Little Grey Mice (15 page)

It had been Elke's suggestion, instantly endorsed by Günther Werle, soon after the collapse of the Honecker regime in East Germany, to divide the official transcripts of Cabinet sessions. Non-classified accounts were distributed for preparation throughout the lower-graded staff, leaving her personally to assemble material which qualified as Secret, to be percolated into the final official records after whatever their designated release period. The days immediately prior to a Cabinet were always the busiest. Leading up to the meeting there was the agenda and the lobbying meetings with individual ministers and their permanent staff, to agree that agenda. Which invariably was not agreed at all, during those initial discussions, despite every indication that it had been. From long experience Elke automatically regarded the initial – and sometimes the second and occasionally, even the third – agenda only as a provisional document. Her sole responsibility after the Cabinet meeting, apart from extremely rare reference decisions to Werle, was to arrange the division of work, which was time-consuming because Cabinet discussions could range from quite mundane, completely non-classified matters, to debates covering the highest security prohibition. Even after the allocation was made there was usually a continuous stream of queries from secretaries who might not, for instance, have a beginning or an end to what they were entrusted to prepare and who occasionally found themselves working in complete bewilderment.

Gerda Pohl waited patiently, seeking maximum advantage, to protest this system and counter-balance the union-referred accusation of incompetence which had occurred earlier. She attacked through the union official, not directly against Elke, producing broken-up and quite disparate tracts of discussion with the demand to know how she or any other secretary could be expected to prepare material which had no logical continuity.

The procedure for such disputes was irrevocably established. The union representative's request for a meeting with Elke had to be channelled through Werle, possibly – and hopefully as far as Gerda was concerned – to get Elke officially reprimanded by her superior.

Gerda miscalculated by assuming that the system had been devised upon Elke's authority alone. Not even Elke was aware, until the complaints procedure began, that the Cabinet Secretary had from the beginning suggested to the Chancellery security division that the work method be adopted as a protective measure by other ministries. As an attempt to harm Elke, Gerda's complaint failed absolutely. Elke provided a hesitantly soft-voiced explanation, which was irrefutable either by the union or by Gerda Pohl herself. And as he had done in the previous instance, Werle insisted upon a separate interview with union officials, on this occasion further requiring security officers to take part, in order to recommend and praise Elke's innovation.

With her customary aversion to confrontation, once again Elke experienced neither satisfaction nor justification at the victory over the other woman. It upset a pattern, and Elke felt too many had been upset in the recent weeks. The most obvious – the most worrying — was whatever Ida was doing. Since the night of the loan Ida had not involved her or even gossiped about the affair Elke was convinced her sister was now having, but the worry and the awareness remained. During the most recent weekends Ida had been disparaging, practically contemptuous, towards her husband. And the man's reaction was a further unsettling change. He maintained a pitiful pretence about a book which they knew and he knew would never be written. But his former forced bravura wasn't there any more: he'd been caught out, shown up in Elke's and his wife's eyes as a failure who couldn't manage his affairs. Now there was a humbleness about him, almost an acceptance that he
should
be disparaged. Elke was deeply saddened by it.

And there was the money itself. Elke was reluctant to concede her true feelings – still wouldn't spell them out, even to herself – but she regretted the loan. It was not that she begrudged the money. It was the feeling of reassurance it represented, sitting comfortingly in the bank. It would be all right if they kept their promise to repay, but Elke couldn't convince herself entirely that she would get it back. And there was nothing she could do about it, not now.

Finally, inevitably, there was Ursula. Except that in her case it was seeing the pattern become more and more deeply established that disturbed Elke most of all.

