The Berlin Stories (15 page)

“You seem very surprised, William, not to say displeased.” He was the picture of innocence. “I always thought you and he were such good friends?”

“So did I, until the last time we met. He practically cut me dead.”

“Oh, my dear boy, if you don’t mind my saying so, I think that must have been partly your imagination. I’m sure he’d never do a thing like that; it doesn’t sound like him at all.”

“You don’t suggest I dreamed it, do you?”

“I’m not doubting your word for an instant, of course. If he was, as you say, a little brusque, I expect he was worried by his many duties. As you probably know, he has a post under the new administration.”

“I think I did read about it in the newspapers, yes.”

“And anyhow, even if he did behave a little strangely on the occasion you mention, I can assure you that he was acting under a misapprehension which has since been removed.”

I smiled.

“You needn’t make such a mystery out of it, Arthur. I know half the story already, so you may as well tell me the other half. Your secretary had something to do with it, I think?”

Arthur wrinkled up his nose with a ridiculously fastidious expression.

“Don’t call him that, William, please. Just say Schmidt. I don’t care to be reminded of the association. Those who are foolish enough to keep snakes as pets usually have cause to regret it, sooner or later.”

“All right, then. Schmidt… Go on.”

“I see that, as usual, you’re better informed than I’d supposed,” Arthur sighed. “Well, well, if you want to hear the whole melancholy truth, you must, painful as it is for me to dwell on. As you know, my last weeks at the Courbierestrasse were spent in a state of excruciating financial anxiety.”

“I do indeed.”

“Well, without going into a lot of sordid details which are neither here nor there, I was compelled to try and raise money. I cast about in all sorts of likely and unlikely directions. And, as a last desperate resort, when the wolf was literally scratching at the door, I put my pride in my pocket….”

“And asked Kuno to lend you some?”

“Thank you, dear boy. With your customary consideration for my feelings, you help me over the most painful part of the story… Yes, I sank so low. I violated one of my most sacred principles—never to borrow from a friend. ( For I may say I did regard him as a friend, a dear friend.) Yes…”

“And he refused? The stingy brute!”

“No, William. There you go too fast. You misjudge him. I have no reason to suppose that he would have refused. Quite the contrary. This was the first time I had ever approached him. But Schmidt got to know of my intentions. I can only suppose he had been systematically opening all my letters. At any rate, he went straight to Pregnitz and advised him not to advance me the money; giving all sorts of reasons, most of which were the most monstrous slanders. Despite all my long experience of human nature, I should hardly have believed such treachery and ingratitude possible…”

“Whatever made him do it?”

“Chiefly, I think, pure spite. As far as one can follow the workings of his foul mind. But, undoubtedly, the creature was also afraid that, in this case, he would be deprived of his pound of flesh. He usually arranged these loans himself, you know, and subtracted a percentage before handing over the money at all… It humbles me to the earth to have to tell you this.”

“And I suppose he was right? I mean, you weren’t going to give him any, this time, were you?”

“Well, no. After his villainous behaviour over the sitting-room carpet, it was hardly to be expected that I should. You remember the carpet?”

“I should think I did.”

“The carpet incident was, so to speak, the declaration of war between us. Although I still endeavoured to meet his demands with the utmost fairness.”

“And what did Kuno have to say to all this?”

“He was, naturally, most upset, and indignant. And, I must add, rather unnecessarily unkind. He wrote me a most unpleasant letter. Quite gentlemanly, of course; he is always that. But frigid. Very frigid.”

“I’m surprised that he took Schmidt’s word against yours.”

“No doubt Schmidt had ways and means of convincing him. There are some incidents in my career, as you doubtless know, which are very easily capable of misinterpretation.”

“And he brought me into it, as well?”

“I regret to say that he did. That pains me more than anything else in the whole affair; to think that you should have been dragged down into the mud in which I was already wallowing.”

“What exactly did he tell Kuno about me?”

“He seems to have suggested, not to put too fine a point upon it, that you were an accomplice in my nefarious crimes.”

“Well I’m damned.”

“I need hardly add that he painted us both as Bolsheviks of the deepest crimson.”

“He flattered me there, I’m afraid.”

