The Poellenberg Inheritance (22 page)

‘How long are you staying?' He repeated the question.

‘I don't know,' Dunston said. ‘Depends on how the sleuthing goes. I shan't hurry back though; it's very pleasant here. You'll be staying to the end of the business, Mrs. Stanley?'

‘Yes,' Paula said. She avoided Fisher's look. ‘I'm staying.'

‘In for the kill,' Dunston said and laughed. He turned slightly towards Fisher. ‘Since it's all in the family, how near are you to finding it?'

‘I'm going to England,' Fisher said. He reached across and took Paula's hand; he didn't care what Dunston thought. ‘I need to see Paula's mother just once more. And then we start digging.'

‘Literally?'

‘Figuratively, I think,' Fisher answered Dunston. He felt Paula's fingers stiff and unresponsive in his grasp. He hadn't mentioned the trip to England before; he found it difficult to discuss the progress of the search with her now. Every forward move was a move towards the General and, however hard he strove as a lover, Fisher had no surety that in a confrontation Paula would choose him and not her father. In his darker moods, he would have bet on the General every time.

‘You mean you've solved the little riddle about Aunty Ambrosine?'

‘It was a code name for a Resistance group,' Fisher explained. This much he had told Paula. ‘Jacquot was the name for a courier in the group. I managed to get enough information about him to make sense of most of it. The last bit, your mother may be able to fill in.' He addressed Paula and squeezed her hand, asking for forgiveness. She responded and for the moment Fisher relaxed. Dunston ordered them another drink. The subject changed to Dunston's business in Paris, and Paula withdrew from the discussion. She sat holding Fisher's hand, looking at both of them and wondering what they had ever had in common. The moody, possessive man beside her was a different breed of human being. The other was cheerful and self-confident; she applied that elusive word ‘breezy' to him and it was an apt description. Nothing would bother Dunston, whereas the more she knew Fisher the more complicated she discovered him to be. Sexual surrender hadn't satisfied him; he conducted what could only be termed a war when they went to bed, a campaign of calculated seduction which was designed to dominate her completely. And the tragic truth, which she could never let him see, was that his success in one field ensured his failure in another. Paula would not be sensually dominated; her body and emotions were interdependent; she was not yet ready to surrender both to Fisher, even though she loved him. And she did love him; she insisted upon that. She needed to love him in order to deny his constant assertion that she didn't. When he left her at night she often cried. It could have been a happy, fulfilling relationship, so different from the one she had experienced in her marriage, but his possessiveness and insecurity were ruining it for both of them. She should have warned him, but she couldn't. He was too strong for her and at the same time too vulnerable. She felt unhappy and confused, but still determined. Fisher was not enough to fill the wasted years; he couldn't answer the question which had to be answered if she were ever to know peace or independence of spirit. What manner of man was her father, the General? Was he the inhuman brute of old Madame Brevet's wild denunciation, or the tender father of a little girl, doting and sentimental?

Fisher couldn't forgive this hunger to know. He saw it as a personal slight, a proof that she was still free of him and able to choose something else. And she was free; with her hand imprisoned in his, Paula felt a desperate need of that liberty of choice, of the freedom to see her whole life in true perspective once. She had been alone too long and independence had been thrust upon her. Now a man had come into her life who wanted her to give herself completely. She couldn't do it. She gently withdrew her hand on the pretext of lighting a cigarette. Dunston was speaking to her again.

‘Are you going back to England to see your mother too, Mrs. Stanley?'

‘No,' Paula said. ‘I'm not. I'm staying here.'

‘And when are you going?' he asked Fisher.

‘Tuesday,' Fisher said. ‘I'll only be away one night.'

‘Oh well.' Dunston's smile beamed at both of them. ‘In that case Mrs. Stanley could come and help me with my shopping. That would be great. All right by you, Eric?'

‘Why not.' Fisher was surly. ‘If Paula wants to …'

‘And don't you worry,' Dunston said happily. ‘I'll take good care of her while you're away. Now let's go and eat some dinner. I'm starving.'

