The Morning Gift (24 page)

'I'd forgotten.'

'You were young; the world was before you, it still is. Heaven forbid that you should cling to the past as we do. But what I wanted to say was that you need have no fears on that score… however fond Ruth is of you, however she might look up to you as…'

'An older man,' said Quin, raising his eyebrows.

Berger shrugged. 'She is totally committed to her young cousin, to Heini Radek. Everything she does in the end is for him. So you see you would be quite safe. She will marry Radek and turn his music for him and choose the camellias for his buttonhole. It has been like that ever since he came to Vienna.'

'In that case does it matter so much where she gets a degree? Or even whether?'

'Perhaps I attach too much importance to learning: it is a characteristic of my race. Perhaps, too, I am one of those fathers who thinks no one is good enough for his daughter. Heini is a gifted boy, but I would have liked her to have a choice.' He changed tack. 'One thing is certain,. Ruth won't go to Tonbridge. She spent the morning at the Employment Exchange and now she is writing letters of application and trying not to cry.'

'I'm sure she'll see reason.'

'Allow me to know my own daughter,' said Berger with dignity. He unhooked his walking stick, ready to leave. 'Well, you must do what you think right. I wouldn't have been pleased if someone had told me how to run my department. I'm going to Manchester for a few weeks and I'd hoped -'

'Ah yes!' Quin seized the change of subject with alacrity. 'You'll enjoy the Institute. Feldberg's a splendid fellow - but don't let that skinflint of an accountant do you out of the proper fee. There's a perfectly adequate endowment for classification work.'

'I was not aware that I had mentioned my appointment at the Institute,' said Professor Berger, looking at him sternly. 'Nor that I had been asked to classify the Howard Collection.'

Taken, so to speak, from the rear while defending his flank, Quin shuffled some papers on his desk.

'Things get about,' he murmured.

'So you arranged the job in Manchester? You asked them to get in touch with me? I should have guessed that.'

'Well, for heaven's sake, you've done nothing to help yourself since you came. A man of your eminence sitting in the public library next to a tramp! Why didn't you contact the people you've helped in your time? I only mentioned your name - Feldberg didn't even know you were in England!'

Berger had put on his hat, taken up his walking stick. When he spoke again, he was smiling. 'It is strange, I have so many degrees - so very many - and my wife failed even her diploma in flower arranging because she always put too many flowers in the vase, and yet you see she was right. People don't change.'

Only at the door did he turn, his voice grave once more, his face showing its utter fatigue. 'Let the child stay, Quin-ton,' he said, using the name he had used all those years ago. 'It's less than a year after all, and who knows what is in store for us.' And very quietly: 'She will not trouble you.'

But in the end it was not Berger's plea which secured a reprieve for Ruth, nor the intervention of the students. It was not even the obvious pleasure which Lady Plackett had shown in getting rid of a girl who did not fit into the general mould. It was a poster by the newspaper kiosk Quin passed on the way home, announcing:
HITLER IN CZECHOSLOVAKIA. PICTURES.

The pictures, when Quin bought the paper, showed the Führer grinning and garlanded with flowers, the swastika banners hanging from the buildings as they had done in Vienna. Austria in March, Czechoslovakia in October… could anyone believe it would stop there?

The average life of an infantry officer in 1918 had been six weeks. In the navy he might expect to last longer, but not much. When war came, as it surely must, would anyone mind who was married to whom and for how long?

'O'Malley says he's got no room,' was Quin's way of making his decision known to Dr Felton. 'Tell Miss Berger she can stay.'

And Roger nodded, and neither then nor later revealed what he had just read in the
University News:
that O'Malley was in hospital with concussion after a car crash and not in a position to say anything at all.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

In the second week of October, Leonie's prayers on behalf of the nursery school teacher were answered. Miss Bates became engaged to be married - a triumph of camiknickers over personality - and went home to Kettering to prepare her trousseau. Her room on the ground floor back thus became vacant and Paul Ziller moved into it which made everybody happy. Ziller no longer had to practise in the cloakroom of the Day Centre but could stay at home; Leonie could get hold of his shirts to wash whenever it suited her and Uncle Mishak had direct access to the garden.

Mishak had not found it necessary to return the piece of land he had claimed at the time of the Munich crisis. They had told him to Keep Calm and Dig and he continued to do so. Since he couldn't afford to buy plants or fertilizer, his activities were limited, but not as limited as one might expect. The old lady two doors down still owned her house and, in exchange for help with the digging, she gave Mishak cuttings and seeds from her herbaceous border. Nor were Mishak's rambles through London's parks without reward, for he carried his Swiss army knife in his pocket, and a number of brown paper bags. No more than Dr Elke's tapeworms would have destroyed the host that nourished them would Mishak have caused harm to the plants he encountered, but a little discreet pruning often brought him back enriched by a cutting of philadelphus or a seedhead of clematis. And if there was no money for fertilizer, there was a plentiful supply of compost at Number 27 and the neighbouring houses, beginning with the remains of Fraulein Lutzenholler's soups.