This, too, had been precipitated by Ida. Which was not in any way a criticism, not like the other criticisms Elke held against her sister. Rather, it was an acknowledgement of the other woman's harsh honesty, after their visit to the home.
She's not going to get any better.
Ida's words. Which, with little variation, was what Dr Schiller had been telling her for months. But somehow, from Ida, the assessment had brought home the truth: illogically, she had found it easier to
believe
Ida than she had the clinic's principal. Not that she had intended to raise it so directly. It had been Schiller who talked about the need to prescribe stonger tranquillizers and quietly recounted the increased tantrums and difficulties they were experiencing with the child, making such dosage essential.
There is a deterioration, Frau Meyer. You must recognize, make yourself face, the inevitable deterioration I have always warned you would occur.

Elke thought everything was moving too quickly: too many changes were all occurring far too abruptly. She felt buffeted, as if she'd been caught in a strong wind; at the weekend, after Bad Godesberg and then hearing words she did not want to hear from Dr Schiller, she'd been positively breathless. She'd have to prepare against it becoming as bad as that: against almost physically giving way. That would be weakness, and Elke was determined against openly showing weakness, not like Horst Kissel, even if she was churning inwardly.

Gerda Pohl's complaints were dismissed by her union on a Wednesday. The summons from Günther Werle came earlier than normal the following morning, before Elke had completed the customary brief for that day. Her instant anxiety was that she had forgotten a schedule change, which for her would have been devastating. Hurriedly she checked the itinerary which was lying on the desk before her and saw at once there was no change: in fact he had fewer appointments than usual.

She went into the Cabinet Secretary's office frowning, and began to apologize before she reached his desk and her accustomed chair. ‘I'm sorry. I was not expecting you. I don't have everything ready yet.' She had not had to make such an admission for years: so long ago, in fact, that she couldn't call the occasion to mind.

‘I wasn't expecting it,' Werle dismissed. Nodding towards her place, he said: ‘Sit down. I want to talk.'

Elke did so, regarding the man curiously. ‘Is there something wrong?'

The immaculately neat man looked down at his blotter, fumbling one of the desk pens between his fingers: with his head bent it was more difficult for the practised Elke to hear the softly delivered words. He said: ‘You must not think this is criticism. It's not. It's concern. But I've had the feeling over the last few weeks that you are distracted: that something is worrying you.'

A coldness, a definite physical sensation, engulfed Elke. Her job – her unquestioned ability to perform it – was the only thing about which she
was
sure: the responsibilities didn't frighten her and the daily contact with men in important positions didn't overawe her. The Elke Meyer who worked and operated with competent efficiency in the West German Chancellery was a quite different Elke Meyer from the one who lived alone, apart from a pet dog, in a spinster's flat off the Kaufmannstrasse. Elke consciously considered the two existences quite apart from one another, just as, almost without realizing it, she had come to think of the two personalities as separate – even deciding, without too much difficulty either, which she liked better. Surely that wasn't being taken away from her! Surely, all this time, she hadn't been deluding herself! It wasn't possible:
couldn't
be possible. Stumbling, Elke said: ‘I am extremely sorry … I didn't know … I don't …'

The man's head came up. ‘Stop it, Elke!' he said, unusually curt. ‘I told you, I'm not criticizing: I've never had cause, ever.'

Through her confusion it registered that he had called her Elke and not Frau Meyer, but in that confusion it was not an awareness she wanted to examine. ‘I don't understand.'

Werle smiled and said: ‘I have thought… would like to think … of us … as something more than merely working colleagues.'

Elke was not sure she understood that, either. ‘Yes?' she said, doubtfully.

‘As a friend I'm asking you: is there anything outside of here, outside the Chancellery and what you do here, that is worrying you? Ursula, for instance? If there is … if there is anything I could possibly do … anything at all… then I'd be very willing to help. I would like to help.' Towards the end of the offer Werle had looked away again, not meeting her look. He desperately hoped that at this late stage there wasn't going to be an unforeseen problem to upset the plans he had so carefully made.

It would be lowering a barrier, to admit the man into her sheltered other life. Unthinkable, in any circumstances whatsoever, even if he had been a close friend. Elke didn't want intruders: people encroaching on her privacy. Always a division between the Chancellery and Kaufmannstrasse, she thought again. The reflection at once incurred an irksome self-accusation. If the two were compartmented as she'd believed them to be, how had Günther Werle guessed something was wrong, outside? Elke said: ‘I appreciate your concern.'

