Heritage (41 page)

‘Not for me thanks, Karl,' Lucky declined the offer; he would rejoin Peggy when he'd finished his beer.

‘I'm all right thanks, mate,' Rob said.

Karl looked about, surprised that Pietro was not with them. ‘My young cobber is not here?' he asked. Pietro had become his ‘young cobber' ever since he'd carried Karl from the tunnel, or rather since Karl had added the term to his ever-increasing list of Aussie expressions.

‘He's inside with his girlfriend,' Lucky said.

‘Ah. Good.'

Karl joined in the discussion of the previous day's accident, and his opinions, interestingly enough, concurred with those of the Commissioner.

‘Is progress, mate,' he said to Rob. ‘The Yanks bring progress, and with progress is accidents.' He gave a philosophical shrug. ‘Is life, yes?'

Rob nodded. Karl was probably right, but Rob was nonetheless determined that his own teams would continue to observe every safety rule possible, he hoped without jeopardising Kaiser's demands for speed. There had to be a happy medium.

‘Now I shout for my young cobber a round,' Karl said five minutes later, and he went off in search of Pietro.

Rob and Lucky were caught up in conversation with a number of other workers as they mingled on the pavement and it was only when the sound of singing reached them that Lucky realised, guiltily, he'd been away from Peggy for over an hour. How very rude of him, he thought, and he left Rob Harvey in the street with the others and went back inside, hoping that she wasn't hurt at having been so deserted.

But as he entered the main lounge he saw her beside the piano with Maureen and Pietro and Violet, obviously enjoying herself immensely. The three of them had left the dining room to get the best seats as soon as Rita Duncan had started to play.

Lucky watched her for a moment from across the room, in her little black dress, her hair pulled back in its impeccable bun. Her arm was linked in Maureen's, and she was singing along with the others at the top of her voice. He thought how he loved the contradictions in Peggy Minchin: the passion and humour that lay beneath the schoolteacher facade, and the bravery too – the fact that, despite the image she so carefully maintained, she didn't really give a damn about appearances. He realised how much he'd missed her. Since he'd been working for the Americans, his trips into town had become less frequent. He pushed his way through the crowd.

It's a brown slouch hat with the side turned up …

Rita was playing a bracket of all the old Aussie favourites.

And it means the world to me …

As he reached Peggy's side, he leaned down and whispered loudly into her ear. ‘Sorry, didn't mean to desert you.'

It's a symbol of our nation …

She didn't draw breath, but her smile was radiant as she linked her arm through his and continued to sing.

The land of liberty.

He loved her, he thought, returning her smile and joining in the song. He loved Peggy Minchin unreservedly and it was time to do something about it.

 

Rita played tirelessly for over an hour.

There's a track winding back to an old fashioned shack …

They thronged about the piano, all singing as if their lungs would burst.

I'm going back again to Yarrawonga …

Half a dozen different nationalities lent their voices to every song.

Our Don Bradman, now I ask you is he any good …

Those who didn't know the lyrics sang along anyway. And then came the favourite.

Every person present knew the words to ‘Snowy River Roll' – it was the song of the Snowy Mountains Scheme.

At half-past eleven, Rita deserted her post for a moment to pop upstairs and tend to the baby. Two-year-old Paula was refusing to go to sleep and driving the nanny mad.

Those who had gained the best positions by the piano didn't move, but stood eagerly awaiting the midnight singalong.

Ten minutes later, Rita was back, though she'd had little success with the baby, who'd kept playing. It appeared young Paula was intent upon seeing in the New Year, Rita thought as she once again seated herself at the piano.

Shine on, shine on harvest moon …

There followed a bracket of standard favourites, and as midnight drew near those from the bar tried to cram themselves into the lounge. It was nearly time for the countdown and ‘Auld Lang Syne'.

Pietro, worried, wedged Violet between his arms and gripped the back of the piano, protecting her from the jostling crowd with his body, but she laughed and told him again to stop fussing.

Then the countdown began.

