Against the Tide (42 page)

Everyone ordered an entrée, with the men settling on a meat dish which stood little chance of living up to its lavish description.

Caroline ignored the menu and asked for a very small fresh Jersey plaice with no sauce.

Rachel expressed surprise at her lack of appetite and asked if she could have a large one in a butter sauce.

One nil to her.

Saul started a discourse on women's obsession with their figures until Caroline cut him short with an observation on his crassness and his waistline being in equal proportion to each other.

The others laughed and sipped their champagne more rapidly.

I brooded. Did Hayden-Brown know his daughter had invited us? What was Caroline's mother doing here? Did anyone else know about her and my father? Where were the diamonds?

The tension around the table was palpable. Saul looked as though he was calculating an attack, though I wasn't sure which of them was his target.

Caroline had invited Rachel for a purpose but I couldn't fathom it. Perhaps I should just wait until she made the first move. She had something planned – I was sure of that. With six more courses to come, there was no shortage of time.

During the break for queen olives and celery, I caught Saul experimenting with the discarded stones on the tip of his knife. Was he planning to launch them in the general direction of the head's table or fire them at Kohler?

Rachel quietly intervened and removed his plate before he could take his plan any further.

I leant over to Saul and whispered Shylock's famous aside: ‘‘
How like a fawning publican he looks!
'''

‘Who? Not me I hope'

‘“
I hate him for he is a
German.”'

Saul laughed at the transposition of German for Christian. ‘Don't misquote the Bard – Grumpy will excommunicate you.'

‘“
If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. Cursed be my tribe, if I forgive him!
”'

‘What are you two talking about? It's rude to have private conversations. Come on, Jack, share your joke with us.' Caroline didn't understand the concept of whispering and her voice carried over the waiters who were now trying to serve the consommé.

‘Nothing. I was just quoting some Shakespeare.'

‘Ah, the English obsession with their great playwright. Tell me, Jack, why is he so popular when ninety percent of your population don't understand his language?' Kohler leant forward to speak to me over the arm of the waiter fussing over Caroline, his grey eyes slightly unfocused.

Saul bared his teeth ready to reply but I beat him to it.

‘Many reasons, Rudi. I suppose the main one is he's English, he's ours. He writes about our history, has sympathy for the underdog but, most of all, he is inspiring. Not everyone may be able to read his language easily, but everyone understands his stories.'

‘Most of which he stole from other writers.' Kohler smirked, his soup spoon halfway to his mouth.

‘I don't suppose he translates very well into
German
, though.' Saul got his barb in just as the spoon reached Kohler's mouth.

To my satisfaction, the thrust was so unexpected that Kohler dropped the spoon into the plate, splattering his shirt. A waiter fussed over him with a napkin, which gave him time to recover.

‘No, I don't suppose it does. German is a very precise language, rather like Dutch. His sloppy English is difficult to transpose. It might fit into French or Italian though.'

Saul said, ‘We were actually discussing the
Merchant of Venice
. Do you know it, Rudi?'

He wiped his napkin over his mouth before replying. ‘Is that the play where the Jew tries to cut a pound of flesh from the merchant?'

‘That's right.'

‘So, nothing changes. Only now the Hebrews want more than a pound of flesh, yes?' He laughed but no one responded.

‘Actually, Shakespeare gives a more balanced view. I played Shylock in our college production. Saul, who doesn't look it with his red hair but is actually Jewish, played the Merchant, Antonio. It was a challenge for both of us.' I smiled at Saul. ‘I think we both learned a lot.'

Kohler stiffened slightly but didn't change his expression. Of course Caroline might have already told him about Saul. His name was a bit of a give away so perhaps I had imagined the German's reaction.

Caroline pushed her soup away. ‘It doesn't change the fact that Shylock tried to murder Antonio though, does it, Jack? I'm sorry but I didn't feel any sympathy for him. He got his just desserts in the end. Not because he was Jewish, but because he was a miserable bastard. He reminded me of someone else I know.' She glared in the general direction of her father. ‘That greedy –'

Rachel interrupted. ‘But it's not just about race, is it? I haven't had the privilege of a classical education like all of you but I saw the play and even I realised that the meanness of spirit which drives Shylock has nothing to do with his religion.'

