Family Matters
Christmas Eve, 2007
Christmas Eve. The weather had stayed cold since Winter Solstice, and there was still snow on the ground: up to eighteen inches now. Wittersham House smelt of evergreens, after we'd spent the better part of the day before trimming the tree - cut from one of the stands of timber on the Estate - and decorating the reception rooms on the ground floor. The colours were red and gold throughout, always my favourites, interspersed with pine branches and holly, and there was mistletoe hanging on a gold ribbon over the stairs. And in the kitchens, Mary Carmichael was making her last preparations, adding the smell of winter spice to the rest.
And most importantly - at least to me - I'd managed three days without another blazing row with Wolf. In fact, he seemed in a surprisingly good mood - we'd even played a companionable game of snooker the night before - and the sight of him hugging his very pregnant daughter, when she'd arrived the previous evening, had left me feeling hopeful and positive. She was looking fit and well, glowing even, and she'd even had some polite words for me, which was a pleasant rarity.
Armand had called early that morning, to say he'd be arriving on the 10.45 flight into Gatwick, and Wolf had immediately offered to go and fetch him. He'd managed to get the M5 fixed the previous day - I dread to think how much he'd paid to the BMW mechanic who had come down from London for the purpose - and now it was running as good as new, and looking no worse for its misadventure. The only person I hadn't heard from at all was Marina, and I began to hope that it would just be the five of us: Wolf and I, Armand, and Michel and Tony...when he finally got here.
As I sat over coffee and toast and bacon, I actually felt for the first time in weeks, that all was right with the world. The only dark spot was that I was going to have to head back to Amber after New Year, to get back to my day job of Mayor and Chief Target of Amber. With the trial, it had only been ten days or so... maybe a fortnight...Amber time since Armand had walked the Pattern, and Geran, Matthew and I had headed for Texorami, even though I'd had Tenterden running significantly faster, but I still knew I'd have to head back. There was a lot of work to be done in the City, and Dad had called me a couple of days before, saying he had a project he wanted me to be involved in. Something to do with reviewing, updating and fact-checking the official histories of Amber. It sounded intriguing.
I had to give Dad one thing. Through all the problems I'd had with my immediate family over the last couple of months, subjective time, he'd remained quietly supportive, and had neither interfered with what I was doing, nor tried to force me to walk away and leave it. I guess John had been keeping him on the straight and narrow, and Fiona had been making sure he was organised. I still fundamentally disagreed with his stance on capital punishment, especially towards the Lynx Cult - I think he'd taken some bum advice from Matthew, there - but at least we were getting on okay.
"Good morning, Ian," Michel said as she walked in and sat down, bringing my thoughts back to the here and now. Moments later, Christopher, the Carmichaels' son, who had joined the Wittersham staff earlier in the year, appeared at her side offering to get her breakfast. She opted for tea and toast, and he moved smoothly off to find both. His potential to become the fourth Carmichael was already obvious.
"How are you doing?" I asked.
"Well," she replied, "but one of the most annoying things about being pregnant, is I can't eat a cooked breakfast anymore."
I looked down at my plate, a little guiltily, then back up at her, to see her smile.
"You're fine. And I love the smell of second-hand bacon. It's just that she tells me in no uncertain terms that if I tried to eat it, she'll rebel. I guess she's going to be vegetarian."
"Definitely a girl, then?"
"The last scan confirmed it. But to be honest, I'd have been happy either way, as long as she's healthy. Watching what Mum and Dad went through...the ones they lost. I may have only been a child, but I know it tore them both up inside."
My mind wandered back to those difficult days, and I was about to say something, when there were a loud mew from beside Michel's chair, and the moment was broken.
"This cat," she said, as I snagged a piece of bacon rind off the plate and handed it to her, so it could accidentally drop on the floor, "I swear she knows what we're thinking sometimes...especially if we're getting too maudlin."
"Maybe she does," I answered, "cats are a strange species."
I paused as George returned and placed her breakfast in front of her, then added: "You know the smell of frying back has claimed more vegetarians than any other form of cooking meat?"
"I don't think that's going to work just yet," she answered, and settled down to apply some of Mary's prize-winning strawberry jam to her toast, "how's my father?"
"He's doing better," I answered, "he's spent a lot of time with a friend in Scotland, and that seems to have helped him work through a few...issues he's had lately."
I didn't want to go into specifics, as I had no idea how much she knew about his recent problems. Although presumably he'd discussed some of it with her when he'd stayed with her a few weeks before, after the 'Caine incident'.