Paula was sitting in the lounge of the hotel; she had taken a chair facing the entrance and as soon as the tall, fair man walked through the door and stood, looking round, she knew that this must be Philip Von Hessel. She had the opportunity to study him while he paused, looking round the room to see which of the lone women she might be. He was one of the best-looking men she had ever seen; he held himself with an arrogant grace that was without selfconsciousness. So did a man look, with a hundred million and an ancient title to buttress his personality. Added to which were the advantages of youth and that Wagnerian face. He caught Paula's glance, and moved towards her. She got up and came to meet him, holding out her hand. ‘Prince Von Hessel?'

‘Yes. Mrs. Stanley …'

He took her hand and kissed it, bowing a little. The telephone call had been such a surprise that when he asked her to meet him for a few minutes, in Fisher's absence, Paula hadn't been able to think of an excuse. He had sounded older on the telephone, very precise and rather grave, like many foreigners who spoke good English but were out of practice.

The reality was very different. He took a seat beside her, offered her, a cigarette and asked if he might order her a drink. He smiled, and Paula felt an impact of charm. She realised that except for her mother, this was the first of her countrymen that she had ever met.

But she had forgotten Schwarz, with the bright eyes that burned at her, sitting hunched up in her office. He had been German too, like the handsome young man sitting at her side.

‘I hope you'll forgive me for intruding myself on you,' the Prince said. ‘I had hoped to talk to Mr. Fisher, but I have also been anxious to meet you. When the hotel said you were in, it seemed too good an opportunity to miss.'

Paula noticed that he wore a black tie. ‘I'm very glad to meet you,' she said. ‘May I say how sorry I am about what happened to your brother?'

‘Thank you.' Philip Von Hessel looked down. ‘My mother is here; we are taking my brother's body home as soon as the formalities are completed. Have you been to Germany, Mrs. Stanley?'

Paula changed the subject gladly. ‘No, never. I shall do one day, but my mother left at the end of the war and she's never been back.'

‘A number of people have cut themselves off because of the past,' he said. ‘Even people like your mother, who were only innocent bystanders. I think it is a pity. Do you mind my saying this?'

‘Not at all,' Paula answered. ‘I was brought up to be ashamed of what I was, without ever being told the reason. Now at least I know it.'

‘You are not responsible for the past either,' he said gently. ‘No more am I, Mrs. Stanley. Your father committed crimes, well, so did my family. We are just becoming acceptable to the civilised world, both ourselves and our nation. Because, of course, they need us. So don't feel too guilty. We are not so black and the rest of the world white, I assure you.'

Paula looked at him. ‘My father stole a family treasure from you,' she said. ‘But you're not bitter – you can talk about him so calmly. I think it's very admirable of you. And I'm glad to meet you, Prince Von Hessel, because I have something to say to you.'

‘Please,' he said. The expression in his eyes was gentle. ‘You don't have to say anything to me.'

‘But I want to.' Paula turned towards him. ‘It's possible that I have a legal claim to the Poellenberg Salt. I don't know if this is true, but if by any chance it is, I want you to know that as far as I'm concerned the Salt belongs to your family. I shall hand it over to you immediately.'

‘That is a very generous thing to say,' he said. ‘I appreciate it deeply. But do you know how valuable it is?'

‘I know,' Paula said. ‘It couldn't be priced. But that's not my concern. It was taken from you; by whatever means within the law, it was morally illegal, I'm sure of that. And you must have it back. I just wanted to tell you this. There won't be any difficulties or wrangling about ownership. It's your property.'

‘Mrs. Stanley.' He spoke quietly, twisting the broad gold signet ring upon his little finger. ‘I repeat, that is the most generous thing I've ever heard. But can I ask you something?'

‘Yes,' Paula said. ‘Ask me whatever you like.'

‘If you don't want the Poellenberg Salt,' he said, ‘will you use your influence with Mr. Fisher to call off the search? It's terribly important to me. I don't want it found, Mrs. Stanley. I don't ever want to see it again. I can't make any impression on him, or my mother. I shall continue to try with her if you could possibly talk to him.'

‘Why don't you want it?' Paula asked. ‘It's one of the treasures of the world. Why wouldn't you have it back?'