‘Three! Two! One!' they all chanted, then ‘Happy New Year!' they screamed, hugging and kissing, and hurling the streamers that Bob Duncan and his staff had handed out. Rita started pounding the piano keys with all the power she had left in her.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind …

They sang for all they were worth, and at the end of the song there was more hugging and kissing.

‘Marry me, Peggy,' Lucky yelled above the din, their arms about each other, their bodies jammed together by the rest of the crowd.

She stared at him, not sure she'd heard correctly.

‘I said marry me!' he yelled again.

She laughed. ‘You don't have to feel obliged to make an honest woman of me, Lucky,' she yelled back. He wasn't serious – it was the exhilaration of New Year's Eve, nothing more.

Her reaction was so in character, he thought as he hugged her. The brittle facade of capable, tough little Peggy Minchin hid such a wealth of insecurity. He would ask her again later.

He did. Two hours later, to be precise.

You made me love you. I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to do it …

The excitement had died down. Most of the revellers had gone and several couples were dancing languorously to Rita Duncan's final number which, volume no longer an issue, she played to perfection, a few stray voices singing along.

Lucky glided Peggy across the dance floor to where Pietro and Violet were swaying gently in each other's arms.

‘Sorry to interrupt,' he said. ‘Oh, keep dancing,' he added as the young couple stopped.

You made me love you, and all the time you knew it. I guess you always knew it …

‘I need witnesses,' Lucky said as the four of them swayed to the music. ‘It appears she won't take me seriously.' He kept dancing, but held Peggy at arm's length as he studied her, the beads of perspiration on her brow, strands of her hair now untidy and attractively free.

‘Marry me, Peggy,' he said with a raise of his eyebrows and a mischievous challenge in his voice.

You made me happy sometimes, you made me glad …

The music continued, but the four had stopped dancing, and Pietro and Violet stood breathlessly awaiting Peggy's response.

She was silent for a moment, and Violet wondered why on earth Peggy was being indecisive. It was obvious that Peggy Minchin was madly in love with Lucky, and his proposal couldn't have been more romantic.

But Peggy was in a state of disbelief, not indecision. It was often difficult to tell when Lucky was joking. Perhaps it was his bloodhound eye. Sometimes his expression seemed comical, sometimes even dangerous, and right now, he appeared to be daring her to say no. Was he serious? If it was a joke, she thought, then it was in very poor taste.

‘I'm asking again,' he prompted. ‘Marry me.'

‘That's not asking.' She tried to sound flippant. ‘That's telling.'

‘I love you, Peggy' he said, and it was no longer a challenge, it was a declaration. ‘Will you marry me?'

Perhaps it was the moment she'd secretly longed for, she wasn't sure, but it was certainly the moment she'd never believed possible.

‘Yes, Lucky,' she said, aware that her voice sounded strange, but she didn't care, ‘of course I'll marry you.'

As the two of them kissed, Violet felt on the verge of swooning.

After the hugs and congratulations, Pietro shook Lucky's hand solemnly.

‘It is a great honour that you share this with Violetta and me, Lucky,' he said.

‘Yes,' Violet agreed, and then the words just popped out, the timing was perfect and they seemed only right: ‘We have some news we'd like to share with you, too.' She looked at Pietro, whose face was a picture of amazement and delight. ‘You tell them, Pietro,' she said. She knew how important it was to him.

‘Violetta is to have a baby,' he said. ‘I am to be a father.' Imparting the news to his best friend, Lucky, was the proudest moment in Pietro's life.

 

The following day, Lucky regretted having accepted Maarten Vanpoucke's offer.

‘A quick get-together to toast the New Year,' the Dutchman had said on the phone. Lucky had felt sorry for him; Maarten never socialised at the pub and he seemed to have so few friends – it was little hardship to pop around the corner from Peggy's for a quick drink on New Year's Day. But when he arrived in the late afternoon the chess board had been all set up, and it was obvious that Maarten had presumed they would follow their usual ritual. Lucky hadn't had the heart to say no.

