One Last Summer (2007) Read online

  ‘And afterwards?’ Laura asked.

  ‘Afterwards we’ll return to the hotel, have lunch and a short rest before taking one of those pony and trap rides around the lake that are advertised in reception.’

  Charlotte hooked her hand into her granddaughter’s arm, and they walked slowly up the hill towards the fourteenth-century red-brick castle. She omitted to mention that the lake was the same one that bordered Grunwaldsee.

  The main house was some distance from the lake, but it could be seen from a few vantage points on the bank, and she hoped to find out if the walls were still standing. She also longed to know if the small wooden summerhouse that her father had so lovingly restored for Wilhelm and Irena’s honeymoon in December 1939, and which had later served as her retreat and sanctuary during the happiest summer of her life, had survived into the new millennium.

  *……*……*

  MONDAY, 25 DECEMBER 1939

  We laid Papa to rest in the crypt at four o’clock yesterday afternoon. The pastor was forced to restrict entrance to the church to family and close friends. Crowds stood outside in the snow, the men bare-headed to pay their respects. There were hundreds and hundreds. I think everyone in the town was there. I had no idea Papa knew so many people.

  Although Mama had not left her bed since we received the telegram, she insisted on going to the church. She said that if we prevented her, she would regret not saying goodbye to Papa for the rest of her life.

  The doctor allowed her to attend the service on condition she returned to bed immediately afterwards. Greta and I helped her dress and, because we were worried that she might collapse, Paul and Wilhelm walked either side of her and sat with her throughout the service. It was dreadful, following the coffin out of the house and down the lane to the church.

  Brunon and five of our oldest workers carried Papa on their shoulders for his last journey. Paul and Wilhelm followed next with Mama. Greta walked with me. I felt a hand on my shoulder as we reached the church. I turned and saw Claus behind me. He looked ill. Afterwards, he told me that he had travelled non-stop for three days and nights. He was on manoeuvres when he heard the news of Papa’s death, and although his commanding officer gave him immediate permission to leave, there were problems with the trains because of the Christmas holidays.

  I never thought I would write this, but it was good to have him standing beside me in church. He came into the crypt with us when Papa’s coffin was placed in it, and escorted me back to the house after the service. So many people came to pay their respects. I was grateful that Brunon’s wife, Martha, had taken it upon herself to organize the food. I have no idea where she found it, but there was tea and real coffee, and wine and brandy enough for everyone. The cakes, preserves and sandwiches the mourners ate probably took all our food ration for the next month, but it doesn’t matter. What is important is that Papa was buried with respect and the correct ceremonies.

  After most of the people from the town had left, Greta and I helped Mama undress, and the doctor gave her another sedative. As Greta insisted on sitting with Mama, I went to look for Claus. He was in the dining room with Wilhelm, Paul, the Adolfs, his parents and a few relatives and close friends. He told me that he has to leave the day after Christmas. Neither he nor the twins would say very much about what is happening in Poland, but when Herr Adolf and some of the other men asked when the Wehrmacht intends to push the English out of France, they clammed up, so I suppose there will be fighting in France soon.

  I knew Claus wanted to be alone with me but that was the last thing I wished for, so I went into the hall to superintend the decorating of the Christmas tree. Minna had ordered tables to be set up for the family’s Christmas presents. Mine were upstairs in my room but somehow it didn’t seem right to bring them down and lay them out in the hall on the same day we buried Papa, especially as out of respect for Papa, Brunon and I had decided to break with tradition.

  Not wanting to celebrate Christmas Eve on the same day as Papa’s funeral, we arranged for the workers’ children to come in to see the tree this morning and we also opened our presents then. It was strange to have the small ceremonies – such as they were – a day late and after breakfast. Christmas will never be the same for me again.

  Before she went to bed, Mama insisted that Wilhelm and Irena’s wedding should go ahead as planned, because Papa would not have wanted them to postpone it on his account.

  All the time, everyone, including me, says, ‘That is what Papa would have wanted.’ We say it without thinking. I have even written it here, but when Mama began talking about the wedding, I realized that none of us could possibly know what Papa would want when he is no longer here to tell us.

