Voice of the Heart

  ‘No, no, Victor, that’s all right. And don’t be upset,’ Christian replied. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing. And, as I said, Father’s whereabouts are unknown. We don’t talk about him very often, especially with friends, because—well, because Diana and I have come to realize it’s easier to ignore the situation whenever we can. Naturally, it’s always there, at the back of our minds, although we do try not to dwell on it, for our own sanity.’

  ‘He’s dead!’ Diana’s pronouncement startled them all, and three pairs of eyes followed her movements. She entered the room purposefully, her face uncommonly pale. She took up her position in her favourite spot on the hearth, and continued firmly, ‘At any rate, I believe he’s dead. Originally, when the rumours started about two years ago, I thought there was a possibility of his being alive. But now I can’t give credence to the stories…’ Her voice trailed off, and then she said, ‘Victor, would you mind getting me another drink, please? White mint over ice.’

  ‘Sure.’ He sprang up. ‘What about you, Christian?’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll have a cognac.’

  There was a silence whilst Victor fixed the drinks. Francesca, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, looked apprehensively from Diana to Christian, and wished Victor had not opened this particular Pandora’s box. On the other hand, in all fairness to him, his inquisitiveness was only natural. Perhaps it would have been simpler if she had told a white lie a moment ago, and said her uncle also lived in West Berlin. Yet the family were so aware of Kurt von Wittingen’s uncertain fate, it was always there in the background, hanging over them like the sword of Damocles.

  Victor passed the drinks around without a word, said finally, in a subdued tone, ‘Look, let’s forget I ever—’

  ‘Just a minute, Victor,’ Christian interrupted and turned his gaze on Diana. ‘I really think we owe Victor an explanation, darling, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. You’d better make yourself comfortable,’ Christian suggested, addressing Victor, all of his attention now focused on him. ‘The story I have to tell you is complex, one I have partially pieced together myself over the years, from bits of information from my mother, my grandmother and several of my father’s friends.’ He sighed faintly under his breath. ‘Can I presume you don’t know too much about German politics in the years before World War Two?’

  ‘You can,’ Victor said.

  Christian nodded, took a deep breath. ‘I’m not going to bore you with a long dissertation about the rise of Adolf Hider, but to understand my father’s story, you must also understand what was happening in Germany in those days. In the middle of the nineteen twenties the Weimar Republic, which had been created in 1919, was extremely shaky. By 1928 Hider had re-established his leadership of the Nazi Party, membership in the Party had reached sixty thousand, and the Nazis got two point six per cent of the vote in the Reichstag elections that particular year. In 1933 Hider was appointed Chancellor by President Hindenburg, and between the burning of the Reichstag a month later, in February, and the elections in March, Hitler had become virtual dictator of Germany. His rise to power had horrified and frightened liberals, my father amongst them. As I told you yesterday, Father was an anti-Fascist who had dedicated his fortune, his energy and his time to fighting Fascism—actively but secretly. There was no way he could come out into the open without exposing himself and the family to extreme danger and arrest. However, for years he had been a leading member of an underground movement in Germany, helping Jews, Catholics, Protestants and so-called “political offenders” of all types who sought to flee Germany.’ Christian took a swallow of his cognac, and asked, ‘Did you ever read a book by Baroness Orczy called The Scarlet Pimpernel, Victor?’

  ‘No. But I saw the movie starring Leslie Howard.’

  ‘Good. Then I know you’ll understand what I mean when I say my father was, in many ways, a modern-day Scarlet Pimpernel. Oddly enough, his code name was Blue Gentian, after the alpine flower. You see it was absolutely necessary that my father’s identity be kept a secret from the Nazis, from everyone actually, and according to my mother it was Dieter Mueller, another leader in the underground, who invented the name. Dieter was a professor in literature, and I suppose he thought the name suited my father admirably. After all, Father was an aristocrat, a member of a socially prominent family, and seemingly beyond reproach, who had nothing but time and money on his hands to lead a life of leisure and gaiety in elegant circles. Yet at the same time he was actually a clandestine operator risking his life to save the lives of others.’