"Mary not letting him anywhere near the kitchen this past few days has been driving him crazy, though."
"I can imagine," she said, smiling at the thought, "why's she being such a tyrant?"
"She has her methods, and a few years ago he made the mistake of offering advice on the best way to stuff and roast the turkey."
"Oh dear."
"Shall we say, it didn't go down well."
"I can imagine," she said, and applied herself to her toast to stop herself chuckling at the thought. It was only after she'd finished the first two slices and was adding jam to the second two that she looked up at me again. "He said Armand is coming this year."
"He is. In fact, that's where Wolf is right now. He's gone to pick him up from the airport. Have you ever met him?"
I genuinely had no idea. My son just didn't go into those kinds of details.
"No, although I've wanted to for a while. Dad always talks about him fondly. What's he like?"
"Intelligent. Charming. Focused when he wants to be, but very able to turn off when he doesn't. And I've been discovering he's got one of those quiet but piercing senses of humour since he's been staying here. It's strange. I can see him on a beach with a surfboard far more than I can see him as a soldier."
"But he's in the German military, right?"
"Unfortunately."
"I know Dad worries. I think he's terrified that one day he's going to get the knock on the door from the serious looking Army Welfare officers."
"Hopefully that isn't going to happen," I answered, "and anyway, for the next couple of years at least, he's going to be here in London."
"I'm glad. Maybe I'll get a chance to get to know him."
"I hope so," I answered, "he's worth getting to know. How's Tony?"
"Busy," she said, with a sigh, "always busy. The way he acts you'd think that place would fall apart without him. I think the last time we went away together was probably New York in May...and yes, I can see you doing the maths in your head. I wondered about calling her Madison, but I'm not sure either Tony or Dad would approve."
"I don't know...I like it. Madison Collins."
"You can have that argument with them, then," she said, and I saw her pleasant façade crack slightly. It left me wondering how well she and Tony were getting on.
"So what are you plans for the day?" I said, consciously changing the subject.
"I have to go into Tenterden to get some last minute bits and bobs. Other than that...nothing much.
"You'll be careful?"
"Of course. When are they due back?"
"Flight's at 10.45, so certainly in time for lunch, especially knowing how Wolf drives."
"You know, I'm probably as worried about the knock on the door from the Police as he is about the Army Welfare people. I wish he'd slow down."
"I don't think that's ever going to happen."
"No, probably not," she answered, with a sigh, then finished her tea and stood up, "I'd better go while Tenterden is still only bedlam, rather than absolute Hell. I'll ring if I'm going to be late for lunch."
"See you later," I answered, giving her a light peck on the cheek, and then watched her go. It had been one of the least fraught conversations we'd had in a while. Maybe this Christmas, the gods would finally smile on me.
I finished up breakfast, and then headed upstairs to change to go for a ride. I'd been trying to exercise the horses every day, even in the snow, so they'd be ready for the Boxing Day Hunt. And it gave me the opportunity to take the dogs for a run. Wolf had even joined me once or twice, and we'd ridden in companionable silence for an hour or so, enjoying the day and each other's company. I'd missed that.
Ruairí whinnied in greeting as he saw me enter the stables, and I decided that I'd take him out today. Of the two horses I kept at Wittersham House - him and a dappled mare named Ériu - he was the one I rode more often, probably because I trusted him in Shadow. Most of the time, Ériu had a sweet nature, but every so often, she would buck or bolt for no reason. Billy, who acted as groom, stable hand, kennel man and occasional under-gardener around the estate, had tried everything to figure out what it was that frightened her, but hadn't come to any conclusions. I'd wondered about selling her, and getting a more reliable riding horse, but decided against in the end. At least she had a good life at Wittersham, and no-one was going to have her destroyed because she did the wrong thing. I seemed to be surrounded by damaged creatures, including myself, and that caused me to cut her some slack.
I handed her half an apple and stroked her on the nose, then got Ruairí out of his stall and saddled him up. We rode around the grounds for an hour or so, the dogs working off their pent-up energy, and then went back to the house after settling him down. I went up to my rooms, got a shower and shave, and then went downstairs to my study. I needed to put some thought in to my lecture plans for the next term, and I'd also picked up some of the engineers' reports from Amber City, and the minutes of the last meeting of the Infrastructure Committee, to try to best organise where the rebuilding money had to go.
Around twelve-thirty, when I'd demolished my second pot of coffee and realised I needed to stand up and stretch, I heard the sound of Wolf's M5 purring down the drive. Grateful for the excuse, I headed out to meet them. As I walked through the entrance hall, I could hear them outside, chatting loudly in German. They sounded so easy together, and I pulled up, suddenly feeling like an interloper. I was debating going back into my study when the door opened and first Wolf, and then Armand, came in.