  I sent Minna upstairs to get my presents for everyone, but told her to hide them in the sewing room until Christmas morning. And I asked Brunon to bring down another trestle from the attic for Wilhelm and Irena’s wedding gifts. It was then that Mama von Letteberg noticed how impatient Claus was to be alone with me, so she insisted on taking over the organizing so Claus and I could go upstairs.

  I had no idea how much I would resent his presence in the room that has been mine since I was a baby. Although the four-poster bed Mama had ordered placed in the room during our honeymoon is huge, I couldn’t endure the idea of sharing it with Claus. And there he was, lying on the embroidered linen cover in his uniform, his dirty boots outside the door for Brunon to take down and clean.

  Claus kissed me and complimented me on my figure. I told him I have been too busy vomiting to put on any weight. He said he is very glad about the baby and he knew from his mother’s letters that I was far from well and missing him. I tried to smile but found it very difficult. All I could think about was Papa lying in that freezing cold vault. Papa, who had always hated the cold.

  Claus suggested that we should have some wine and go to bed. It was only nine o’clock but he said I looked as exhausted as him. There was no point in arguing because I knew that everyone expected us to remain there until morning.

  I wonder if I am getting used to the things he does to me, or if he really was gentler. It didn’t hurt as much as I remembered, although it was still disgusting, and afterwards I was horribly sick, but by then Claus was asleep so it didn’t matter. I sat up and wrote because I couldn’t stand lying next to him listening to his snoring. Then, at three o’clock I felt terribly thirsty and hungry, and realized that I had eaten hardly anything since Papa had died, so I put on my robe and left the room.

  The house was quiet. I looked in on Mama. Greta had stayed with her, probably to let everyone know what a martyr she was being, although she needn’t have bothered because she was sleeping on the chaise longue, so if Mama had wanted anything Greta wouldn’t have been any use. And she was sleeping very soundly because she didn’t stir when I tiptoed in and switched off all the lights except the small light next to Mama’s bed.

  Even Putzi barely lifted her head out of her basket when I walked down the stairs; so much for her being a guard dog. Someone had filled all the tables with presents. There were several with Claus’s handwriting, so I knew that he must have given his case to his mother to empty.

  While I was making my way to the kitchen I heard a noise in Papa’s study and froze, half-expecting him to be there. I was terrified when I pushed open the door. It wasn’t Papa, but Wilhelm and Irena. They had locked the door from the hall, but Wilhelm hadn’t bothered with the small door that connects with the servants’ part of the house. They were standing in front of the fire whispering so low I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Irena was unbuttoning Wilhelm’s trousers, something I could never imagine doing for Claus, then she helped him undress while he undressed her.

  I stood there, worried that if I moved they would see my reflection in the mirror over the fireplace, and also, although I am ashamed to admit it, I wanted to see if Wilhelm would hurt Irena as much as Claus hurts me.

  But when they were both naked, they lay, side by side on the rug in front of the fire. Irena k
issed Wilhelm all over. Every part of him. I was shocked. Just the thought of kissing Claus’s lips makes me sick, let alone any other part of his body. Then he began stroking and kissing her. I should have moved away but I simply couldn’t believe Irena. She didn’t stop him from doing whatever he wanted, and she smiled and laughed the whole time as though she liked him touching her. If she was in any pain she didn’t show any sign of it.

  Can Nina be right? Do some women actually want men to do those things to them? It was obvious from what Irena was doing to Wilhelm, and he to her, that it wasn’t the first time they had been alone and naked together.

  I crept back up the staircase to the bedroom where I am writing this. Claus is still sleeping. I feel tired and sick, and I am still hungry because I didn’t get anything to eat in case I made a noise that would disturb Wilhelm or Irena.

  I can’t understand Irena lying naked and unashamed in Wilhelm’s arms. Is she a better actress than me? Or can it be that she really likes making love?