“Well—er—yes. That’s one way of looking at it, of course. Unfortunately, revolutionary ardour is no recommendation to the Baron’s favour. His view of the members of the Left Wing is somewhat primitive. He imagines us with pockets full of bombs.”

“And yet, in spite of all this, he’s ready to have dinner with us next Thursday?”

“Oh, our relations are very different now, I’m glad to say. I’ve seen him several times since my return to Berlin. Considerable diplomacy was required, of course; but I think I’ve more or less convinced him of the absurdity of Schmidt’s accusation. By a piece of good luck, I was able to be of service in a little matter. Pregnitz is essentially a reasonable man; he’s always open to conviction.”

I smiled: “You seem to have put yourself to a good deal of trouble on his account. I hope it’ll prove to have been worth while.”

“One of my characteristics, William, you may call it a weakness if you like, is that I can never bear to lose a friend, if it can possibly be avoided.”

“And you’re anxious that I shan’t lose a friend either?”

“Well, yes, I must say, if I thought I had been the cause, even indirectly, of a permanent estrangement between Pregnitz and yourself, it would make me very unhappy. If any little doubts or resentments do still exist on either side, I sincerely hope that this meeting will put an end to them.”

“There’s no ill feeling as far as I’m concerned.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that, dear boy. Very glad. It’s so stupid to bear grudges. In this life one’s apt to lose a great deal through a mistaken sense of pride.”

“A great deal of money, certainly.”

“Yes… that too.” Arthur pinched his chin and looked thoughtful. “Although I was speaking, just then, more from the spiritual point of view than the material.” His tone implied a gentle rebuke. “By the way,” I asked, “what’s Schmidt doing now?”

“My dear William,” Arthur looked pained, “how in the world should I know?”

“I thought he might have been bothering you.”

“During my first month in Paris, he wrote me a number of letters full of the most preposterous threats and demands for money. I simply disregarded them. Since then, I’ve heard nothing more.”

“He’s never turned up at Frl. Schroeder’s?”

“Thank God, no. Not up to now. It’s one of my nightmares that he’ll somehow discover the address.”

“I suppose he’s more or less bound to, sooner or later?”

“Don’t say that, William. Don’t say that, please… I have enough to worry me as it is. The cup of my afflictions would indeed be full.”

As we walked to the restaurant on the evening of the dinner-party, Arthur primed me with final instructions.

“You will be most careful, won’t you, dear boy, not to let drop any reference to Bayer or to our political beliefs?”

“I’m not completely mad.”

“Of course not, William. Please don’t think I meant anything offensive. But even the most cautious of us betray ourselves at times… Just one other little point: perhaps, at this stage of the proceedings, it would be more politic not to address Pregnitz by his Christian name. It’s as well to preserve one’s distance. That sort of thing’s so easily misunderstood.”

“Don’t you worry. I’ll be as stiff as a poker.”

“Not stiff, dear boy, I do beg. Perfectly easy, perfectly natural. A shade formal, perhaps, just at first. Let him make the advances. A little polite reserve, that’s all.”

“If you go on much longer, you’ll get me into such a c Irate that I shan’t be able to open my mouth.”

We arrived at the restaurant to find Kuno already seated at the table Arthur had reserved. The cigarette between his fingers was burnt down almost to the end; his face wore an expression of well-bred boredom. At the sight of him, Arthur positively gasped with horror.

“My dear Baron, do forgive me, please. I wouldn’t have had this happen for the world. Did I say half-past? I did? And you’ve been waiting a quarter of an hour? You overwhelm me with shame. Really, I don’t know how to apologise enough.”

Arthur’s fulsomeness seemed to embarrass the Baron as much as it did myself. He made a faint, distasteful gesture with his fin-like hand and murmured something which I couldn’t hear.

“… too stupid of me. I simply can’t conceive how I can have been so foolish….”