I stopped dead as I saw my grandson. He was in field uniform, complete with three pips and a thick bar on one collar tab, and the lightning runes on the other. His kit bag was over his shoulder, and his whole stance was different: his back was ramrod straight, and he moved like a soldier. Just at that moment he was so far from the informal young man who had been staying with me, that I barely recognised him. And then he smiled his charming, disarming smile and gave me his hand.
"Hello, Ian," he said, "sorry about this. I went directly from the base to the airport. I didn't have a chance to change."
"Did you get everything organised that you had to?" I asked, trying to sound neutral, but probably not succeeding.
"Yes. That's all sorted out. I'm a free man now until after New Year."
Behind me, I was aware that I was being watched and turned, to see Carmichael standing quietly by the stairs. He saw me, and moved forward.
"May I take your things, Master Armand?" he asked politely.
"Don't worry, Carmichael. I need to go upstairs anyway. Otherwise I think my grandfather might burst a blood vessel."
"Very good sir," came the reply, then he took Wolf's coat and went to find something which needed straightening in the library.
"I'll see you in fifteen," Armand promised, and then headed for the stairs. As he did, I turned back to my son.
"Uniform? Really?"
"What choice did I have? If he was on base, then he was obliged to wear it. What would you have had him do? Change in the men's room at Danzig Airport?"
"It would have been a start..." I snapped.
"He's proud of that uniform," Wolf retorted, "I know you don't like it, but get over it. It isn't going to change any time soon."
I looked at him and sighed.
"You know, I thought you'd be bothered that he was back on duty."
"It's his life. I respect that, and perhaps you should, too. After everything he's been through. I think perhaps getting back to normality...to routine... is going to do him good," came the answer, "and he's going to be in London. Not grubbing about the hills of Olsztyn, wondering if he'll see the bullet that kills him."
"That does make a difference."
"You have no idea how much," he said, falling in beside me "is Michel around?"
"She went into Tenterden. She called about half an hour ago to say she wouldn't be back for lunch. She'd bumped into a friend and they were going to catch up."
"You let her drive into town on her own?"
"She got here safely enough yesterday. She'll be fine. You worry too much."
"I have every reason," he answered, and headed towards the staircase.
Carmichael called us for lunch about fifteen minutes later, and when he came downstairs, Armand was in civvies and back to his usual self. It was as if putting on that bloody uniform made him a different person. But the cold buffet spread was good, and our conversation was amicable, conducted in a strange mixture of German and English.
We were just addressing a particularly good stilton, when I felt something very dark, and very nasty, cross the wards onto the grounds of Wittersham House. Instantly alert, I got to my feet, to be met in the doorway by Carmichael.
"You need to come with me, sir," he said, his expression as close to panicked as I had ever seen him, "now."
"Ian?" Wolf asked, getting to his feet.
"Fuck knows," I answered, "something just breached the wards."
I fell in beside Carmichael, wishing that just for once he'd hurry somewhere, and heard Wolf and Armand following on behind us. From my butler's startled appearance, I'd expected him to head for the gunroom, so we could fight off whatever it was that was threatening us. But to my surprise, he headed straight for the front door. He opened it, and we stepped outside, to see a large black diplomatic limousine with tinted windows and Sigrune pennants, flanked by two motorcycle outriders, rounding the fountain in the centre of the gravel frontage. As it did, I caught sight of the number plate.
SS-13.
What the Hell?
It pulled to a smooth halt, the engine was turned off, and a painfully young looking driver in SS field uniform climbed out of the driver's side and opened nearside rear passenger door.
"You know, just now a well-placed air strike would take out the entire senior line of the Amber Succession," commented the passenger in lightly accented English, as he climbed out, stood up to his full 6'2", and tucked his death's head cap under his left arm. I was so focused him that I barely registered the other three people who got out of the car after him. "Greetings of the season, Cousin Ian. May the gods of Solstice bring peace to you and yours."
"And may they light your way in all the dark places, grandfather," came a voice from behind me, and I realised that Wolf had given Dieter what was obviously a ritual counter phrase. It wasn't one I recognised, but he acknowledged it with a nod of his head.
"Thank you Wolfgang," he answered, then turned to me, "Aren't you going to invite us in?"
