When they reached Bristol Town she delivered him to the Belgrave, where they found Major Leckey, obviously outraged, awaiting them: ‘Really, Delia, you must keep us advised as to where you’re going. An important visitor has come to Government House. Your father …’
‘Well, here I am. Let’s go.’
‘Not in those clothes. It’s the German ambassador. Came from Barbados in that Royal Navy vessel you saw in the baie … if you bothered to look.’ And off they went, with Leckey driving very fast in his large car and Delia following a few yards behind in her small one.
When McKay came down for dinner, he found the Ponsfords most eager to have him at their table, for they were brimming with astonishing news: ‘The German government has asked formal permission for one of their great battle cruisers, the Graf Spee, to put into Baie de Soleil. Courtesy visit during a training exercise in the South Atlantic.’
‘Permission granted?’
‘Of course. Our relations with Germany have never been better. We hear there’s to be a pact of mutual friendship with Italy, too, so the people of ill will who’ve been trying to keep our nations apart have lost out.’
McKay had been vaguely aware that the various nations in Europe were having their differences and that harsh words had been voiced about Adolf Hitler, but in the areas west of Detroit, which contained many Americans of German descent, those rumors were derided. He was also aware, but in only the roughest terms, that since his departure from Detroit, Germany and Austria had united under some kind of agreement, but he had been led to believe, from the scraps of information he had available, that it was generally held to be a move toward peace in that part of the world.
Both Ponsfords were of that opinion: ‘We cannot abide the French. Hitler may have his faults, but the Jews did nearly overrun both Germany and Austria.’ Mr. Ponsford said: ‘I for one would be delighted to see the Graf Spee in the harbor. The Germans may be our allies one of these days, and I’d like to see what they’d bring into the partnership.’
It was about quarter to nine that night when McKay was summoned to the phone. ‘Hullo, McKay? Leckey here. The Gee-Gee wants to know if you can join us and a few men?… Yes, right now.… Good! I’ll fetch you, but would you be considerate and be waiting outside?’
When he was ushered into Lord Wrentham’s study, he found four island men, all white, sitting with Wrentham and a ramrod-stiff European in his mid-forties: ‘Ambassador Freundlich, this is the distinguished American correspondent from the very part of the United States you were asking about. I wanted you two to meet. Exchange of ideas and all that.’
The questioning did not touch that subject, because when the ambassador learned that McKay had just returned from Barbados, he wanted to know what the riots on that island had signified, but a swift glance from the Gee-Gee warned McKay not to discuss that embarrassment to British rule, so McKay gave only a casual explanation. The discussion was amiable, far-ranging, and, under the Gee-Gee’s diplomatic guidance, never improperly intrusive.
The Gee-Gee seemed eager to introduce his daughter and ordered Leckey: ‘See if Delia can instruct the servants to fetch us some coffee.’ When she appeared, radiant in a charming pastel frock, leading two black servants who passed the cups and the biscuits, she seemed the epitome of the well-bred English lass of twenty-two whose anxious parents were beginning to seek a husband, but as she passed McKay with her coffee, she gave him a sly wink.
He used this break as an opportunity to ask, as he always felt honor-bound to do: ‘Am I allowed to wire Detroit, before it happens, that the Graf Spee will be paying a visit here?’
Lord Wrentham answered: ‘It was the ambassador’s suggestion that you be invited, late though it was.’
McKay said: ‘I think these courtesy visits are a great idea. Builds friendships.’ He stopped, aware that he was being somewhat more effusive than the occasion warranted, but then Major Leckey broke in with his own effusion: ‘You know, I’m sure, that in English the ambassador’s name means friendship. May that be a good omen!’ And a toast was drunk.
It was agreed that all would be at the dock at ten in the morning when the great German cruiser would maneuver slowly and majestically between the guardian rocks protecting the baie. Cheers echoed and salutes were fired as the mighty ship edged up to the dock, but McKay did not participate in the noisy celebration, because Bart Wrentham, who served in the island’s volunteer marine rescue department, was whispering in his ear: ‘That’s no cruiser. That’s a bloody pocket battleship.’ And indeed the vessel was immense, with its batteries of guns pointing in different directions.