Now the game was in progress, and Lucky's mind was consumed by Peggy. They'd stayed up all night, making love, eating cheese on toast and laughing about whether it was supper or breakfast. And they'd talked.

‘Are you sure?' she'd asked, not tentatively, but honestly. ‘You don't need to marry me, you know.'

‘Pretty Peggy Minchin,' he'd said and he'd kissed her, tasting the pepper and cheese on her lips, ‘I have never been more sure of anything in my life.' He'd wondered why it had taken him so long to realise just how much he loved her.

The game was fortunately not in Lucky's favour, and his fatigue and lack of concentration saw an early defeat.

‘You're not on your normal form tonight, Lucky,' Maarten remarked, the jovial host as always. He poured himself another champagne; Lucky's glass was still full.

‘No, it was a fairly big night, I'm afraid.'

‘Of course, New Year's Eve.' Maarten shook his head as if he remembered ‘those days'. He was barely six years older than Lucky, but the role of responsible middle-aged man seemed fitting for one in his position. ‘I suppose I can't tempt you to stay for dinner? Mrs Hodgeman is preparing a veritable feast.'

‘Thank you, Maarten, but no,' Lucky said firmly. ‘Peggy is expecting me.'

The schoolteacher, Maarten thought, how interesting, Lucky didn't normally mention the schoolteacher by name, although it was common knowledge they were lovers.

‘Miss Minchin, of course,' he said. ‘A most worthy woman.'

‘Yes,' Lucky agreed, ‘most worthy indeed.' He didn't like the patronising edge in Maarten's voice. ‘We're to be married. I proposed to her last night and I'm proud to say that she accepted.'

‘My dear friend,' Maarten said, rising from the table and offering his hand. ‘What wonderful news. My sincerest congratulations.'

‘Thank you.' Lucky stood and they shook.

‘Well, it's understandable you don't wish to stay for dinner,' the Dutchman said. ‘In fact, under the circumstances, I'm most honoured by your visit.'

‘It was my pleasure, Maarten,' Lucky said, ‘thank you for the invitation,' and again he felt sorry for the doctor.

He felt even worse when Maarten opened the door to the landing and Kevin Hodgeman was standing there, a bottle of red wine in each hand, awaiting instructions in his usual gauche manner.

‘Lucky will not be joining us,' the Dutchman announced, and Lucky left thinking that Maarten Vanpoucke must be the loneliest man on earth.

Maarten selected a wine and told Kevin to decant it. When the young man had left, he sat at the dining table and removed his spectacles. They made his eyes ache when he wore them for long periods. The lenses were slightly tinted and they had a mild prescription which he didn't need, but he felt it wise not to risk plain glass in case someone picked them up by mistake. The spectacles were a nuisance and probably unnecessary, but they'd become a part of his identity, and it was best to maintain the image.

How remarkable, he thought as he drained the last of his champagne, that Lucky should be content with the little schoolteacher. The man had once had Ruth. How could he settle for something so inferior?

He rose and prowled the room restlessly. Thinking of Ruth disturbed him, and especially thinking of her with another man. Had she loved Lucky? She must have – she'd married him. He pictured the two of them together; Ruth offering herself to Lucky the way she never had to him. It was an image that had recurred with monotonous regularity lately, ever since he'd seen the photograph.

He needed a woman, he thought – he would have to find a prostitute. The sex would help, but it was never satisfactory – he always despised the whores for not being Ruth.

He poured himself a glass of wine from the decanter; he'd get drunk again tonight. Why not? And why the hell shouldn't Lucky settle for the schoolteacher? Good luck to him. He'd never find another woman like Ruth. But Ruth had given herself to him, at least the bastard had that. It was a fantasy that had haunted Maarten for years.

‘Gabriella,' Renaldo called loudly as she walked through the door with a group of her fellow students, ‘Gabriella, over here.' She saw him and waved.

‘Here she comes, Umberto, now you can meet my sister!' Renaldo raised his voice excitedly above the babble that surrounded them.

It was a Saturday and the two men were seated in the crowded Cafe Tortoni. They sprang to their feet as the young woman joined them.

