him.

‘Reverend Mother?' Sister Aloysius came into the Superior's private room.

‘Tell Sister Dominic that Sister Francis should come to the parlour at four o'clock.'

‘Yes, Reverend Mother. I'll tell her so now. If she asks me why, what should I say?'

Mother Katherine smiled at the little nun; she was a sweet-natured, simple woman who had spent most of her adult life in the convent. If she had a fault it was curiosity. ‘She won't ask you,' Mother Katherine said gently. ‘Just give Sister Dominic the message. Thank you, Sister.'

The Mistress of the Novices was far from simple; long experience of the different types who either had, or believed that they had, a true vocation to the religious life, made her difficult to mislead. She had spent a long time talking to Reverend Mother Katherine about the novice Sister Francis. It had not been a happy conference. The Reverend Mother had never known the older nun to be so disturbed; several times she was near tears. ‘I try to be fair, Mother, I try to see everything she does through Our Lord's eyes, but there's something so different about her—the other novices think she's a saint. But I … oh dear, even trying to describe it is so difficult.'

‘I know it is,' Mother Katherine had said. ‘I know exactly what you feel.' But she hadn't put that feeling into words. Sister Dominic was upset and confused for the first time in twenty years of guiding young women before they took their final vows. Mother Katherine reassured her and said nothing. She had deliberately delayed the girl's entry into her novitiate, on the grounds that she must be sure of her vocation and not misled by her convent breeding; but even her impeccable novice years had not relieved Mother Katherine's mind. She was waiting for Heinrich Holler to come that afternoon in the hope that he would have a solution to the problem of Sister Francis which would relieve her and her community of the responsibility.

She heard the doorbell, and knew that he and the others had arrived. She didn't wait for Sister Aloysius to knock on the door; she went out into the hall. She saw the little nun's face bright with curiosity; so many questions and nobody to answer them; it was a true penance for her. Not like the one she had endured for so long. But then God made the back for the burden. They had an Irish nun in the community when she first came, and she had taught them that saying from her native land. It didn't translate well into German. She opened the parlour door and went in. Holler stood up, so did the man he introduced as Max Steiner and the big American. She came and took Minna's hand.

‘I didn't expect to see you,' she said. ‘But I'm very glad you're here.'

Max Steiner watched her; it was interesting to see how her personality dominated them. She radiated authority and self-assurance; even Curt Andrews seemed hesitant until she sat down and spoke to them.

‘I assume that you all know we have a novice here called Sister Francis. She has been in the convent since she was a child. She took her novice's vows two years ago. I understand from Herr Holler that you wish to see her. She will be with us in a few minutes.'

‘And she is the child that Gretl Fegelein brought into the convent?' Holler asked.

‘Yes,' the nun answered. ‘She is the same person.'

Curt Andrews cut across Holler's next question. ‘And this Sister Francis is the daughter of Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun?'

Mother Katherine glanced at Holler, and he nodded. ‘Yes,' she said to Andrews. ‘That is what I understood when I was made Reverend Mother.'

‘Before we see her,' Heinrich Holler said. ‘I think that Herr Andrews, who is representing United States interests, would like to be reassured that Sister Francis will take her final vows and remain in the religious life?'

Max saw Minna leaning forward. She hadn't spoken since they sat down; she had been watching the Reverend Mother with tense concentration.

‘I can't answer for her,' the nun said. ‘She can't be forced to remain with us.' Andrews's look of triumph was noted by Holler.

‘Naturally,' he said quickly. ‘But a person who has never known the outside world and is within three years of her final vows—'

‘Does she know who she is?' Max asked.

The nun shook her head. ‘No,' she said. ‘Thank God.'

‘Why do you say that?' Andrews said. ‘What sort of a person is she?' Minna saw that suddenly the old Freda von Stein was looking at them under the nun's veil.

‘That's very difficult for me to answer,' she said. ‘All I can tell you is that we have lost three vocations since she became a novice herself; all of them were influenced by her. The nature of the influence is not exactly what it seems. She is devout, scrupulous in all observances of our Rule, faultless in her behaviour. Many in the community talk of her as a saint.'

‘But you don't think so, Reverend Mother?' Andrews said.

‘There is no sanctity that brings doubt and confusion to those in contact with it. Sister Francis pervades the community; her presence is felt even by those of us who are in authority. But if you asked me to accuse her of any act of disobedience or irreverence, I couldn't do it.'

‘What would you say about her?' Minna asked the question. ‘As a human being, what do you think of her?'

The Reverend Mother hesitated. ‘In the name of charity I shouldn't say this; but equally I have to tell the truth. I have tried very hard not to be influenced by knowing who she is. But I felt it even when she was just a child. The Mistress of Novices, who is responsible for her, feels it too and is terribly distressed. I think she's wholly evil.'

Nobody spoke; Curt Andrews was crouching forward on the hard little wooden chair; he reminded Max of an animal in sight of its prey. There was a little tap at the door, followed immediately by another. Mother Katherine rose to her feet. ‘Come in.' The door opened and a girl in the grey dress and white veil of the novice hesitated on the threshold.

‘Come in, Sister Francis,' the nun said.

She was tall; that was Max's first impression, the second was the sweetness with which she turned to her Superior. ‘You sent for me, Reverend Mother?' She had a deep, warm voice.

‘Yes, Sister.' Mother Katherine turned to Holler, and asked a silent question. He gave a slight nod. She turned to the young nun. ‘Thank you, Sister. You can go back to the community now.'