One Last Summer (2007) Page 3

  ‘In that case, you’d better come to dinner tonight. Carolyn’s cooking.’

  ‘What time do you want me?’

  He gave her a hard look. She had never agreed to dine with them so easily before. Usually an appointment had to be made two weeks in advance and then only after a certain amount of arguing and checking of diaries.

  ‘Seven-thirty all right?’

  ‘Fine.’ She held up her glass. ‘Want some wine?’

  ‘I’ll carve crooked chair legs all afternoon if I do.’

  ‘Still making that dining set?’

  ‘I enjoyed doing the table but twelve chairs are six too many. Who in their right mind wants to serve a dozen people a formal, sit-down meal in this day and age?’

  ‘Someone who can afford a caterer and your hand-made furniture. There’s coffee in the kitchen.’

  ‘Beer?’

  ‘In the fridge; help yourself.’

  He returned with a can and no glass. Ripping open the top, he took the chair next to Charlotte’s and propped his long legs on a table piled with magazines. ‘This room is perfect. I feel so at home I have no qualms about making a mess, and the view is magnificent. Much better than ours. We’re too close to the lake to get a wide perspective.’

  ‘Move in while I’m away if you want. I’ve decided to pay a visit to East Prussia.’

  ‘Poland,’ he corrected.

  ‘Part of it will always be East Prussia to me.’

  ‘We’ll go with you after Carolyn’s had the baby.’

  ‘The flight’s booked. I’m leaving Boston tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow? But we were always going to make the trip together, and we can hardly take Carolyn when she’s eight months pregnant,’ he complained.

  ‘It would be too risky, even if the airline allowed her to fly.’ Reaching for the wine bottle, she replenished her glass.

  ‘Are you telling the truth about the ulcers?’ He narrowed his eyes.

  ‘You doubt your grandmother’s veracity?’

  ‘Only when it comes to her health and the cost of the presents she hands out on birthdays and Christmas.’

  ‘Undergoing all those tests made me realize I’m mortal. I’ve no intention of dying just yet, but I’m not going to get any younger or stronger than I am now, and I want to see my home again before I have to be wheeled around it in a chair. I rang Laura, she’s coming with me.’

  ‘Two women on their own in Poland. Haven’t you heard what’s been happening in the Eastern bloc? There’s a breakdown of law and order. The Mafia –’

  ‘That’s Russia,’ she interrupted impatiently, ‘and everyone knows the press exaggerate.’

  ‘At least stop off in Germany. Perhaps my father or brother could go with you …’ His voice trailed off when he realized what he was suggesting.

  ‘Do I need to remind you why you left Germany to come and live with me?’

  ‘Perhaps not my father or brother,’ he said ruefully, ‘but there’s Uncle Jeremy.’

  ‘Claus, I may be old but I’m not senile. Both my sons would rather keep me at a three-thousand-mile distance, which suits me very well, as that is precisely where I prefer to keep them. And, of my four grandchildren, Erich is too strait-laced and Luke too young to put up with me. Which leaves you and Laura, and, as Carolyn’s condition rules you out, Laura and I will have to manage as best we can without male protection. I’m sure we’ll survive.’

  ‘How is Laura?’ he asked.

  ‘Well,’ she answered cautiously.

  ‘Happy?’

  ‘She sounded fine.’

  ‘No sign of a man on the horizon?’

  Charlotte shook her head. ‘The curse of the happily-married is wanting to match-make the world. Laura is a career woman.’

  ‘Only until she finds the right man.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Charlotte would never have admitted to Claus that the lack of one special person in Laura’s life had also bothered her since Laura had turned thirty. She was inordinately proud of the cutting-edge, award-winning documentaries her granddaughter produced, which had been televised world-wide. But she couldn’t help feeling that Laura’s lifestyle of constant travelling and nights spent in hotel rooms had to be a lonely one.

  ‘I wish there was some way that Carolyn and I could go with you.’ Claus set his beer down beside his chair.

  ‘You should have given the matter some thought eight months ago.’

  ‘It was going to be our trip,’ he protested, refusing to see any humour in the situation.