Hilda, meanwhile, had made a breakthrough in the British Museum, braving the inner sanctum of the Keeper of the

Anthropology Collection and confronting him with her views on the Mi-Mi drinking cup.

'It is not from the Mi-Mi,' said Hilda, peering earnestly through her spectacles, and gave chapter and verse.

The Keeper had not agreed, but he had not ejected her. That refugees were not allowed to work was a misapprehension. No one minded them working, what they were not allowed to do was
get paid.
Her credentials established, Hilda spent happy hours in the dusty basement of the museum, sorting the artefacts sent back by travellers in the previous century, for this woman who spelled death to the most hardened floor polisher, could handle the clay figurines and ankle bracelets she encountered in her profession with delicacy and skill.

A certain cautious hope thus pervaded Number 27 during October, the more so as Ruth, now re-established at college, was obviously loving her work. Even the gloomy Fraulein Lutzenholler had a new occupation, for Professor Freud had at last left Vienna and been installed in a house a few streets away. She did not expect to be noticed by Freud, (who was, in any case, extremely old and ill) because she had spoken well of Freud's great rival, Jung, at a meeting of the Psychoanalytical Society in 1921, but she liked just to stand in front of his house and
look,
as Cezanne had looked at Mont St Victoire.

With both Hilda and the psychoanalyst out of the way, and her husband busy preparing for his assignment in Manchester, Leonie could get through the housework unimpeded, but as the weather grew colder, she suffered a domestic sorrow which, though it caused her shame, she shared with MissViolet and Miss Maud.

'I live with mice,' she said, her blue eyes clouding, for she felt the stigma keenly.

It was true. Mice, as the autumn advanced, were coming indoors in droves. They lived vibrant lives behind the skirting boards of Number 27, they squeaked in marital ecstasy behind the wainscot. Leonie covered everything edible, she scrubbed, she stalked and bashed with broomsticks, she bought poison out of her meagre allowance from the refugee committee - and they thrived on it.

'What about traps?' said Miss Maud. 'We could lend you some.'

But traps needed cheese, and cheese was expensive. 'That landlord,' said Leonie, stirring her coffee, 'I have said and said he must bring the rat-catching man, and he does nothing.'

Miss Maud then offered one of her kittens, but Leonie, with great politeness, refused.

'To live with mice, to live with cats — for me it is the same,' she said sadly.

Ruth too was troubled by the mice. She did not think that they could chew through the biscuit tin with the Princesses on the lid, but a great many documents of importance were collecting under the floorboards as Mr Proudfoot laboured on her behalf and it was disconcerting to feel that they provided a rallying point for nesting rodents.

But life in the university was totally absorbing. If there had been any anxiety about Heini's visa, she could not have given herself to her studies as she did, but Heini wrote with confidence: his father had now found exactly who to bribe and he expected to be with her by the beginning of November. If Heini had any worries they were about the piano, but here too all was going well. For Ruth still worked at the Willow three evenings a week and the cafe was beginning to attract people from up the hill. She would not have taken tips from the refugees even if they could have afforded them, but from wealthy film producers or young men with Jaguars in search of "atmosphere", she took anything she could get and the jam jar was three-quarters full.

Ruth's response to news of her reprieve had been to ask Quin if she could see him privately for half an hour. There was, she said, something she particularly wanted to tell him.

In trying to think of a place where they would meet no one of his acquaintance, Quin had hit on The Tea Pavilion in Leicester Square which no one in his family would have dreamt of frequenting, and was hardly a haunt of eminent palaeontologists. He had not, however, expected to score such a hit with Ruth who looked with delight at the Turkish Bath mosaics, the potted palms and black-skirted waitresses, obviously convinced that she was at the nerve centre of British social life.

The meeting began badly with what Quin regarded as an excessive outburst of gratitude. 'Ruth, will you please stop thanking me. And I don't take sugar.'

'I know that,' said Ruth, offended. 'I remember it from Vienna. Also that it is upper class to put the tea in first and then the milk because Miss Kenmore told me that that is what is done by the mother of the Queen. But to expect me not to thank you is unintelligent when you have probably saved my life and found a job for my father and now are letting me return to college.'

'Yes, well I hope you've thought that through properly. I don't know if the courts interest themselves in the details of how we spend our days but you know what Proudfoot said about collusion. If Heini comes back and finds that there are unnecessary delays to your marriage he won't be at all pleased. I think you should take that into consideration.'

'Yes, I have. But I'm sure it'll be all right and with Heini it's more to do with being together, I told you. It would have happened before, but my father could never understand about the glass of water theory. One couldn't even discuss it in his presence.'