Above Suspicion (13 page)

Frances nodded. “Mary Easton will do. She’s now married to a man in Central Africa.”

“That’s remote enough,” said Richard, and then changed the subject. Frances took her cue from him, and they began the
descent in high spirits which lasted until they came into the little hotel in Mittenwald.

They had put up at the hotel where Richard had once stayed as an undergraduate on a reading party. In those peaceful days, there had been crowds of foreigners, mostly American or English. Tonight, as they sat in the half-empty restaurant, it was all so very different. The owner of the hotel, Frau Köppler, still sat in earnest conversation over a little table with her special friends. She still wore the long-skirted black day dress which seemed to be part of her. On Richard’s first visit there that table had always been the subject of jokes by the people of Mittenwald who came in for their beer, or their game of
skat,
or to dance and sing if there were an accordion or fiddle to accompany them. Richard looked towards the part of the restaurant which had been partitioned off for the local people. He remembered how shocked Frau Köppler had been when the undergraduates had preferred to drink their beer there, instead of in the room she had arranged for her guests. Then one of the jokes had been that she was pro-Nazi, and that she was plotting with her special friends at her exclusive table. The joke was increased for the laughing Bavarians because Frau Köppler was a Northerner and they said she was going to Prussianise them; and the word
verpreussen
had also come to have a coarser meaning in the South. Now it seemed as if the joke had become fact.

Richard wondered as he watched Frances arrange the pieces on the chessboard whether Frau Köppler was as happy as she thought she would be. The hotel certainly was less flourishing: the only other foreigners in the room were an Italian family who talked volubly and excitedly and tightened Frau Köppler’s
disapproving mouth. The prices for German guests were much lower, and those tourists who arrived in the middle of the day brought their own food with them. It was an extraordinary sight to watch them open their parcels of bread and sausages at the restaurant tables, ordering one glass of beer, clean plates and knives. Frances was particularly shocked when she found that not even a tip was left for the overworked waitresses.

Richard saw Frau Köppler look over to their table. He pretended to be absorbed in the game of chess. They were no longer shadowed, he felt, but it was noticeable that Frau Köppler had taken quite a lot of interest in their movements. It could very well be possible that such a strong Nazi as herself might be asked to mark anything suspicious about them. It was the kind of little job which she might enjoy doing; it would add to her feeling of authority. As he waited for Frances to attack with her knight, he wondered whether that look predicted anything, protected his bishop with a pawn, and waited. The music from the wireless set ceased. It was a pity, thought Richard, that the sounds of frying could not be eliminated instead of music with foreign or non-Aryan influences. A man’s voice began to speak, peremptory as on a parade ground. As Frances ignored the pawn and daringly took his bishop Frau Köppler rose to her feet, and walked over to them.

Richard had risen to his feet too, taking the opportunity to warn Frances with his eyes as he offered Frau Köppler a chair. And then the unseen voice ended its exhortations and the music of a very full band filled the room. Even as the preliminary cymbals clashed they all knew what was coming. Frances remained as she had been, and lit a cigarette. Frau Köppler stood rigid beside the chair, looking straight ahead of her into
the wall of the room. Poor old Richard, thought Frances, and watched him redden slightly. He couldn’t sit down as long as Frau Pushface was standing, and she knew he wouldn’t stand for that song. A song in glorification of a well-known pimp, he had called it. Frances smoked unconcernedly and watched the chessman fall from Richard’s hand. It rolled under another table, and by the time he had retrieved it, the chorus of the Horst Wessel song had ended and the Munich time-signal tune was being played. Frau Köppler sat down, bowing as she did so. Richard sat down too, looking very polite and innocent.

“I hope I am not interrupting you,” Frau Köppler began. “Are you enjoying your holiday?”

