‘No, I feel fine; that is, unless you’d rather be at the wheel,’ Laura replied, before remembering Claus’s warning about letting their grandmother drive.
‘Not at all.’ Charlotte folded the map spread out on her knee. She had studied the route. North from Warsaw, then follow the Elblag road until they saw the sign for Olsztyn. To her surprise, it had proved as easy as it looked. ‘Another hour or so and we should be at the hotel.’
‘Provided I don’t tempt providence by driving on the wrong side of the road again,’ Laura qualified. ‘After a month in Berlin you’d think I’d be used to it. I hope we reach Olsztyn in time to have a shower and unpack before dinner.’
‘I’ll never get used to calling Allenstein Olsztyn. It’s such an ugly word,’ Charlotte said feelingly.
‘Perhaps not to the Poles.’
‘Why are all these Trabis and Fiats at the side of the road? Surely they can’t all have broken down?’
‘Apparently spare parts for cars are still a major problem in Eastern Europe,’ Laura answered. ‘That’s probably why there are so many horses and carts plodding in the middle of the road.’
‘Not to mention bicycles that come from all directions,’ Charlotte commented, as a young man swerved precariously in front of them.
‘Do you recognize anything?’
‘Not yet, but the countryside is just as I remembered. I was afraid it would be polluted, but the forests are as green and the lakes as clear as when I was a girl.’
‘I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t all these new buildings and freshly painted houses.’ Laura slowed the car to read a signpost. ‘Olsztyn eight kilometres. Do you want to stop off anywhere on the way?’
‘That depends what road we go in on.’
‘We must be on the main road now.’
Charlotte looked around. ‘I don’t see anything I know.’
‘What about that lake?’ Laura pointed to a small lake on their left.
Charlotte paled. ‘Two, maybe three kilometres ahead there’ll be a turn to the right.’ She had thought she’d have more time to prepare. Some things had changed, after all. The trees had grown taller and altered the landscape. ‘It will be little more than a lane. There used to be gates with stone wolves’ heads capping the pillars.’
Laura noticed that Charlotte was trembling when she slowed to look for the landmark. She had never seen her grandmother upset, and stopped the car when Charlotte’s hands tightened into gnarled fists.
There were no gates, no pillars, no stone wolves’ heads; only two ivy-shrouded mounds of rubble.
‘Is this the lane you’d like me to go down, Oma?’ Charlotte nodded.
Laura drove slowly over the track. Piles of leaves and pine needles were trapped between broken cobblestones. She swerved to avoid potholes, some large and deep enough to trap a wheel. The lane veered sharply to the right, she turned, and they entered a vast courtyard. In front of them and on their left towered an L-shaped, six-storey baroque mansion.
‘You lived here?’ Laura gasped.
Unable to answer, Charlotte fumbled with the door handle. Shivering in spite of the sunshine, she stepped outside. The breeze carried the distinct pine-resin smell of the forest. She looked around and took in everything; the fountain in the centre of the courtyard; the features on the stone cherubs that decorated it, disfigured and crumbling; the water spouts choked with weeds and caked slime that had dried to a rusty brown; the curved roofs, more gaping hole than red tiles; the windows boarded over with planks that had been prised away in places in the lower storeys; the decay in the once-decorative stonework, the cement veneer crumbling at the corners, so weather-stained and filthy its original cream could only be guessed at in one or two of the more sheltered nooks and crannies.
‘Is this Grunwaldsee?’ Laura’s voice fell unnaturally loud into the silence.
‘Bergensee.’ Charlotte’s voice was clotted with tears. ‘The home of your Uncle Erich’s father.’
‘And you lived here, too?’
‘For a little while after I married him.’
‘I had absolutely no idea you lived somewhere so splendid, and I’m sure Claus doesn’t. Why didn’t you tell us?’
‘So you’d never be dissatisfied with what you have.’
As Charlotte spoke, three dark-skinned, ebony-haired women, with babies in their arms and small children clinging to their skirts, left the stables and walked across the courtyard towards them.
‘Why are you here?’
The question was put to her in Polish. Charlotte understood it, but only just. Her command of the language had never progressed beyond the rudimentary, even when her father had employed Poles before the war. She pointed to herself and said, ‘Von Letteberg.’
The reply came in German. ‘You’ve returned to claim the house?’
Charlotte looked back at the ruins of the mansion. She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t even if I wanted to, and I don’t.’ She turned to Laura. ‘Let’s go.’
‘You don’t want to see any more, Oma?’
‘I’ve seen enough.’