We all sat down. Arthur prattled on and on; his apologies developed like an air with variations. He blamed his memory and recalled other instances when it had failed him. (“I’m reminded of a most unfortunate occasion in Washington on which I entirely forgot to attend an important diplomatic function at the house of the Spanish Ambassador.”) He found fault with his watch; lately, he told us, it had been gaining. ( “I usually make a point, about this time of year, of sending it to the makers in Zürich to be overhauled.”) And he assured the Baron, at least five times, that I had no responsibility whatever for the mistake. I wished I could sink through the floor. Arthur, I could see, was nervous and un-sure of himself; the variations wavered uneasily and threatened, at every moment, to collapse into discords. I had seldom known him to be so verbose and never so boring. Kuno had retired behind his monocle. His face was as discreet as the menu, and as unintelligible.

By the middle of the fish, Arthur had talked himself out. A silence followed which was even more uncomfortable than his chatter. We sat round the elegant little dinner-table like three people absorbed in a difficult chess problem. Arthur manipulated his chin and cast furtive, despairing glances in my direction, signalling for help. I declined to respond. I was sulky and resentful. I’d come here this evening on the understanding that Arthur had already more or less patched things up with Kuno; that the way was paved to a general reconciliation. Nothing of the kind. Kuno was still suspicious of Arthur, and no wonder, considering the way he was behaving now. I felt his eye questioningly upon me from time to time and went on eating, looking neither to right nor to left.

“Mr. Bradshaw’s just returned from England.” It was as though Arthur had given me a violent push into the middle of the stage. His tone implored me to play my part. They were both looking at me, now. Kuno was interested but cautious; Arthur frankly abject. They were so funny in their different ways that I had to smile.

“Yes,” I said, “at the beginning of the month.” , “Excuse me, you were in London?”

“Part of the time, yes.”

“Indeed?” Kuno’s eye lit up with a tender gleam. “And how was it there, may I ask?”

“We had lovely weather in September.”

“Yes, I see….” A faint, fishy smile played over his lips; he seemed to savour delicious memories. His monocle shone with a dreamy light. His distinguished, preserved profile became pensive and maudlin and sad.

“I shall always maintain,” put in the incorrigible Arthur, “that London in September has a charm all its own. I remember one exceptionally beautiful autumn—in nineteen hundred and five. I used to stroll down to Waterloo Bridge before breakfast and admire St. Paul’s. At that time, I had a suite at the Savoy Hotel….”

Kuno appeared not to have heard him.

“And, excuse me, how are the Horse Guards?”

“Still sitting there.”

“Yes? I am glad to hear this, you see. Very glad….”

I grinned. Kuno smiled, fishy and subtle. Arthur uttered a surprisingly coarse snigger which he instantly checked with his hand. Then Kuno threw back his head and laughed out loud: “Ho! Ho! Ho!” I had never heard him really laugh before. His laugh was a curiosity, an heirloom; something handed down from the dinner-tables of the last century; aristocratic, manly and sham, scarcely to be heard nowadays except on the legitimate stage. He seemed a little ashamed of it himself, for, recovering, he added, in a tone of apology: “You see, excuse me, I can remember them very well.”

“I’m reminded,” Arthur leaned forward across the table; his tone became spicy, “of a story which used to be told about a certain peer of the realm… let’s call him Lord X. I can vouch for it, because I met him once in Cairo, a most eccentric man….”

There was no doubt about it, the party had been saved. I began to breathe more freely. Kuno relaxed by imperceptible stages, from polite suspicion to positive jollity. Arthur, recovering his nerve, was naughty and funny. We drank a good deal of brandy and three whole bottles of Pommard. I told an extremely stupid stoiy about the two Scotsmen who went into a synagogue. Kuno started to nudge me with his foot. In an absurdly short space of time I looked at the clock and saw it was eleven.

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Arthur. “If you’ll forgive me, I must fly. A little engagement…”

I looked at Arthur questioningly. I had never known him to make appointments at this hour of the night; besides, it wasn’t Anni’s evening. Kuno didn’t seem at all put out, however. He was most gracious.

“Don’t mention it, my dear fellow… We quite understand.” His foot pressed mine under the table.

“You know,” I said, when Arthur had left us, “I really ought to be getting home, too.”

“Oh, surely not.”

“I think so,” I said firmly, smiling and moving my foot away. He was squeezing a corn.

“You see, I should like so very much to show you my new flat. We can be there in the car in ten minutes.”

“I should love to see it; some other time.”

He smiled faintly.

“Then may I, perhaps, give you a lift home?”