‘Gabriella, this is Doctor Umberto Pellegrini.' Renaldo made the introduction with great pomp and ceremony. He was proud of his sister and proud to have a friend of Umberto's standing.

‘Doctor Pellegrini,' Gabriella offered her hand, ‘I feel as if I know you. Renaldo never stops talking about you.'

‘Umberto, please,' Klaus said, returning the handshake. ‘He never stops talking about you either. It's a pleasure to meet you at long last.' He hoped that his voice sounded natural; the words seemed to catch in his throat.

‘You see?' Renaldo flung his hands in the air as if he were about to catch something. ‘What did I tell you. How beautiful is my sister? She is Eva Perón, yes?'

Gabriella gave a skyward glance at her brother's theatrics.

‘No,' Klaus replied, having regained his composure. ‘She is not Eva Perón, she is Gabriella Nacimento.'

Gabriella smiled. ‘Thank you, Doctor Pellegrini. Umberto,' she corrected herself as he held up an admonishing finger. ‘I'm glad to hear it.' Gabriella was heartily sick of being likened to Eva Perón; her brother meant it as a compliment but it was wearing at times. She gave Renaldo a nudge. ‘It's nice to be perceived as myself for a change,' she said meaningfully, but Renaldo simply grinned back.

‘You are yourself, my dear, believe me.' Klaus said it in an avuncular way; she was twenty-one years old and he must tread carefully. But she was not herself. She was not Gabriella Nacimento; nor was she Eva Perón. She was Ruth.

Her fair hair, attractively pinned high on her head with wooden combs, accentuated the elegance of her slender neck, but he wanted to release the hair. He wanted to see it tumble about her shoulders, the way Ruth's had done when it had finally grown and he'd been free to admire her beauty without the stigma of Jew so startlingly stamped upon her.

Her eyes were not blue like Ruth's but they were equally arresting: hazel, and startlingly light in her clear olive skin. Her features, too, were patrician, like Ruth's, and her bearing regal, as Ruth's had been.

‘Will you join us for coffee?' he asked.

She hesitated, looking towards the rear of the cafe where the noisy group of university students with whom she'd arrived were squeezing around the one available table.

‘Of course she will.' Renaldo pulled another chair from the adjoining table. ‘Do you mind?' he asked the couple sitting there, but he didn't wait for a reply. ‘Sit down, Gaby.' Hands on her shoulders, he plonked her into the chair and sat himself. ‘There's no room for you up that end anyway.'

‘How can I refuse?' she said with a wry grin to Klaus, who signalled the waiter.

‘So tell me about yourself, Gabriella,' he said as he sat. ‘You're studying medicine, I believe.'

‘Yes, I'm in my second year.'

‘A noble profession,' Klaus said with mock seriousness, and they all laughed.

‘She was one of the top students in her first year,' Renaldo boasted, forgetting that he'd already told Umberto that. He'd told Umberto everything about his sister, he always talked about Gaby; she was the only member of their family ever to attend university. ‘Beauty and brains, Umberto, she's got the lot!' He'd said that a number of times too.

Gabriella looked fondly exasperated, but she was spared having to reply by the arrival of the waiter. When they'd ordered, Klaus continued to steer the conversation in her direction, not really taking in her answers to his questions, but needing the excuse to watch her. A number of times Renaldo took over, and Klaus was forced to drag his eyes away from her. How extraordinary, he thought as he looked from one to the other, that this young woman, so like Ruth, was the sister of Renaldo Nacimento.

Klaus had met Renaldo several months previously, in the early new year of '47, when Renaldo's delivery service had been contracted by the clinic to replace a service that had proved unreliable. He was a flamboyant young man in his late twenties, with the rough and ready charm born of a true Porteno: passionate and vibrant, like the city itself. Klaus had found him fascinating.

‘What on earth do you have in common with the man?' Fritz had sneered. Fritz von Halbach found Klaus's new friendship bizarre. ‘He's a peasant, he's uneducated. He drives a truck. What in God's name do you find to talk about?'