  ‘But we never made it because I foolishly kept putting it off. I’ll check out the country. If there’s anything left worth seeing, you and Carolyn can go next year.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ He finished his beer and left his chair. ‘Can I help?’ ‘All I have to do is cancel my appointments for the next month or so.’

  ‘And pack,’ he reminded her.

  ‘A few clothes. I can manage. Take care of the house for me?’

  ‘I will.’ For an instant, he reminded her of his grandfather. Tall, blond, blue-eyed and impossibly good-looking, but then, a colonel in the Wehrmacht of the Third Reich would never have grown a beard and moustache, or dressed in sawdust-covered jeans and a tattered sweatshirt, let alone loafers on bare feet. Physically alike, yet so different in character, temperament, attitude – and philosophy. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Living with me in my dotage, and staying on after your marriage. Being here every day and caring.’

  ‘And I suppose you’ve done nothing for us, like allowing us to build a house in your backyard and giving me the money to set up in business.’

  ‘My motives were purely selfish. I needed someone to tend to me in cantankerous old age.’

  ‘You’ll never be old, Oma.’

  ‘I’m growing older by the minute, and I need to make those calls and pack.’

  ‘Seven-thirty,’ he reminded. ‘And don’t go carrying any heavy suitcases downstairs.’

  ‘The courier is coming tomorrow morning to pick up the paintings.’

  ‘You’ve finished them?’ Carolyn handed Charlotte a piece of cherry pie and a bowl of whipped cream.

  ‘All forty-eight oils and twenty-four pen and ink sketches, and I never want to read or illustrate another of Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales again.’

  ‘I’d love to see them all hung next to one another.’

  ‘That is in your hands. I’ve asked the publisher to send them to you, not the gallery, when he’s done with them. You liked them so much, Carolyn, I thought they might make an acceptable christening gift.’

  ‘Acceptable!’ Carolyn reached across the table and grasped Charlotte’s hand. ‘I’m overwhelmed. They’re going to look wonderful in the nursery. How can we ever thank you?’

  ‘Great,’ Claus broke in with mock indignation. ‘Now my son will grow up surrounded by politically-incorrect depictions of aristocratic castles and princesses, and scary, psychologically-damaging images of wicked witches and hobgoblins. Not to mention the heartless, icicle-firing Snow Queen.’

  ‘Have I got news for you, sweetheart, the world is politically incorrect.’ Carolyn rose from her chair and poured hot water on to herbal teabags.

  ‘And the sooner he or she learns to cope with it, the better,’ Charlotte agreed.

  ‘She,’ Carolyn divulged, savouring the effect her revelation had on her husband and Charlotte. ‘I know I said I didn’t want to know the baby’s sex but I was looking at a baby catalogue and there were the sweetest little blue romper suits and pink dresses, and I couldn’t make up my mind between them, so I telephoned the doctor.’

  ‘Then we’ll call her Charlotte.’ Claus put his arm around his wife and dropped a kiss on her bump.

  ‘Don’t you think she deserves her own name?’ Charlotte asked. ‘Carolyn and I like Charlotte,’ Claus smiled. ‘We agreed on it months ago.’

  ‘If you must use it, shorten it to Charlie,’ Charlotte suggested. ‘It’s
more suitable for an American girl.’

  ‘Charlie,’ Carolyn mused. ‘Sounds like a tomboy’s name.’

  ‘I don’t want a tomboy for a daughter,’ Claus protested.

  ‘Only a man could say that. Tomboys have much more fun than prim little girls in lace dresses. More tea?’ Carolyn asked, as Charlotte left the table.

  ‘No, thank you, dear. I need a good night’s sleep before travelling.’

  ‘Is Uncle Jeremy meeting you in London?’ Claus fetched Charlotte’s wrap.

  ‘Samuel Goldberg. We have agent-client things to discuss and he offered to drive me to Jeremy’s.’

  ‘We’ll take you to the airport,’ Carolyn said decisively.

  ‘Oh no you won’t, I’ll order a taxi,’ Charlotte contradicted.

  ‘I need to do some shopping. Baby things,’ Carolyn protested gleefully, ‘and it’s not often I can persuade this one to leave his workshop to drive into the city.’