We all stared in surprise at Rachel's intervention.

She continued. ‘I can't quote from the play like you two but I did understand what that woman who was dressed as the lawyer, said –'

‘You mean Portia,' Saul interrupted. ‘‘
The quality of mercy is not strained, it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath –
”'

‘Oh stop showing off, Saul,' Rachel retorted.

She was right. The only one who spoke any sense. She would have made a far better Portia than the diva we'd borrowed from the girls' college.

‘For Christ's sake, that's enough of the bloody Bard.' Caroline gulped down her glass of Chablis Grand Crux, which Saul had ordered with the first course. ‘How the hell did we get started on him again?' She glared at me. ‘Isn't there something more interesting to talk about?'

‘How about Danzig?' volunteered Saul. ‘I understand Mr Chamberlain's latest speech has gone down a bomb in Berlin. What do you think, Rudi?'

‘I'm afraid your Prime Minister is talking through his top hat. Danziggers have every right to return to their fatherland. If he seriously expects the world community to believe that Danzig belongs to Poland then the world might start to believe that Gibraltar belongs to Spain.' Kohler clearly felt pleased with his overarching statement, which I thought sounded similar to something in a Goebbels speech which had been reported in the
Evening Post
.

I glimpsed a secret smile on Caroline's lips. So was this her plan? To encourage us to provoke Kohler into defending Germany so openly he might confess his nationality in public? It couldn't be too obvious though – he might just walk away. We had to suck him in a bit more.

‘You might be right there, Rudi. It is a complicated situation and we mustn't be hypocritical. Besides, international affairs are far too contentious. Why don't we talk about music?' I nudged Caroline gently with my elbow. ‘What do you think? Is music international or tribal?'

‘What are you talking about, Jack? Tribal music?' she asked.

‘I meant, does each country have its own identity in music or is it universal? I know the Italians seem to have hijacked the language.'

‘How observant of you. Are you suggesting that only Italians identify with Verdi and Puccini, that the French only love –'

‘Themselves,' interrupted Saul. ‘No, Jack's talking about identity in music. I think he means, can you tell the nationality of composer by the way his music sounds? Am I right, Jack?'

‘Sort of. For example, Beethoven. He's Austrian. Are the emotions his music provokes really those peculiar to that nation? Are Tchaikovsky's just appropriate for the Russians? Are Chopin's for the Poles –'

Kohler interrupted. ‘What about the English, Jack? Don't you have any composers of your own?'

Caroline turned on him. ‘Yes, of course we do. And bloody emotional they are as well. Think of Elgar and “Land of Hope and Glory.”'

Kohler pushed his chair back. ‘I think I understand what Jack is talking about. The British are militaristic and so is their music. The Italians are romantic and theirs reflects that. The Germans, who I believe would lay claim to Beethoven, are strong and emotional –'

‘What about the Poles, though, Rudi? Are they militaristic? Will they fight?' I spoke softly, daringly.

Kohler twisted his napkin in his hands as he looked around the room. ‘I'm not a musician but perhaps I can answer that with an example. Chopin is a typical Pole, is he not?'

Caroline answered, ‘Yes and a real patriot.'

Kohler pushed himself up and stood behind Caroline's chair. ‘Well, let me play you a short piece by Chopin and you tell me.' He stepped out towards the bandstand, rolling slightly as if the dining room was on a cruise liner at sea.

‘Can he play?' I asked Caroline.

‘I have no idea. This should raise the temperature though – assuming he doesn't fall off the stool.'

‘Was this your plan, to provoke him?'

‘He's not as bad as you think, Jack.'

There wasn't an immediate answer to that so I changed the subject. ‘Who organised this function? It's not a normal evening meal, is it?'

‘My father invited a few people to celebrate his business deal. You know the people with him, Rudi's uncle, his associate, whose name I've forgotten.'

I almost interrupted with the correct name but bit my tongue just in time.