Everything, Klaus had wanted to say, everything that you with your bourgeois mentality and your Nazi obsession fail to find of interest. He hadn't allowed his irritation to show, but for once he'd decided not to let Fritz off the hook altogether, and his reply had been tinged with condescension.

‘Renaldo is self-educated, yes, but he's highly intelligent. He's a natural philosopher, in a way, and very passionate about life, as many of the locals are. I find the combination stimulating.'

‘Natural philosopher?' Fritz barked a derisive laugh. ‘Just listen to yourself – you're sounding like them. They're common peasants who sit around in bars discussing life and politics, and it's more than indulgent, it's downright dangerous. They need leadership, not free thinkers.'

Klaus refused to be drawn into such a conversation. It would only lead to another of Fritz's Nazi diatribes.

‘There is a lot to be learned about local customs and history from men like Renaldo,' he said. ‘I am of the opinion that it is advisable to mingle with the locals, to know their ways and to speak their language well.'

Fritz did not relish the inferred criticism. He never mingled, deliberately distancing himself, and he communicated only in passable Spanish.

‘Mingle with the locals by all means, Umberto,' he said, his voice icy, ‘but beware of becoming one. You cannot have it both ways. That is not your purpose here.'

They parted coldly, and in the months that followed, Fritz continued to make the odd snide remark about Klaus's friendship with ‘the peasant', but the subject was not brought up again in conversation. Klaus dismissed the man's hostile attitude as a simple case of jealousy: Fritz had considered their friendship exclusive and he was annoyed to discover that it was not. Besides, Fritz's ‘purpose' had long since ceased to be his. The Reich was dead, and while Klaus pretended to play his role, he had no interest in the cause. He gave the matter no further consideration.

But Fritz von Halbach had been quite right. Klaus did want it both ways. He enjoyed his position at the clinic and the respect it afforded him, and much as he would have denied it to Fritz, he felt naturally superior to Renaldo and his Argentine friends. But their acceptance was of vital importance to him. He desperately wanted to become a part of the city that had seduced him, and Renaldo and his friends treated him like one of their own. In their company he was a Porteno – they made him feel he belonged. Klaus Henkel had been quick to embrace the friendship of Renaldo Nacimento.

And now Renaldo had presented him with the greatest gift of all, he thought spellbound as he watched Gabriella. But she'd finished her coffee, he noticed. He needed to do something, anything, to keep her in his company.

‘My car is parked nearby …' he began, about to suggest that the three of them go for a drive, but he was rudely interrupted.

‘Gaby!'

It was the third time the young man had yelled from the far end of the cafe. The others were also waving for her to come and join them, and Klaus was having trouble containing his anger. It was extraordinarily rude; students were such an arrogant bunch, he thought, conveniently forgetting his own raucous university days.

‘I take it he is your young man?' he'd enquired the first time the lout had yelled her name.

‘No,' she'd said, ‘just a friend,' and she'd waved back, pointing to her cup and intimating she'd join them when she'd finished her coffee. And now she had.

‘I'd better go,' she said. ‘They'll think I'm rude not joining them.'

Will they indeed, he thought. They were an ill-bred bunch who needed to be taught some manners.

‘What a pity,' he said, ‘I was about to suggest the three of us go for a drive. Are you sure I can't tempt you?'

‘Not today, thanks, Umberto.'

‘Another day then. I shall look forward to it.' He must tread carefully, he warned himself: she was young – he must not frighten her off. He would need to win her admiration before he made a move. It wouldn't be difficult – her own brother deeply admired him and was always quick to sing his praises. Renaldo would be his unwitting ally.

‘It's been a pleasure to meet you, Gabriella,' he said, and he rose from his chair as she prepared to leave. ‘If there is any help I can offer at any time with regard to your studies, please feel free to call upon me.'