‘So?'

With thought pursuing thought in her mind, Elke had difficulty in precisely remembering Werle's original questions. ‘There's nothing,' she said: ‘Ursula is …' She stopped at the automatic lie. ‘Ursula is as well as we can expect.'

‘You're sure?' he pressed.

‘Absolutely.'

Werle smiled across the desk at her again, nodding like a man to whom suspicion had been confirmed as fact. ‘I knew I was right!'

Elke's head whirled further. ‘I'm not following you here, either.'

‘It's this continuing stupidity with Gerda Pohl, isn't it!'

Oh no! thought Elke. She had no reason to protest or defend the woman, but it would be wrong for Gerda Pohl to be accused of something in which she was not involved. Hurriedly Elke said: ‘That's all been settled.'

‘No,' insisted Werle. ‘She's a disruptive influence throughout the department. As well as being inefficient. I allowed you to persuade me before but it's not going to happen again. She'll be transferred.'

How could she stop it happening! She had to try! Quickly, allowing the man his misunderstanding, Elke said: ‘It was foolish of me, reacting as I did. And for doing so I apologize. The fault's mine, not Frau Pohl's. She's been corrected once more, by the union inquiry. That's enough, isn't it?'

‘No,' said Werle again and just as forcefully. ‘And you must stop assuming the blame of others. She is to go.'

‘She's a widow,' Elke argued. ‘A transfer could mean demotion: create difficulties for her.'

‘She created her own difficulties,' Werle insisted. ‘And it doesn't automatically follow that she'll be demoted.'

Elke accepted there was nothing she could do. Every complaint about the woman was justified. And objectively she recognized that Gerda Pohl
had
tried constantly to undermine and harm her, in every way possible. So she had no cause to feel guilt if the necessary transfer stemmed from a misconstrued reason. But guilt was Elke's feeling, nevertheless. Resigned, she said unhappily: ‘Will you officially inform her? Or shall I?'

‘I will,' Werle decided.

Elke was relieved. Gerda Pohl's transfer
would
remove a constant irritation, and that could only contribute to the better working of a secretariat of which Elke was the head, so that it was upon Elke that better working would ultimately reflect. She should be careful – sensible – and not allow the guilt to assume unnecessary proportions.

A silence settled. The routine of the morning was hopelessly disorganized and Elke wanted to excuse herself to re-establish some order. She was virtually moving to do so when Werle resumed talking. He bent over the blotter again, the desk pen revolving and turning between his fingers, eyes averted.

‘I was wondering …' he started, then stopped.

Elke waited. Finally she said: ‘What?'

‘… Frau Werle has decided to stay on, at the Munich health spa. She feels much improved …'

‘That's good.'

‘… before I learned … before she told me … I had bought tickets for a performance here of the Berlin Philharmonic. They have a new conductor, an Italian. The critics say he's every bit as good as Herbert von Karajan.'

‘I hadn't heard that,' said Elke. There was a warmth of nervousness, a dampness upon her face, and she felt ridiculous. She hoped it wasn't as obvious to him as it seemed to her.

‘… I was wondering … you've mentioned music in the past … whether I could suggest, ask, if you'd like to make use of the ticket?'

Elke made no reply.

‘… You probably have another engagement, of course …' Werle started, retreating, and Elke seized the respite and said: ‘It's extremely generous of you … I'll have to check …'

Werle's fleeting smile came as he looked up. ‘There is no urgency,' he said, quickly. ‘No urgency at all. I would be very honoured, pleased, if you were able to accept.'

So what was she going to do? Elke wondered.

‘Why not?' demanded Ida. She poured the wine, which once again she had ordered without reference to Elke.

‘He's married.'

Ida looked pained at her sister, the expression changing to become quizzical. ‘I believe you think more about sex than I do!'