She didn't notice. ‘The sleazy-looking one is from Belgium and I think you know Sir Edward.'

‘Sir Edward?'

‘Fairfield, the banker. I'm sure I told you.'

‘Oh, yes and who's the woman with him?'

She hesitated and covered the pause by sipping her wine. ‘Not sure, we haven't been introduced.'

And there it was – her first blatant lie. How many others had there been?

She carried on, oblivious to my expression. ‘There are some lawyers behind you, some local bankers on the other side –'

‘What about Brewster and the people from the club?'

‘Oh, he's just thanking them for looking after me and being kind to Rudi… and, before you ask, I didn't know your Uncle Ralph and his hangers-on were coming.'

‘So you invited us just to show off your new friend.'

She glared at me, her colour rising again. ‘Grow up, Jack. Don't be so prejudiced.'

I clenched my fists under the table, not daring to ask the questions I really wanted answering as Kohler fiddled with the piano stool.

Without any warning to the other diners, he started to play. The music was slow, deliberate, precise, but lacking in emotion. It conjured up images of slow moving troops, smartly dressed but without menace – on parade.

I hissed at her, ‘What's this called?'

‘It's Chopin's Polonaise Number Three – “Military”. He's playing reasonably well – too much pedal and the left hand is rather pedantic, but he's making his point in a ponderous way.'

‘Which is?'

‘Chopin and, by implication, Poland, is military. It's strong but not powerful. There's no emotion in the notes and it ends without any crescendo. He's actually a lot more subtle than I thought.'

I sensed a disagreeable measure of admiration in her tone and said, ‘So he can play the piano but I'm not sure what the guests make of it.'

There was a scattering of applause as Kohler walked back to the table, though I could see that his uncle, Kempler, looked rather puzzled. Caroline's mother seemed delighted and clapped enthusiastically.

Saul stood and applauded him ironically as he took his place back at the table.

Rachel clapped politely. ‘That's very good, Rudi. But what does it mean?'

‘It shows the Polish temperament.' Kohler emptied his glass of Chablis and held it up for a refill.

A waiter scurried over and lifted the bottle from the ice bucket. He wrapped the napkin round the base but some of the iced water dripped onto Kohler's sleeve.

‘
Arschloch
. Clumsy French oaf!'

40

In the empty silence that followed, I saw a wicked smile play over Saul's lips.

Rachel murmured something to him.

Caroline, clearly embarrassed, nudged Kohler with her elbow.

He glanced around, noted our expressions then smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry. It was a surprise. Look, no damage done.'

The waiter bowed and withdrew.

I waited then fixed my eyes on Kohler. ‘I think I understand, but that was quite a powerful piece. Not much emotion, granted, but strong, wouldn't you say?'

‘Ah, you mustn't confuse strength with power, Jack. I do believe your Mr Chamberlain is about to make that mistake. The Polish Army is large, looks strong, very smart, lots of cavalry, good manoeuvres but it is a parade army. It lacks power. It is equipped –'

‘Are you an expert on armies, Mr Kohler?' Saul interrupted. ‘Is it as powerful as the Dutch Army, or the Belgian Army?'

Kohler laughed. ‘I am no expert, Mr Marcks, but Poland is a long way from England. Chamberlain's armies would have to cross Germany to get there.'

Caroline tapped his arm. ‘What about the French Army, Rudi? Would they fight?'

‘Only if attacked. They are not an army of movement. They are equipped to fight the last war, not the next.'

‘What's this got to do with music?' Rachel seemed determined to get an answer to her first question.

Kohler replied. ‘It's about inspiration, as Jack said. A country needs passion to fight. The Poles, like Chopin, as you heard, march on the spot.'

I needed to probe for the button that would shatter his careful pretence and I had to needle Caroline into reacting to him. If what I'd read about Nazis was true then they had a very clear view of a woman's place in their grand scheme.

I kept the smile out of my voice. ‘Tell me, Rudi, you've obviously worked hard to learn to play like that – even though you say you are not a musician. I doubt any other man in this room could get up and play a Chopin piece from memory.'