  Is my disgust with the things Claus does to me all my fault? Should I try harder to be a wife to him? I wish I had someone to talk to. I have always been closer to Irena than Greta. We can and do talk to one another about everything. Perhaps after she marries Wilhelm I will be able to discuss the private side of married life with her. I do hope so.

  Laura leaned out of the open carriage to check that the coachman was only pretending to whip the pair of greys pulling their carriage. Reassured she sat back and said, ‘This countryside reminds me of some of the more isolated areas in Maine. That stretch of woodland looks as though it hasn’t changed in centuries.’

  ‘It probably hasn’t,’ Charlotte agreed absently. She scanned the shoreline for a sign of the lakeside summerhouse below Grunwaldsee. If it was there she couldn’t see it, or the walls of the outbuildings. But where she remembered young saplings, tall trees now towered, and bushy undergrowth that would have hidden any surviving walls from view.

  Laura watched a pair of dinghies race towards a jetty. ‘Did you ever sail on this lake when you lived here, Oma?’

  ‘Yes, but our boats were not as dashing or colourful as those.’

  ‘You used to live here?’ A brash, elderly woman with dyed blonde hair and an American accent interrupted their conversation.

  ‘A long time ago,’ Charlotte conceded, wishing she hadn’t given in to the coachman’s plea that they share the carriage with two other hotel guests. He’d offered a discount which hadn’t swayed her. But the hour’s wait for the next carriage had.

  ‘So did I,’ the women said eagerly. ‘My family used to live in Lake Street. Perhaps you remember them, the Schulers?’

  Charlotte shook her head. ‘The only family I knew in that street were the Adolfs.’

  ‘I remember them. They had a Communist son, who was always in trouble with the police, and a beautiful daughter, Irena. She married well, one of the aristocrats, a von Datski. But then everyone knows what happened to them; it was such a disgrace at the time …’

  ‘A disgrace?’ Laura looked at the woman questioningly, then at Charlotte.

  Charlotte interrupted. The last thing she wanted was this stranger telling Laura a gossip-laden version of the family history. ‘Have you come back to look at your old home?’

  ‘I wanted to show my daughter where I was born.’ She nodded to the younger version of herself sitting next to her. ‘Mrs Charles Grant the third.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you.’ Charlotte offered her hand. ‘This is my granddaughter, Laura Templeton.’

  ‘You’re English.’

  ‘I am,’ Laura answered.

  ‘We’re turning.’ Charlotte took Laura’s arm. ‘If you’ll excuse us, I would like to concentrate on the view.’

  ‘So would I. Of course, none of this was developed in our day, and now look at it. All the woods on this side of the lake cut down to make way for those small huts, summerhouses and vegetable gardens. They’ve completely ruined the scenery.’

  ‘Probably not for the people who live off those vegetables,’ Charlotte observed. ‘Food prices have rocketed since the Communists fell from power.’

  ‘And a good riddance, too. Did your family own property in Allenstein?’

  ‘Some,’ Charlotte answered guardedly.

  ‘Of course, the Germans who fled in nineteen forty-five can’t claim it back, although Poles who fled the Russian army can. I’m here because I heard that my father’s old house was up for sale.’

  ‘You’re going to buy it?’

  ‘I already have. It was a snip. Only forty-five thousand dollars.’

  ‘What will you do with it?’

  ‘Renovate it for a start. It hasn’t been touched by so much as a paintbrush since we left. Once it’s modernized, I’ll rent it out to tourists. A rented house is cheaper for families than a hotel, and this is a good base from which to tour the Masurian lakes. There you are, Ranolf,’ the woman greeted an elderly man, who walked towards the carriage as it slowed to negotiate the drive to the hotel. ‘I’ve just met this charming woman and her granddaughter. She’s another refugee come home to show her kinsfolk the old country. We must bring our grandchildren here next year.’ She turned to Charlotte. ‘My husband, Ranolf Hedley the fourth. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?’

  ‘Charlotte Templeton. If you’ll excuse us, we must go. We’re expecting a telephone call.’

  ‘Templeton?’ Laura repeated when they walked towards the outdoor café area. ‘I’ve never heard you use Grandfather’s name before. Why didn’t you tell that woman who you were?’