  ‘But wasn’t that kind of pointing a finger at your father?’ Victor asked swiftly.

  ‘You mean because of the parallels between the Scarlet Pimpernel and my father, the same use of flowers as code names, of course? But no, not at all. I doubt anyone would have thought of making the analogy, and besides Prince Kurt von Wittingen was above suspicion. Not only that, all the men in the underground movement were known by the names of flowers. Dieter’s idea again, who himself had the code name of Edelweiss. But to continue. In the middle of the nineteen twenties my father became a senior consultant to Krupp, the German armaments king. He was travelling all over Europe, handling top-level negotiations, entertaining foreign dignitaries, acting as a kind of roving ambassador, in fact. It was the perfect cover for him. It enabled him to come and go almost as he wished, gave him easy access to all manner of important people, and thus fantastic sources of privileged information. In the spring of 1939, fully aware that the situation in Germany was worsening, Father sent my mother, Diana and me to England, to stay with Uncle David at Langley Castle, ostensibly on a prolonged vacation but really for safety’s sake. By June of that year my mother, like most well-informed people, knew that war between England and Germany was inevitable, and, wanting to be with Father, she decided to return to Berlin. He would not hear of it, and rented a small house in Zurich for us, since it was relatively easy for him to visit Switzerland. He was with us from time to time, even after 1939, but generally he was either travelling or in Berlin.’

  After another sip of his drink, Christian continued, ‘We didn’t see him much in 1941, not at all during 1942, but he was with us in Zurich in the early part of 1943, en route from Oslo to Berlin. It seems Mother was growing increasingly fearful that Father’s clandestine activities would be discovered, and she desperately wanted him to remain with us in Switzerland. He would not. He felt he was needed by the movement, also he was worried about his mother. Father’s two sisters, Ursula and Sigrid, had both been killed in Allied air raids over Berlin, and Grandmother was entirely alone, having been widowed years before. So he went back. A disastrous decision, I’m afraid.’ Christian’s face tightened sharply, and he took a cigarette and lit it.

  Victor had been listening closely. He shivered and his hands tightened around the glass. ‘And you never saw your father again,’ he asserted, his eyes glued on the young prince.

  ‘I did. Mother and Diana were not so fortunate. However, I’m jumping ahead of my story. Over the years my mother had always received messages from Father in various ways, but when he returned to Berlin in 1943 it was as if he suddenly dropped off the face of the earth. Months went by without any word from him. I was almost eighteen, and finally old enough to become my mother’s confidant. She told me of her worries, and against her wishes I followed my father to Berlin…’

  ‘How the hell did you manage that?’ Victor cried.

  ‘With my family’s connections I had access to a lot of people. They all helped. Also, the times were confusing and erratic, so it wasn’t too difficult to arrange. Mind you, it was very risky in more ways than one, I must admit. I got to our house in Berlin eventually, where I spent twenty-four hours with Grandmother. She told me that she had seen Father a few months earlier, but only briefly. Like us, she had received no word from him since. She had simply assumed he was travelling for the Krupp organization. The next day I was picked up by the Gestapo. Either by deduction, or through traitorou
s information, they had at last ear-marked my father as one of the leaders of the underground movement. He was on the top of their most wanted list, and they had obviously been watching the house for weeks. I was the guest of those gentlemen—’ Christian snapped off the end of his sentence and a grim smile flicked onto his mouth. ‘In any event, the Gestapo kept me for over six months, working on me day and night, before they finally released me.’ His eyes darkened. He lowered them and looked down at his legs. ‘I’ve not been able to walk properly since then.’

  Victor felt a trembling inside, and his hands shook slightly as he lifted the brandy balloon to his mouth and took a long swallow of his drink, which he badly needed. Christian’s words, unadorned and spoken gently, were all the more deadly because of their quietness and simplicity. Oh God, oh God, Victor thought, how easily we forget. And yet it’s only a handful of years ago that the Nazis were committing all manner of unspeakable atrocities and brutalities, that this young man talking to me so calmly was turned into a permanent cripple by them. When he was only a boy. And who knew what torture had been inflicted on him. Jesus Christ!