Realizing that her grandmother was too upset to make a rational decision, Laura suggested, ‘Perhaps we could return later?’
Charlotte climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door. ‘There’s nothing to come back for.’
‘Is this what Grunwaldsee will be like?’
‘I don’t know.’ Charlotte looked at Bergensee for what she hoped would be the last time. Sad, broken, with gypsies living in the courtyard where carriages and motor cars had once waited for princes and presidents. ‘Grunwaldsee was never as grand as Bergensee. My only hope is that it’s not as derelict now. Greta was right. I should never have come back.’
Laura gripped her hand. ‘The sooner we get you to a hotel, a good meal and a soft bed, the better.’
‘You sound like my mother.’ Charlotte tried to smile through her tears.
Laura switched on the ignition, slammed the rented Fiat into gear and drove back out on to the main road.
Laura knocked on the door of Charlotte’s room an hour after they had checked into the hotel. When Charlotte opened it, she stepped inside and looked around. ‘Your room is identical to mine.’
‘Bland, soulless, comfortable, and easy to clean.’ Charlotte walked through the French doors on to a small balcony that overlooked the lake.
‘Our balconies adjoin. All you have to do is knock on the wall and I can climb over.’
‘You make me sound like a sick old martinet who needs constant attention. Next thing you’ll be giving me a cane to rap and a code. One knock for “urgent”, two for “you have time to put your shoes on”.’
‘I am concerned about you. I can’t make up my mind whether you’re ill or just worn out.’
Charlotte smiled. ‘Physically exhausted from all the travelling, and emotionally spent after seeing Bergensee. I thought I was strong enough to face anything. It’s come as an unpleasant surprise to realize I’m not.’
‘You’ve had a shock. Bergensee must have been some house in its heyday.’
‘My mother-in-law’s housekeeper would have delighted in telling you that it had four hundred and sixty-five rooms, acres of marble from Italy, and original artwork by Bartlomiej Pens and Piotr Kolberg on the walls of the principal reception rooms, the same artists who decorated the baroque church at Swieta Lipke in the seventeenth century. There was even a painting attributed to Leonardo da Vinci in the dining room.’
‘It could still be there?’
‘The Russians looted and stripped every house in East Prussia. I promise you, there’s nothing left behind those broken walls except empty rooms.’
‘And ghosts?’ Laura ventured.
‘Perhaps. But not mine.’ Charlotte walked back into the room and sank down into a chair.
‘You should have told us what it was like.’
‘Too many people looked back instead of forward at the end of the war, Laura. That was the last thing I wanted for my sons and grandchildren.’
‘Claus would have dragged you here years ago if he’d known he had an ancestral home like that.’
‘Like what?’ Charlotte asked. ‘It has no roof, no windows, gypsies living in the outbuildings. Another few years of freezing winters and warm summers will destroy the fabric even more, making it so unstable it will have to be pulled down before it collapses.’
‘It could still be saved.’
‘Not by me, and not by Erich or Claus,’ Charlotte said decisively. ‘When Germany was reunified, the West German government agreed that no reparation could be given or claims recognized for land, buildings or possessions lost in what is now Polish territory.’
‘But it could be for sale,’ Laura persisted. ‘Few people would want a house in that condition. We might be able to pick it up for a song.’
‘Even if we did, no one in our family has the kind of money needed to renovate Bergensee, let alone restore it to what it was. Besides,’ Charlotte reminded her, ‘none of us speaks Polish, so why would we want to live here?’
‘You’ve never said much about Grunwaldsee.’
‘You’ll see it for yourself,’ Charlotte replied evasively.
‘Would you like to dine here, alone in your room?’ Laura asked tactfully.
‘I know it’s dreadfully anti-social of me, but would you mind?’
‘Not at all. I have to unpack and get my bearings. I love exploring new places on my own. You never know who you’re going to meet.’
‘Thank you for being understanding. And for being here with me.’
Laura went to the door. ‘They serve breakfast until ten; shall I call you at nine?’
‘I promise you, I’ll be more human then.’
‘You’re always human, Oma.’ Laura kissed her grandmother, before leaving her in the shades of a country long gone and the ghosts she sensed were crowding her out of the room.
WEDNESDAY, 20 DECEMBER 1939
Papa is dead. Even now, when I have written the words, I can’t believe it. The telegram came at midday. He died last night of a heart attack in a hotel in Munich. They are sending his body home for burial. Mama is hysterical with grief. I sent for the doctor and he sedated her. He telephoned the authorities, who told him that the coffin will be sealed and cannot on any account be opened. He explained to me that the features sometimes contort during a heart attack and we should remember Papa as he was, not as he will look now.