They said yes, they were, Mittenwald was a most delightful place. Frances let Richard handle the greater part of the conversation. She wasn’t quite sure, to begin with, why they were being honoured with a visit. It wasn’t very much like Frau Köppler to unbend to any of her guests, particularly foreigners. She was a tall woman, but she held herself so erectly that she seemed taller than she was. Once she must have had, some beauty. Her features were still good, but the yellow hair and blue eyes had faded, not in the soft and kindly way which gives a certain charm to age, but bleakly. Perhaps Frau Köppler would have thought such charm only a sign of weakness; she probably preferred the appearance of strength even to the point of hardness. She was, thought Frances, a grim-looking creature. She had the foundation for beauty, but the spirit was lacking. Even as she talked she did not relax. She gave a funny twist to the phrase “Behave naturally.” Because Frau Pushface was behaving naturally, although she could never be natural.

She turned to Frances. “I am glad you are enjoying yourself. It is good for people to travel in the new Germany. There are many things we want to show them.” Frances looked quickly at Richard, and then back at Frau Köppler. She couldn’t think of an answer that wasn’t impolite. She smiled, which was always a solution, even if a weak one.

Frau Köppler hadn’t expected an answer, for she went on, “You speak German very well, very well indeed. No doubt you have visited our country before? Did you come to Mittenwald by chance, or were you recommended to come here? I am always interested in what brings people here.”

The question was out. What a bore it must have been for her to bother to make conversation in the hope of disguising her curiosity, thought Frances. It was a pity, after all her trouble, that she did not know Richard, and so couldn’t interpret his smile. He always looked like that when the game was being played his way. He was ready with his answer.

“The mountains,” he said. “I enjoyed them so much when I stayed here some years ago that I wanted my wife to see them.”

“You stayed here before?”

“Yes; at this hotel. It must have been almost eight years ago. It was in the off-season, at the very end of September. We stayed until we returned to England to our University.”

“Ah, yes. I remember now. There were nine students and two very young professors.” She must have known all the time and verified his name from the visitors’ record. It would have been better if she hadn’t mentioned it at all. It only angered Richard. He had given her the benefit of the doubt and had thought she was a simple-minded woman doing what she thought was her duty. Now she was a simple-minded woman who enjoyed setting traps and catching people in them. It shed a new light
on her position as uncrowned queen of the village. She would wield her political power in rather a mean way.

“Yes,” he said. “It was what we call a reading party.”

Frau Köppler’s voice was just slightly less assured.

“Well,” she said, her tone on the defensive, “you see for yourselves that we are just the same, only so much happier.” Her voice was polite; it would have been friendly if the smile on the lips had been less fixed. Richard looked straight into the faded blue eyes which didn’t smile at all. He said nothing. She looked at the large picture of the unhappy-looking man with the ridiculous moustache which hung prominently on the wall.

She tried again. “Thanks be to our Leader. Do you not admire all he has done for us?”

There was a difficult moment. “The military roads are the best I’ve seen, and the buildings for speeches and political gatherings are very handsome,” said Frances quietly.

Frau Köppler turned to her with some annoyance. “And a hundred other things. Look at our unemployment. We haven’t any. Look at yours in England. It is so large.”

“Yes, unfortunately it is,” broke in Richard. He was damned if he was going to let this pass. “But we are very frank about our unemployment figures.”

“What do you mean?”

“We count people as unemployed if they are being trained under Government schemes for new trades, or if they are casual or seasonal workers and just don’t happen to be working on the day when the census is taken. So when you talk about England you ought to remember that.”

“But that’s madness… People trained by the Government unemployed?”

“Or facing facts. They can’t plan to become settled members of the State unless they have a steady job, can they? Turning them into an army is not a solution, unless waging war is one of their country’s plans.”

Frau Köppler dismissed the point as negligible… Her patience was wearing thin.

“How long will you stay here?” The directness of her question interested Frances. The velvet glove was off.

Richard was unperturbed. “I think we’ll leave quite soon, now. We’ve done most of the walks and climbs which we intended to do… Actually, we have been just discussing tonight where we should go next. Perhaps you could advise us. We had thought of the Dolomites but I believe it is difficult to visit there this year.”

Frau Köppler was silent; she didn’t want to discuss the South Tyrol.

“I think it would be too tragic to go there this year,” said Frances. “Last time we were there—only two years ago, in fact— the people were so sure that the end of Italian domination was in sight. They had a second Andreas Hofer, working secretly in Bozen, and they really believed that the heart of the Tyrol would bleed no more. And now they have been forced to leave their land or to remain and become Italians. I often wonder what they think about it all.”