  Charlotte looked at both of them. ‘You really do need to shop?’

  ‘You heard the boss.’ Claus draped the wrap around his grandmother’s shoulders. ‘I’ll walk you home.’

  ‘You’d intrude on my thoughts, and your girls need you.’ Charlotte kissed her grandson on the cheek and hugged Carolyn before leaving.

  ‘Is she all right?’ Carolyn asked, as Claus closed the door.

  ‘I hope so. I think she’s just preoccupied with the past now that she’s finally decided to make this trip.’

  ‘She must have loved your grandfather very much.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. You’ve met my father and brother. They must have inherited their personalities from someone, and it sure as hell wasn’t Charlotte.’

  She patted her bulge. ‘What will we do if this one turns out like them?’

  ‘There’s no chance of my daughter turning out anything other than perfect with you for a mother.’ He pulled her down on to his lap and began to tickle her.

  Charlotte heard Claus and Carolyn’s laughter as she walked along the shore path that led from Claus’s house to her own. Kicking off her shoes, she stepped into the lake and splashed through the sandy shallows, revelling in the feel of cold water on her stockinged feet.

  The moon hung low, a huge, golden orb in an indigo night sky, the same moon that was shining down on her childhood home. A few more days and she’d be there. Everything was ready, the tickets waiting to be picked up at the departure desk, her cases packed, her papers stacked neatly in her safe. She’d redrafted her will when Claus had left Germany to join her six years before. The decisions she had made then still held. Would this trip make her feel any differently about the choices she had made in life? Why was she going? What was she hoping to find after all this time? And – most importantly of all – had she been right to ask Laura to accompany her?

  She climbed the steps to her veranda and walked into her living room. Her diary was already packed in her hand luggage. She took it from the bag and unwrapped it. The words she’d written on the morning of her eighteenth birthday stared up at her from the page: It feels as though I’ve been away for ever. I can’t wait to feast my eyes on the dear, dear house and hug Papa, Mama and the twins …

  Greta didn’t get a mention, even then. But what was the point of returning to Grunwaldsee now? There would be nothing left of the house but bricks and mortar, and, after decades of Communist neglect and misrule, decaying bricks and mortar at that. Or worse still, a burnt-out ruin, or a factory erected on the site. Wouldn’t it be better to cling to her memories?

  She delved into her bag again and brought out another book, a hardback, its jacket yellowing with age. She ran her hands over the title and illustration. One Last Summer by Pyotr Borodin. A picture of a substantial house, white, wooden, gleaming through a pine forest. Totally wrong, of course, but how could the American artist who’d designed the jackets of the Stateside copies know what an East Prussian country mansion looked like?

  As she opened the book, two sketches fell out. One was of Grunwaldsee as she had last seen it: a long, low, classically designed, eighteenth-century manor, the simplicity of its façade broken by a short, central flight of steps that swept up to a front door flanked by Corinthian columns. The second was of a young man drawn from memory. She stared at it for a long time. When she finally laid it aside, she knew why she had to go back.

  Chapter Two

  ‘Laura, it’s Claus.’

  Laura hesitated. Had her grandmother shown him the photocopies? It hadn’t occurred to her that she might discuss them with Claus, but her grandmother and Claus were so close …

  ‘Laura, are you there?’

  ‘Yes.’ She mouthed an apology across the restaurant table to her librarian dinner date and headed for the Ladies. ‘It’s just a surprise to hear from you. I wasn’t expecting you to call but it’s great to hear your voice. How’s Carolyn?’

  ‘Burgeoning. It’s going to be a girl.’

  ‘Wonderful. Our family can do with all the women it can get. Does Oma know?’

  ‘We told her last night. We took her to the airport this morning. She said you’re taking time out to go to Poland with her.’

  ‘Are you checking up on me or her?’ she asked.

  ‘Neither.’

  ‘Pull the other one, Claus. As you’re obviously dying to know, we’re booked on a flight from Berlin to Warsaw on Friday.’

  ‘You’re in Berlin?’ he said in surprise.