I am trying to be strong and do what Papa would have wished, simply because there is no one else to organize Papa’s funeral, although, like Mama, I would like to take to my bed, pull the blankets over my head and shut out the world.
The doctor promised me that Mama wouldn’t wake for at least six hours, so I asked Minna to sit with her. Then I telephoned the pastor and Papa and Mama von Letteberg. Because Papa von Letteberg is in the War Office, I hoped he would be able to contact Paul and Wilhelm and arrange leave so they would be able to come home for the funeral. I also telephoned Greta in Poland. It was hateful having to tell her about Papa on the telephone. She sounded so odd that afterwards I telephoned her lodgings again and told one of the BDM girls about Papa. She promised that she would look after Greta until her travel warrant comes through.
Brunon was in the hall when the telegram came, so I asked him to gather all the workers together. It should have been Mama, Wilhelm or Paul telling them that Papa had died, but because Mama was in no condition to face anyone and the boys were away, the responsibility fell to me. I have never felt so unequal to a task. But now Papa has gone, someone has to manage Grunwaldsee until the war ends and the twins return. It is only right that I should shoulder as much of the burden as I can to spare Mama some of the work and worry. If only I didn’t feel so ill with this pregnancy.
Papa and Mama von Letteberg drove all the way from Berlin and arrived late this evening. They are wonderful. Papa von Letteberg had already telephoned Wilhelm and Paul’s commanders, and sent a telegram to Claus, who is away from his headquarters. He helped me to arrange the order of service for Papa’s funeral, which will be held on Christmas Eve, and promised that they would stay with me at Grunwaldsee until New Year’s Day.
They think I am resting but the last thing I want to do is go to bed. I know I won’t be able to sleep, and the doctor can’t give me any sedatives because of the baby. So I went into Mama’s room, sent Minna to bed, and now I am sitting with Mama, writing this.
It is hard to believe that we will never see Papa again. The door to his dressing room is open. I can see his dresser and, resting on top of it, the amber panelled box he keeps his shirt studs and tiepins in. Next to it are his silver hairbrushes. He never would take them away from Grunwaldsee because he thought them too ostentatious for travelling. Will they send his clothes and plain wooden brushes back with him when he comes home?
He will be arriving in Allenstein on Saturday afternoon on the three o’clock train. I am going to meet it. Papa von Letteberg didn’t want me to, but I insisted. Papa von Letteberg ordered a hearse to meet the train. I would probably have sent Brunon with a cart. I have so much to learn. I am lucky to have Brunon. Whatever else, I must make more of an effort to fight my weakness and sickness. I have to be strong, for Mama and Wilhelm and Paul’s sake, because, when this war is over, the boys will return, and it is my responsibility to see that the estate of Grunwaldsee is run properly until such time as they can take over.
Our home is so precious and it is the duty of my brothers and me to care for it, to keep it safe and in good condition until we can pass it on to the generation who will come after us, and I must look after Mama, too. It is what Papa would have expected of me. I must be strong. I simply must.
‘Well, now we’re finally here, what would you like to do first?’ Laura asked, as she and Charlotte queued at the breakfast buffet.
‘Eat, if there’s any food left.’ Charlotte stepped back to avoid being elbowed by a large German, who was intent on piling half the cold meats from the buffet on to his plate.
Laura picked up a bread basket. ‘What rolls would you like? Sesame, poppy seed, wholemeal, milk?’
‘You choose.’
‘I’ve been thinking; if you don’t want to go to Grunwaldsee today, we could wander around the town. From what I saw on the way in, some of the buildings look old and interesting, and there is bound to be a craft shop or art gallery.’
‘There’s an art exhibition in the castle,’ the waitress informed them shyly in English when she set the coffee they had asked for on their table. ‘It’s French poster art from the nineteenth century.’
‘What do you think, Oma?’ Laura looked at Charlotte.
‘Are you that sensitive, or am I being that obvious?’ Charlotte picked up the cafetière and poured herself a cup.
‘You don’t have to be overly sensitive to realize that the sight of Bergensee upset you. It was dreadful. I was in tears and I didn’t know the house before it was derelict.’
‘I couldn’t bear to see Grunwaldsee in the same condition.’
‘We could ask around to find out if the house is still standing.’
‘No,’ Charlotte broke in quickly. ‘I know it’s irrational but I don’t want to discuss Grunwaldsee with anyone until I have been there and seen it for myself.’