The Graf Spee was under the command of Captain Vreimark, who was piped ashore in stiff glory, saluting his quarterdeck as he left and all the island officials as they waited in formal ranks to greet him. He was especially gracious to Lord Wrentham, whom he had met once in Germany and to whom he introduced a young German civilian who served in some unspecified capacity aboard the Spee: ‘Excellency, I have the honor to introduce a most valued member of our visit, Baron Siegfried Sterner.’ The baron stepped smartly forward, clicked his heels, saluted, and said in flawless English: ‘I bring you personal greetings, milord, from my former tennis partner, Baron Gottfried von Cramm, who stayed with you one year when he played in the finals at Wimbledon.’
‘Ah, yes! He was with us three years. Reached the finals every year, but had bad luck. Last time he lost to an American, Don Budge.’
‘He sends his best.’ Then, seeing Delia in the second row and assuming that she was the governor’s daughter, he paused to acknowledge her with a bow, which she returned. Passing along, he came to Major Leckey, whom he recognized as the governor’s aide-de-camp by the handsome gold aiguillette he wore suspended from his shoulder. Saluting with a pronounced snap of the hand and click of heel, he said: ‘Would you be so kind as to deliver this letter of introduction?’ Even though Leckey knew that the baron was treating him insolently, he had to accept the letter, and when he glanced at it he saw that it was addressed to ‘Fräulein the Honorable Delia Wrentham’ and a seal indicated that it came from Baron Gottfried von Cramm.
The eight days in the spring of 1938 that the Graf Spee remained at All Saints wound up the three most memorable events of recent island history: the visit of the Prince of Wales in 1929, the match with Lord Wrentham’s cricket eleven in 1932, and now the monstrous presence of this great, sleek blue-gray warship. It made earlier visits by puny little British destroyers, which had once seemed so powerful, almost laughable.
On Thursday anyone on the island who cared to do so was invited to come aboard, and several thousand did. By means of ropes carefully strung and wooden stanchions properly placed, the islanders were led about the ship, but any so-called ‘military secrets’ they were permitted to see could just as easily have been obtained from a picture postcard. But McKay observed that the Germans cleverly and unostentatiously provided three different tours for the visitors. White people were quietly diverted here and there; they were taken to see officers’ quarters and part of the bridge. Coloreds were led down other lanes, and they saw enlisted quarters and some of the smaller guns, while persons obviously black were taken on long, winding tours that showed them almost nothing they could not have seen from the dock.
When McKay sought out an officer who spoke English to ask about this, the German said frankly: ‘They’re animals. I don’t see how you English can breathe on an island so crowded with them.’
‘I’m American,’ McKay said, and the officer smiled: ‘Then you know what I mean.’
On four successive nights there were festive dinners. The Gee-Gee invited the principal officers to Government House for a flower-strewn reception, followed by a sit-down dinner for twenty, and at both affairs three men stood out as the acme of their professions: Lord Wrentham, tall, slim, straight and very handsome in his formal attire with the three colorful ribbons signifying the honors he had been awarded; Captain Vreimark, the prototypical German naval officer, with a ch
estful of decorations testifying to his years of service with the fleet; Baron Sterner, young, good-looking, and crisp in formal wear with one ribbon over his left breast. Of the three, thought McKay, the Englishman was most impressive, and on the next night, when the officers of the Spee entertained aboard their ship, the Gee-Gee positively scintillated, for when he appeared in the dress uniform of one of the great British regiments, he was a most dazzling figure.
On the third night the civilian officials of All Saints entertained the Germans with a gracious buffet and island music, but the fourth afternoon and evening were best of all, for then a long entourage of island cars of every vintage carried the German officers north to the old town of Tudor, where a rural reception was held, with speeches and music, after which everyone rode on to Cap Galant, where tents had been erected to protect them against rain and where a typical island picnic was held, with entertainment by four calypso singers who happened to be visiting from Trinidad. Those Germans who understood English were not at ease with the flippant social and political observations of the uninhibited calypso men. ‘Such would never be allowed in Germany,’ an officer told McKay. ‘I can assure you of that.’