  ‘Because she’s a snob. You heard her talk about the aristocratic von Datskis and their disgrace.’

  Laura braced herself. ‘What was the disgrace?’

  ‘It was only a disgrace to Nazis old enough to remember the Hitler years.’ Charlotte avoided answering the question. ‘And to those who aren’t, a mystique has grown up around the Prussian Junker families. Who’s to say now how rich, splendid and powerful any of them were? There is nothing like loss, time and distance to lend distinction to any background, not to mention a vast increase in numbers. I have heard people who lived in the slums of the town claim that their family owned large estates.’

  ‘You never corrected them?’

  Charlotte smiled. ‘What was the point? Nothing could be proved either way for years, and why upset them?’

  ‘You’ve never spoken to me about your childhood.’

  Charlotte took Laura’s hand. ‘That ruin over there was a fourteenth-century watchtower. My brothers and I used to take a boat, row over the lake and picnic there as children.’ She hesitated. ‘I will tell you more, Laura, after we have visited Grunwaldsee. Until then I want to hold on to my memories, because while they remain imprisoned here,’ she tapped her forehead, ‘they remain entirely mine. Once I have told you about them they will become the past – history. For the moment, apart from Bergensee, my dead are alive again, and I would like to live with them for a little while longer.’

  Chapter Seven

  SUNDAY, 16 JUNE 1940

  It is a long time since I have had the leisure to write in this diary, but, as we are constantly told on the wireless, everyone must work hard in a country at war, women as well as men. With Mama ill, and the twins in France, just as I anticipated, the management of Grunwaldsee has fallen to me. Wilhelm suggested to Greta that she give up her BDM work to help, but she said her job implementing the Reich’s resettlement programme was far too important, as it didn’t only concern the war effort but the entire future of the Third Reich.

  I pleaded with Wilhelm not to argue with her. I am happy to assume sole responsibility for our home, because I would hate to live with Greta again. Running the estate is a burden, but a welcome one, as it leaves me little time to think about how much I miss Papa or my marriage to Claus.

  I have discovered just how much hard work it takes to make everything run smoothly at Grunwaldsee. So many things I always took for granted need a great deal of orga
nizing. I was used to reaching for cleaned and polished tack; ordering the stable boys to saddle my horse; walk into the animal feed store and see the bins full. Now, just writing the weekly work sheets takes a full day; and that’s without keeping the accounts up to date, filling out invoices, war department forms and paying the bills. The office work takes two, sometimes three, full days a week; time I would prefer to spend helping Brunon supervise the workers. There is so much that I need to learn.

  I wish I had taken the trouble to listen more to Papa when he was alive, but I thought we had all the time in the world. And in those days I couldn’t imagine Grunwaldsee without him or the boys.

  I work in Papa’s study, and frequently look at the framed document that hangs on the wall opposite his desk. It is a copy of the charter that granted the lake of Grunwaldsee and the surrounding lands to the first Wilhelm von Datski to live here. It was signed by the Grand Master of the Order of Teutonic Knights in 1286. Sometimes I feel weighed down by the long line of von Datskis who have lived here before me, sensing their disapproval at the decisions that I, a woman, and a young one at that, am forced to make on the family’s behalf.

  Before going to bed, I often stand on the balcony outside my bedroom, looking down at the lake and imagining not only all those dead von Datskis stretching back through the centuries, but all the von Datskis who will live here after me. I hope I won’t earn their disapproval as well. It would be frightful to go down in family history as the Charlotte von Letteberg, née von Datski, who ruined the estate, or ran it into bankruptcy, but hopefully, with Brunon’s help, I will avoid making any serious mistakes.

  God willing, one day my grandchildren will play here with Wilhelm and Paul’s. Irena is expecting a baby in September. She and Wilhelm are ecstatic but no one could be happier than Mama. She says she knows that Irena will have a boy who will ensure continuity of the von Datski line into the Führer’s thousand-year Reich. I cannot begin to imagine what Grunwaldsee will look like a thousand years from now. With luck, unchanged and as perfect as it does now.