A faint pink colour surged under Frau Köppler’s pale skin.

“Then there’s Bohemia,” said Richard. “But I think it would be equally difficult to visit there, today.”

“And of course there’s Salzburg. But then the singers and conductors whom I used to admire so much aren’t there any longer.” Frances’ voice had just the proper note of regret.

Frau Köppler looked first at her, and then at Richard. They were watching her politely, waiting for her to suggest something.

“You are very near Austria, here,” she said.

“Yes, Austria is lovely,” said Frances. “I remember the wonderful time I had in Vienna three years ago. Everyone was so gay and charming. You think we should go to Vienna?” Richard watched Frau Köppler’s rising embarrassment. Her theory that nothing was changed, unless for the better, was not standing up very well. She shrugged her shoulders.

“Vienna has no mountains, of course. I forgot you liked them. Perhaps the Austrian Tyrol…it always was popular with the English.”

“Do you know of any particularly good place?”

Frau Köppler gave the advice they had wanted.

“The train from here goes direct to Innsbruck. It is the centre of hundreds of excursions.”

“That sounds a very good idea,” said Richard. “We can go there tomorrow and then make our choice from that point. Thank you, Frau Köppler, you have been the greatest help.” He rose as Frau Köppler stood up.

“You seem to travel a good deal.” It was almost a question.

Frances smiled. “It is a necessary part of one’s education, we think.”

Frau Köppler stood with her lips and arms folded. “Perhaps. But it is strange that so many English travel about, as if they were rushing away from their own country.”

Frances looked at her for a moment. “But the explanation is simple. It is only when the English travel in foreign lands that they learn to appreciate many things about their own country. Good night, Frau Köppler.”

They turned again to the chessboard. Frances lit a cigarette with some enjoyment. When she came to think of it, the conversation had been rather like a game of chess itself. From their point of view, it had been really quite satisfactory.

As Richard took her queen she thought of A. Fugger and his neat, business-like exit. It was just possible that the police or Gestapo or whatever they called themselves—there seemed to be so many organisations in this country, all with uniforms and high-sounding titles—it was just possible that they wanted to capture him for another matter altogether. He might have sold banned literature, or helped people to escape, or he could have distributed secret pamphlets. She remembered his first belated appearance, and the smell of burning paper which had come from the back room in the shop.

She felt a sudden rise in confidence; it seemed as if these few days of wind and sun had benefited her mind as well as her body. The mental paralysis which had gripped her last week was gone. She knew now that no matter what happened she must keep hold of this courage and hope. If she lost these, then all was lost. Tonight she could face a hundred Köpplers, even Nürnberg itself. It was such a relief to be nearing the last stages of this strange journey that even danger seemed welcome.

“Check,” said Richard,
“and
mate, I think.” He grinned self-consciously as he saw Frances smile. He could conceal his disappointment at losing a game better than his delight at winning. He bent down to pick up her handkerchief where it had fallen under the table. He tickled her under the knee.

“Sorry,” he apologised with mock seriousness. Frances saw that Frau Köppler was looking at them.

As they rose all conversation at Frau Köppler’s table ended. The four men there were watching them intently, while Frau Köppler gave a queenly bow. There was the little white-bearded astrologer who was Herr Köppler, who typed all day in his room and came downstairs in the evening to sit by his wife. There was a fat, genial man; another fat man, not at all genial, who always wore uniform and his hair cut so short that it bristled; and the young schoolteacher, very conscious of his discipline and learning, acquired at a Party college. Baldur, or the almost human, Richard had named him when he had first seen him. The group of men stared openly at Frances as she crossed the room. Richard returned Frau Köppler’s bow, and Frances said good night, looking serenely oblivious of the looks in her direction. She felt suddenly glad that she didn’t live in this village. There were other reasons, apart from the fact that she was English and obviously stupid, why Frau Köppler disliked her. I’m too feminine, she thought, and giggled as she took Richard’s arm to go upstairs.