It was during these dreamlike days that McKay first noticed that Delia alternately appeared and vanished, and since he knew no one in the official party whom he could ask about this, he had to fall back on the Ponsfords, who loved the tittle-tattle about their betters that so mesmerized the English middle classes. Mrs. Ponsford, adopting a conspiratorial manner as she shared a cold lunch with McKay, confided: ‘She’s seeing that handsome young baron at every opportunity, and I do believe she spent the night with him aboard the ship once or twice.’
‘Do we know anything about him?’ McKay asked, as if he were her worried uncle. ‘I mean, really?’
‘Oh, he’s impeccable,’ Mr. Ponsford said, for he was as much a gossip as his wife. ‘I understand the Gee-Gee checked by cabling the Foreign Office.’
‘Speaking about cables, what can I tell my paper about the purpose of this visit of the Spee? Seems most unusual.’
‘They’re doing what we call “showing the flag.” Herr Hitler wants it known that he has a ship like the Spee.’
‘You think the Gee-Gee is sending signals home about this huge thing?’
‘I’m sure of it. He’s no fool.’
‘If he’s so smart, what’s he doing about his daughter and that phony baron?’
Mrs. Ponsford laughed to see her American friend so upset about the German: ‘He’s no phony, as you call it. He’s a very real baron from a distinguished Prussian military family. But that’s not what you asked. The Gee-Gee? I think he must be gratified to learn that his very lovely daughter isn’t going to marry an island colored man or an American.’
Mr. Ponsford weighed in with a heavy-handed joke: ‘And he wouldn’t be able to tell you which would be worse.’
Seeking comfort in his unease, McKay went along to Boncour’s shop, where, in the Frenchman’s absence, he thought seriously for the first time about what Delia had said that day at Cap Galant: ‘Suppose you invited one of Boncour’s beautiful clerks to a dinner date …’ Looking suddenly at the two girls, slim and lithe and graced by the warmest smiles, he realized how easy it would be to fall under their spell, and how difficult it would be to do anything about it. Indeed, where could he take them to dinner, in what social circles would they move? And these two girls were almost white. What if he were to remain in All Saints and fall in love with one of those lovely creatures several shades darker than Black Bart? Now, that would pose a real problem.
When Boncour returned from a meeting aboard the Spee with German officers who sought to buy watches at a discount, the goal of sailors of all nations, he was in no mood for gossip or frivolous chatter. Leading McKay to his back office, which was as neat and clean as the rest of his operation, he slumped in a chair, looked up helplessly, and said without being questioned: ‘McKay, she’s making a terrible mistake. An Englishwoman in the heart of German Nazism …’
‘He’s a country gentleman, no cartoon Nazi. Her father cabled the Foreign Office for his credentials.’
Boncour looked up in surprise: ‘Don’t you realize what he is on that battleship? He’s the Nazi gauleiter …’
‘He’s what?’
‘Gauleiter. Block captain to check on the crew … see that they obey Hitler’s orders.’
‘You’re crazy.’
‘McKay, she’s about to marry him. They were talking about it on the ship. Maybe a big military wedding, Captain Vreimark officiating.’
‘Oh.’ There was no exclamation point at the end of this word as McKay pronounced it; it was the grunt of a man who had been punched heavily in the stomach by a superior foe. He was involved in matters about which he had little knowledge and over which he had no control. ‘Hadn’t we better speak to Delia about this? Frankly, all cards on the table?’
‘She’s coming here. To say goodbye.’ The two young men sat in silence. They were honestly thinking beyond themselves and of the damaging mistake Delia could be making.
And then they heard her swinging into the store and asking brightly: ‘Where’s Etienne?’ and when the girls told her, she made her way into the back office: ‘Oh, there you both are! How terribly convenient.’
Boncour refused to accept her banter. ‘Delia, you mustn’t marry that German. He’s a professional Nazi. Your life among his gang would be hell …’
She stiffened, glared at the two men—lover and admirer—and decided to put an end to this nonsense: ‘Siegfried is exactly what he seems to be. A loyal official of the new German government.’
‘Seems to be?’ McKay blurted out. ‘Nobody knows who in hell he is, or what he’s doing aboard that ship.’
But it was sagacious Boncour, educated in England, who saw things most clearly: ‘Delia, can’t you see what’s bound to happen? Hitler and Great Britain, they’ve got to fall out sooner or later.’