  ‘Aren’t mobiles great? No one ever knows where anyone is. But yes, I’m in Berlin. To be precise, in an extremely good Turkish restaurant. I’ve been working here for a month on a documentary about the Stasi for the History Channel, which I’ve just wrapped. So it’s the perfect time for me to have a break. And I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than take a trip with Oma.’

  ‘Oma didn’t tell me you were in Germany.’

  ‘Possibly to keep the peace. Before you ask, I haven’t called on your parents. It’s so bloody between you and your father I’d rather not get involved.’

  ‘Also, you can’t stand him,’ he pointed out mildly.

  ‘That, too,’ she agreed.

  ‘It’s just as bloody between my father and Oma as it is between me and him,’ he added defensively.

  ‘Perhaps at her age she may want to bury the hatchet.’

  ‘The only place to do that is in his head,’ Claus said, not entirely humorously.

  ‘I suggested she rest here for a few days before going on.’

  Laura deliberately changed the subject. Once Claus began to talk about his father he didn’t know when to stop. ‘A transatlantic flight is tiring for anyone, let alone someone her age, but you know Oma: now she’s finally made up her mind to go, she won’t be happy until she gets there.’

  ‘Have you given a thought as to how you’re going to get around Poland?’

  ‘I passed my driving test when I was seventeen, dear cousin.’

  ‘You’ve rented a car?’

  ‘It will be waiting at the airport.’

  ‘Be careful –’

  ‘Claus, if you’ve rung to lecture me, you can stop right now. I can look after Oma just as well as you.’

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting you couldn’t.’ He paused for a moment. ‘But I don’t think you should let her drive.’

  ‘There’s something wrong with Oma?’ she asked in concern.

  ‘Apart from the stomach ulcers – she has told you about her ulcers?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘According to her, they’re minor and the only treatment is diet. She looks as though she’s going to go on for ever –’

  ‘Then why shouldn’t I let her drive?’ she interrupted.

  ‘She seems a bit peculiar. Nothing I can put my finger on but … preoccupied. It’s difficult to explain but I have a feeling that something isn’t right.’

  As it was obvious that her grandmother hadn’t told Claus about the existence of the documents, Laura made a swift decision not to mention them. She didn’t ta
ke pleasure in withholding the knowledge from Claus but the secrets weren’t hers to tell. ‘Oma’s finally decided to go home after sixty years in exile. Wouldn’t you be feeling a bit peculiar if you were in her shoes?’

  ‘I’d be running like hell in the other direction, and I only left Germany six years ago.’

  ‘You do like to play hard done by.’

  ‘If that means army discipline, cold showers and a father with the temperament of a Rottweiler, then yes, but to get back to Oma –’

  ‘Are you genuinely worried about her, Claus, or simply peeved that it’s me, not you, who is making this trip with her.’

  ‘Bit of both,’ he conceded frankly. ‘I always assumed that the three of us would go together.’

  ‘You were the one who got Carolyn pregnant.’

  ‘Why do I have the feeling I’m being got at?’

  ‘Because you are,’ she said flatly.

  ‘It’s not just Oma. It’s Poland and the Eastern bloc. According to the press, it’s not the place to be right now.’

  ‘Since when have you believed anything printed in the papers?’

  ‘Since you took up journalism.’

  ‘I work for television now.’

  ‘That’s even worse. Go for maximum audience impact and to hell with the truth.’

  ‘Only in America.’ She changed the subject again. ‘Oma keeps telling me that you are blissfully happy. The full fairy story. Happily ever after.’

  ‘She’s right. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve Carolyn and the baby, but I’m afraid to think about it too much in case the spell breaks. You?’

  ‘I have my moments and my work.’ ‘You’re welcome to visit any time.’

  ‘I know. I’ll try to come after Carolyn’s had the baby.’

  ‘Come back with Oma. She’d love to have you, and you wouldn’t have to see us unless you wanted to.’

  ‘You live at the bottom of her garden.’

  ‘Like English fairies.’

  Remembering her abandoned dinner date, Laura said, ‘This phone call must be costing a fortune.’

  ‘It’s only money,’ he answered carelessly. ‘Laura, you will take care of Oma, won’t you?’

  ‘As well as you would, Claus.’