‘But there can’t possibly be anyone left in the town who knows you,’ Laura said.
‘No, there won’t be, but you saw those gypsies yesterday. They knew the name von Letteberg, yet they couldn’t have moved into Bergensee until after the war. Their families have probably been living in those outbuildings for decades. Wouldn’t you resent someone turning up and saying it was theirs?’
‘You didn’t and you’d lived there,’ Laura pointed out. ‘And, if I were them, I’d like to find out something about the history of the house.’
‘Unlike you, I don’t think they are the slightest bit interested.’
‘They can’t blame you for wanting to visit your old home.’
‘From the stories I’ve heard from friends who have already come back, some of the present owners are more amenable than others when it comes to showing the old owners over their property.’ Charlotte buttered a roll and placed a slice of smoked cheese on top.
‘Perhaps they realize no compensation was paid, and are afraid of people making claims against their homes.’ Laura poured milk into her coffee.
‘Legally no claims can be recognized; the new owners know that. And quite a few of the present owners bought their homes from the Communist regime.’
‘I thought that wasn’t allowed.’
‘It happened, particularly with government workers like policemen.’ Charlotte sat back and looked around the room. Aside from a sprinkling of young people in business suits, most of their fellow hotel guests were elderly and, she suspected, visiting the town for the same reason she was.
‘I still think you ought to show Bergensee to Claus.’
‘I agree he should see it – if he wants to. But even if we could lay claim to Bergensee or Grunwaldsee – and we can’t – what would I or your Uncle Erich do with the houses? Erich told me that he barely remembers living here. He was only four years old when we had to leave.’ Charlotte closed her eyes against images of her flight from her homeland that had been seared indelibly into her mind.
‘Even derelict, Bergensee is still quite something,’ Laura mused. ‘I hope the new owner, whoever he or she is, or will be, is rich.
You saw the state of the place. What do you think? A million dollars to demolish it? Six million to put it right?’
‘You’re probably right,’ Laura conceded. ‘But after seeing the house, I envy Claus. His father’s history is so much more interesting than mine, and I can’t imagine having an ancestral home like Bergensee and not wanting to live in it.’
‘Then it’s just as well you’re a Templeton and not a von Letteberg. What on earth would you do for work in the middle of Poland, bearing in mind that you can’t speak a word of the language?’
‘Sorry, my romantic streak doesn’t run as far as accommodating mundane, everyday things like paying bills and working.’
‘A romantic streak is not a bad thing, provided you temper it with a little realism. Without it, I would never have become an artist.’ Charlotte topped up her coffee cup. ‘And although Claus’s family history may be grander than yours, I don’t know about more interesting. Your father told me a few years back that your grandfather traced the Templeton family tree to the fifteenth century after he retired and took up genealogy.’
Laura made a face. ‘They were cloth merchants in Cheapside who didn’t have the vision or drive to build a Bergensee.’
‘Bergensee was just a house. Rich or poor, a person can only live in half-a-dozen rooms at most, and that includes the bathroom and kitchen. The servants and guests filled the rest of Bergensee, which meant none of us had a moment’s privacy or peace when we were there.’ Charlotte pushed her coffee cup and plate away. ‘Shall we look around the town?’
‘I’d like that.’ Laura left the table.
‘In an hour.’ Charlotte wanted to read more of her diary so she could move on from the tragedy of her father’s death. ‘Since I reached eighty, I like a short rest after breakfast.’
‘An hour will be fine, Oma. That will give me time to check my e-mails.’
‘Still working?’
‘Anxious to know what the station thinks of my last documentary. They should have had the discs by now.’
*……*……*
SUNDAY, 24 DECEMBER 1939
Brunon and the workers did not want to put the Christmas tree up in the hall as usual but I insisted. Papa would not have wanted to disappoint the workers’ children, particularly in wartime when there is so little to look forward to. I am trying to do everything just as Papa would have if he were here. Mama is still too ill to leave her bed.
Papa von Letteberg and I went to the station yesterday, and found Greta there trying to get a taxi. I don’t know why she hadn’t telephoned home to let us know when she was arriving. I would have sent Brunon to fetch her. She waited with us for the Munich train that brought Papa. I wanted to talk to her but the station wasn’t the right place, and when we reached home we found Frau Gersdoff, the florist, waiting to see us.
After we’d chosen and ordered wreaths and flowers for Papa, Greta locked herself in her room. I could hear her crying but, as I felt like doing the same, I couldn’t think of anything that I could say to her that might make her stop.