Their argument sounded hollow because all three, Delia, Etienne and Millard, saw the absurdity of this situation—that an ordinary colored man on a small island should be competing for the love of a titled Englishwoman against a German baron who was obviously in favor with the leader of his nation. The combat was too unfair, and for that matter, McKay’s chances wouldn’t be much better: he would be a provincial American scribbler trying to muscle his way into a fine family above his station.
It was so preposterous that McKay could not avoid laughing, but Boncour was beyond that, for he was fighting for a life: ‘Delia, for God’s sake, don’t do this reckless thing …’
He had used the wrong word. ‘Reckless?’ Her voice rose: ‘I’ve been reckless all my life and it’s brought me what I want—excitement and joy. I’m not going to change now.’
‘But not with an official in the Nazi party. Someday we will be at war with Germany.’
‘Are you out of your mind? That’s twice you’ve said that. Germany and Britain have signed a nonaggression pact, and I want to be part of the union.’ She moved nervously about the cramped office, then faced McKay, as if she had no further use for Boncour: ‘When I first went to Germany, I was thrilled at the vitality, the new world a-borning. Someone has called it “The Wave of the Future,” and I do believe that.’
Boncour started to rebut, for he did most desperately wish to save this wonderful woman, but she cut him off: ‘I’ve got to go. I wanted you two to hear it from me, direct. Yes, Siegfried and I are getting married. Day after tomorrow, on the Spee.’
She kissed McKay on the cheek and tried to do the same with Boncour, but he turned away, so, as if to make him more miserable, she added: ‘And for our honeymoon we fly to Brazil!’
The wedding took place at five in the evening of the day prior to the Spee’s departure. On the quarterdeck a kind of chapel decorated with hundreds of island flowers had been erected, and within its sanctuary stood Captain Vreimark, more stern and erect than ever in his full-dress uniform. At his side were three juni
or officers, also solemn and very military, and beyond them sat the island band augmented by musicians from the Spee. Under a battery of big guns, Delia in a flowing pastel gown waited with her father in full uniform.
As the band played Mendelssohn and the lovely bride moved forward on her father’s arm to meet Baron Sterner, McKay could not help thinking: What will happen to her? Should be fascinating to watch. But only then did he realize that the man who loved her most was not present. Etienne, humiliated by his dismissal from the Executive Council and the loss of his Tourist Board position, had been unwilling to parade his lowered status before the leading citizens of the island who knew of his chastisement. Where he was McKay did not know, but he was sure that Etienne was alone drinking bitter tea.
The bride and her handsome father swept past, paused to collect the baron, dressed in a military uniform, and all moved before Captain Vreimark, who greeted them, read a short ritual in German and then in English, and pronounced them man and wife. As guests lined up to sign the document attesting to the marriage, Delia spotted McKay and asked Major Leckey to fetch him: ‘Please, please, Millard, you sign too and let me know all is forgiven.’
‘You have my blessing,’ he said, and as the sun set over the glorious bay, with the two rocky pillars protecting its entrance, he had a brief feeling that perhaps Delia was right: Maybe the visit of this ship does signal a union between Germany and Great Britain. He did not know enough recent history to appreciate how unlikely that was, but he still voiced the hope as a blessing for Delia. She was an exceptional person, he had fallen in love with her and would never deny it. He was disgusted that she had chosen the German baron, but he had lost and he would neither grieve nor allow his loss to gnaw at him.
Because no woman could be allowed to sail aboard a German warship, the bridal party and many townspeople drove out to the improvised seaplane ramp at Anse du Soir, where a big, lumbering Pan American flying boat had delayed its schedule so as to carry the bridal couple to Rio. The band played a Hawaiian farewell song, ‘Aloha Oe,’ Captain Vreimark and Lord Basil saluted, Delia kissed everyone, and Baron Sterner looked pleased at having married the granddaughter of an English earl. McKay, still regretting that Etienne Boncour had not come to say farewell, waved at Delia as she boarded the plane and whispered to himself: ‘Good luck, sea sprite. You splashed your way into my heart,’ and suddenly he broke away from the noisy party, for tears were threatening to flood his eyes.