  No one spoke nor moved, and the only sound was the faint hissing of the logs in the fireplace, the distant ticking of a clock somewhere in the room.

  Christian met Victor’s gaze with grave eyes, and his voice was controlled and steady as he went on, ‘I didn’t break, Victor. Still, I have never considered that a great act of courage on my part. You see, I knew so very little of my father’s activities, it was simple for me to keep repeating the same thing over and over again. After the Gestapo finally discarded me, Grandmother managed to nurse me back to partial health, though God only knows how, conditions and shortages being what they were then. In 1944, Dieter Mueller got a message to me… the blue gentians are in full bloom. Since my mother had told me Father’s code name, in case I needed to use it after I’d returned to Berlin, I knew immediately what the message meant. Father was safe. It was enough to bolster my courage and keep me going. Then, in the early summer of 1945, not very long before Berlin fell to the Allies, Father miraculously arrived at the house in Berlin. He did not explain where he had been and I knew better than to ask.’

  Now Christian sat back in the wheelchair looking drained and exhausted. He finished sombrely, ‘Father was with us for two weeks. One morning he left the house, saying he would return later that day. But he didn’t come back… Grandmother and I never saw him again.’ Turning to Diana, Christian said, ‘Maybe you can finish the story, darling.’

  ‘Yes, of course I will. But are you all right, Christian?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine, I really am.’

  ‘You don’t have to continue.’ Victor sat motionless in the chair, his face serious and reflecting his disquiet, his immense sadness for them both. ‘I don’t know what to say, how to express my regret for having opened up so many wounds. It was thoughtless of me to pry. I’ve caused you such unnecessary heartache, making you relive these terrible events.’

  ‘Don’t chastise yourself, Victor dear,’ Diana murmured. ‘And you might as well hear the rest of the story, so that you can truly understand why Christian and I are so reluctant to constantly thrash it over. At first, Christian and Grandmother were not too worried when my father did not return that night. As a matter of fact, they weren’t particularly concerned even after several days had elapsed. After all, continually coming and going was Father’s normal pattern of behaviour. By this time, Grandmother knew a little about her son’s activities as a clandestine member of the underground movement, since Christian had filled her in, albeit in a sketchy way. Also, there seemed to be less reason for them to be alarmed, in that the Third Reich had collapsed, Berlin was in the hands of the Allies—the British, the Americans and the Russians were occupying Berlin. What could possibly happen to the notorious Blue Gentian now? He was amongst friends, wasn’t he? However, as the days became weeks, their anxiety increased, and inquiries were made. They turned up nothing. Father had simply disappeared. A few weeks later, another member of the underground movement, who had been wounded during the fighting in Berlin, finally came out of hospital. When he heard that my father was missing, he told Dieter that he had seen Daddy talking to some Russian officers in the part of the city which became the East Zone. That man, Wolfgang Schroeder, had seen Daddy only a few days after he had left Grandmother’s house, and they had actually exchanged greetings. Wolfgang said he was convinced my father had been a casualty during the last-ditch fighting in the final battle of Berlin. Dieter seized on this and set to work. Hospitals were searched, people were questioned, the dead were carefully checked. In fact, the whole of Berlin was turned upside down by Dieter and his friends. To no avail.’

  Diana closed her eyes for an instant. When she opened them, she said in the lowest of voices, ‘Daddy was never found, his body was never found, and in the end we had to assume he had been killed during the last days of the war. Naturally, as things gradually became a little more normal, Mummy wanted to get back to Christian and Grandmother. We eventually packed up in Zurich and returned to Berlin. Slowly, we attempted to pick up our lives, to go on living as best we could, grieving for Daddy but having to accept the fact that he was gone. You more or less know what happened next, how we moved from Berlin to Munich, then to Wittingenhof. Nine years passed. Two years ago, Dieter came to see Mummy. He was excited, jubilant almost. It seemed he had a possible solution to my father’s mysterious disappearance, as well as information about his whereabouts.’

  ‘Your father had finally been in touch with Dieter then?’ Victor was on the edge of his seat, innumerable questions running through his head.