Renaldo, who had remained seated, raised his empty coffee cup in a toast to his sister, his eyes widening comically. What a generous offer, he signalled, she would do well to take advantage of it. Renaldo himself was openly boastful of his friendship with the eminent doctor, and he considered their relationship an excellent trade. He showed his good friend Umberto the real Buenos Aires, Umberto picked up the bills for him and his friends, and he, Renaldo Nacimento, a simple truck driver with a local delivery service, basked in the reflected glory of their friendship.

‘Thank you, Umberto.' Gabriella shook his hand warmly. ‘That's very generous of you.' She wouldn't take him up on the offer – she sensed that he was attracted to her and he wasn't her type. He was rather old-fashioned, she thought, and he had to be in his mid-thirties at least, but she was flattered by his attention. She could see why Renaldo was so impressed: Umberto Pellegrini was a man of style. But she wondered what he saw in her brother; much as she loved Renaldo, the two men had little in common.

‘Thanks for the coffee,' she called over her shoulder as she left. ‘
Adios
, Renaldo.'

 

For the next month or so, Klaus became a weekend habitué of Cafe Tortoni. It had not previously been one of his regular haunts, as it attracted students and bohemians whom he found rather pretentious, but it was where Gabriella met her friends.

He struck up an acquaintance with the waiters who greeted him as he arrived, and he adopted a table in the corner where he would sit with his newspaper and coffee. When Gabriella appeared, he would give her a wave and return to his newspaper, never intruding upon her but waiting for her to come to his table, which she always did. She would stand and chat to him briefly before returning to her friends. Then he would watch her surreptitiously from behind his newspaper, thinking that Ruth would have looked like that in her university days, a golden-haired beauty, free and uninhibited.

After several weeks his perseverance paid off.

‘Do you mind if I join you?' Gabriella asked.

‘I would be most honoured, Gabriella.'

He rose and pulled out a chair for her, waiting until she was seated before he, too, sat, and his manner was so courtly that she wondered whether he might be joking.

‘That is if you can bear a little peace and quiet,' he added with a smile.

There was a timely burst of rowdy laughter from the students' table and she returned his smile. Yes, she thought, he had been joking, and she liked him for it.

They sat talking for nearly an hour, mainly about films and books. He was an excellent conversationalist and she found his company stimulating. Which rather surprised her; she'd only joined him because she felt it her duty. She hadn't wished to appear rude in ignoring the company of her brother's friend week after week.

‘Are you coming, Gaby? We're off.'

It was the same uncouth young man, Klaus noted; he'd paused by their table.

‘Oh.' She looked up, surprised. ‘Already?' She'd lost track of the time. ‘Oh, I'm terribly sorry,' she added, ‘Umberto, this is José. José, this is Doctor Pellegrini.'

‘How do you do, José.' Klaus derived a smug satisfaction from the respect she'd accorded him, and from the flash of José's impatient irritation.

José gave him only the briefest of nods before turning again to Gabriella. ‘Are you coming or not?'

He was very proprietorial, Klaus thought. Surely they must be lovers.

‘No,' Gabriella said sharply, annoyed by his rudeness. ‘I'm not.'

‘Suit yourself.' The young man shrugged and joined the others who were milling by the door.

‘I'm sorry,' she said, embarrassed.

‘Don't be. I was a university student myself once. Students are meant to be brash, it's a mandatory part of the image.' He managed to sound amusing and patronising at the same time and she laughed. ‘Can I give you a lift home? You live in La Palermo, don't you?'

She looked a query at him.

‘You share an apartment in La Palermo just off Avenida Santa Fe with two other students, am I right?'

She nodded. ‘Renaldo, of course – my brother has such a big mouth.'

‘He certainly has. He's told me everything about you, many times over.'

‘I'm sorry, how terribly boring for you.'

‘Not at all. Renaldo's proud of you. He's a good man and a good brother and a very dear friend.' Klaus stood. ‘Shall we go?'

‘Are you sure?' She was hesitant.

‘Of course. I live in La Recoleta, it's not far out of my way.'

‘Great. I'd love a lift, thanks.'

It was simple after that. The lifts became a regular occurrence, and she started to spend more time with him at Tortoni's than she did with her friends, to José's obvious chagrin – which pleased Klaus.