‘I can't tell you that,' he said seriously. ‘So please don't ask me. I know I have no right to say this, because I'm only a stranger to you, but you must believe me when I tell you that it is a bloodstained thing, and it's better left wherever your father hid it. Please; would you do this for me?'

He had nice eyes, as he talked he had leaned across and laid his hand on her arm. Suddenly it moved down and closed upon hers. It gave her a shock to feel its warmth. Slowly she shook her head.

‘I can't do that,' she said. ‘It's just not possible. I'm not with Eric Fisher to find the Poellenberg Salt, I'm here looking for my father. If I find it, I believe I'll find him. I can't help you, Prince Philip. I only wish I could.'

‘I see,' he said. He took his hand away. ‘I'm sorry, I became emotional. I didn't know this, or I wouldn't have asked you.'

‘I don't expect anyone to understand,' Paula said. ‘Anyway, nobody does. I never knew him. I told you, I was brought up to be ashamed of being his child, ashamed of being German. My name was changed, my nationality, everything. And then I was told about him. He began to take shape for me. Nobody ever loved me, Prince Philip; forgive me if I'm being emotional now, but it's true. My mother didn't and my husband didn't. Now someone does, but I'm afraid it's come too late. I need my father. I need to see him and judge him for myself. He's a war criminal, and he's been on the run for nearly thirty years. And whatever he's done I must be the only person in the world who cares about him. Or would help him. That's why there's nothing I can do.'

‘I understand,' the Prince said quietly. ‘I too would feel the same; it is our German blood. We all have a strong sense of family. For your sake I hope you find him – without the Salt. The irony is, only one person wants it. My mother. It has become an obsession with her.'

‘Why did you say it was bloodstained?' Paula said. ‘What did you mean?'

‘I can't explain that either,' Philip Von Hessel said. ‘Mrs. Stanley, would you do me a favour?'

‘If I can,' Paula answered.

‘Would you have dinner with me before I go back to Germany? I promise not to talk about the Salt.'

‘That's very nice of you.' Paula stood up. She held out her hand and he kissed it, touching her fingers with his mouth. ‘I could tell you about your country,' he said quietly. ‘We have much to be ashamed of, but also much in which we can take pride. It would give me great pleasure. Say you will come.'

‘I will,' Paula answered. ‘I shall be alone on Tuesday evening. Perhaps we can meet then.'

‘I have an engagement for Tuesday,' Philip said. ‘But I shall cancel it. I will come here at eight. Goodbye, Mrs. Stanley. Or better still,
auf wiedersehen
.'

The garden in Essex was a kaleidoscope of roses. The formal rose garden was one of the sights of the district; the Ridge-ways had been persuaded to open the gardens for charity, and on a blazing July afternoon a crowd of well over a hundred were walking through the trees and lawns, wandering alongside the wide herbaceous border which was the loving work of Paula's mother. The Brigadier hovered on the perimeter, pausing to answer questions about the various plants and some of the rarities in the small walled enclave which he tended himself. Gardening was a passion, taken up as a hobby in the years following his retirement and developed into an absorbing pastime in which his wife shared with as much enthusiasm.

He could see her walking among the roses, smiling and talking to the visitors; he felt a pang of pride and love as he watched her, cool in a pastel linen dress, her grey blonde hair shining in the sunlight, as beautiful and dignified in old age as she had been as a young woman.

There was nothing he would not do or had not done to preserve that air of calm serenity, to see her smile and pass through life untroubled by care. She had suffered too much to endure even a moment's disquiet or a qualm of pain. She had given him a love and contentment which he had never imagined to be within the grasp of a man as simple as himself. The debt could never be repaid except by a lifetime of care and protectiveness. It made him happy just to be alive and act as a buffer between her and life. He was answering a middle-aged couple's enquiries about a miniature specie clematis which rioted in shades of purple and white along the edge of an old red brick wall, when the cook, who had worked for them since they moved into the house, came down the path towards him.

There was a telephone call for him; he excused himself and went towards the house, walking slowly in the heat, wondering which of their friends had been inconsiderate enough to call on a day when they were open to the public. The local Red Cross was the Ridgeways' favourite charity and it benefited every year from this particular occasion.