  Diana shook her head. ‘No. But by accident he had stumbled on a strange story. Let me explain something. In 1953 and 1954, numerous Germans—civilians actually—who had been arrested for one reason or another by the Russians at the time Berlin surrendered were straggling back. They had been released from Lubyanka Prison in Moscow. Anyway, there was talk amongst them about a mystery prisoner who was kept in solitary confinement most of the time. Apparently he was an aristocrat, and a German. Furthermore, he had been in Lubyanka since 1945. The man had been seen occasionally by many other prisoners, and his physical description, his age, along with other details, fitted my father like a glove. This tale was told to Dieter by his cousin, whose father-in-law had just returned from the Russian prison. It didn’t take Dieter long to come to the obvious conclusion that the man in Lubyanka might conceivably be my father. He spoke to lots of repatriated prisoners and the more he heard, the more certain he became that the mystery prisoner was the Blue Gentian, alias Rudolf Kurt von Wittingen. Armed with this information he came to Mummy, and that’s when the trouble really started.’

  ‘What do you mean by trouble?’ Victor asked, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Mummy had been able to lead a reasonable existence up until then, a relatively normal life. Believing her husband to be dead, she had been content to build her life around us, her children. The idea that Daddy was alive after all, and rotting in Lubyanka, changed all that. In the last two years she has become a tormented woman… demented by worry, uncertainty and anguish, alternatively buoyed up by hopes… futile hopes in my opinion.’

  ‘What a horrendous thing for her to live with, for you all to live with!’ Victor stared at Diana aghast. ‘Are you saying that you haven’t been able to find out if it is your father or not?’

  Diana nodded. ‘Precisely. Dieter, Mummy, Christian and I all went to Bonn, and through political connections of Dieter’s we were able to meet with Chancellor Adenauer. The West German Government took up the case, and they made a formal request to the Russians for confirmation that the prisoner in Lubyanka was Daddy. The Russians categorically denied the existence of any such prisoner, let alone one who was a German prince. In the last twelve months, Christian and I have been to Bonn twice, and more pressure has been exerted. In consequence, our Government made further approaches to the Russians, only to be stonewalled.’ She
bit her lip, frowned. ‘We’re at an impasse.’

  Victor was silent. He sat back on the sofa, ruminating on the things he had just heard. Finally he glanced from Diana to Christian and said slowly, ‘Forgive my ignorance, but why would the Russians arrest your father in 1945 in the first place? What possible reason could they have had to take him prisoner?’

  Christian smiled faintly. ‘It’s not ignorance, Victor. It’s a perfectly normal question, and one we all asked each other two years ago. Dieter was able to supply the answer only too readily. He believes my father was taken by the Russians because they thought he was a spy. Specifically, a spy for the Americans, and therefore an enemy of the Soviet Union.’ Christian shook his head. ‘Don’t look so sceptical, Victor. Apparently many Germans were arrested by the Russians at that time because they suspected them of being spies—I’ll go further, were convinced they were spies. For the Americans. But whatever the reason, it’s irrelevant really, in as much as Mother and Dieter are quite positive my father is the man in Lubyanka.’

  ‘And you? What do you think, Christian?’ Victor asked, snuffing out his cigar which had been smouldering in the ashtray, forgotten.

  After a few minutes, Christian admitted, ‘I honestly don’t know what to think, old chap. I really don’t. I waver between doubt and certainty. One minute I’m agreeing with Mother, and then, unexpectedly, I’m swayed by Diana’s conviction that Father is dead. But when Dieter makes an appearance, as he did yesterday, with more rumours, I’m siding with the two of—’

  ‘We don’t have enough concrete facts!’ Diana cried peremptorily, her voice unusually high-pitched for her. ‘The longer I ponder the story the more I come to realize how flimsy it is, in reality. I’m sure Daddy was killed at the end of the war in Berlin, and that his body was one of the many unidentified. I suppose, in a way, I hope he is dead.’ Her tone was suddenly tremulous and she blinked and looked away. She finished, in a sad little voice, ‘Perhaps that’s preferable to me, because then he would not be suffering. I can’t stand the thought that he’s alive in Lubyanka and being subjected to… to—’ Diana was unable to continue and her emotions took hold of her.