However, before I could answer, I heard Armand say "Tuur?" and come forward, smiling broadly, which caused me to look at Dieter's companions: a young officer, a little boy; and Marina. At which point the little boy detached himself from Marina - whose hand he was holding - and ran over to me.
"Grandpa!"
I put my arms around Soren, and picked him up.
"Hey, Soren."
"Grandpa Furer said I could come for Christmas."
"I'm very glad to see you," I answered, glancing over at Dieter, somewhat puzzled. My cousin just shrugged, obviously not wanting to say anything until we were inside. I moved him round so he was half perched at my right side and as I turned to balance him, I saw Wolf looking at me, obviously curious as Hell.
"I will explain inside, Wolfgang," Dieter said to him, firmly, and my son temporarily held his peace.
In the meantime, I spotted Armand cross to the young officer, and they shook hands, then drew the other man towards him and flung an arm over his shoulder in a friendly gesture of welcome. I thought I saw the other flinch, but after a moment he relaxed, and returned the gesture. As he did, I noted a frown on Dieter's face: was it disapproval of familiarity when the newcomer was obviously on duty, or something else?
Moments later they separated and the Armand put a companionable arm over the other's shoulder and guided him towards the house. But the familiarity seemed strangely out of place and a thought came unbidden. Was Armand gay? The possibility hadn't even occurred to me, but suddenly I wondered, given his obvious affection for the other officer and the latter's odd, almost frightened reaction. And yet, if it had been the case, I rather doubted Dieter would have permitted what right now looked like a public display of affection. The SS has never been tolerant of such things.
Uncertain what to make of what I'd just seen, or what to say, I turned to my cousin.
"Enter and be welcome," I said, with a slight bow - which wasn't made any easier by the small child I was carrying, so I let him down - and gestured for him to head inside, hoping to the gods that neither Michel nor Tony drove up just then. How would I explain this to either of them?
Dieter strode up the stairs like he owned the place, which got my back up slightly, but I took a deep breath and decided not show that it had annoyed me. Soren followed him more slowly, looking around him with big wide eyes. Once inside the hall, my cousin removed his coat to reveal the full dress uniform and insignia of the general commanding the Ahnenerbe, and presented them to a rather stunned Carmichael.
"Hello Miska," said Marina, as she came in, and gave me a chaste peck on the cheek, "I hope you like surprises."
"This might be one too many," I answered, with a sigh, watching as my butler took the young officer's cap and coat. Underneath, I noted that his unit insignia marked him as Auslands-SD. One of Dieter's pet spooks? Then Carmichael took Marina's fur wrap, and Soren's duffle coat, and hung them up, before leading the assembled company to the library, the two young men chattering at each other as they walked.
I hung back and stood watching them, and revised my opinion, realising that I was guilty of jumping to the same conclusion I had always been afraid people would reach about me and Wolf. From their body language their relationship was far more like brothers than lovers. Which, of course, was far from impossible, if Dieter hadn't been straight with me about just how many of my descendants were in his keeping. I saw Wolf glace up the corridor towards me, and then head into the library. Then, after taking a moment or two to get my breath - or perhaps gather my strength as I tried to figure out what the Hell was going on - I walked down the corridor after them. However, before I entered the library, Carmichael intercepted me.
"Sir..."
"Yes?"
"I find myself at something of a loss."
"You, Carmichael? Impossible."
"I am afraid not, sir," he answered, looking embarrassed, "I find I must confess that I do not know the protocol for how to entertain a senior Nazi general who drops by unannounced. It wasn't covered at the International Butler Academy."
I wondered for a second if he was joking, but he actually seemed flummoxed, and I took pity on him.
"I'd suggest a pitcher of Mary's eggnog, fruit cake and if we have them, either Lebkuchen or Speculaas. And perhaps some juice for the child."
"I will see what I can do," he answered, then added, straight-faced, "should I poison the eggnog?"
I looked at him in surprise, and this time saw a very un-Carmichael twinkle in his eyes. At least, I hope it was a twinkle in his eye, rather than a previously unsuspected tendency towards mass murder.
"I think that would spoil the spirit of Christmas, don't you?" I answered deadpan.
"As you wish, sir," he replied, with a respectful nod, and headed for the kitchen.
I watched him go, then pushed the library door open and stepped inside, to be met by a cacophony of German that it took me a moment or two to process. I'm fluent in the language, but listening to the gabble of five adults, and one confused child took a bit of registering. As I centred myself and looked around, I realised that most of the volume was coming from Armand and 'Tuur'. Dieter stared at them from his place in my favourite armchair, and I had the impression that he was trying to decide how long to wait before ordering them to silence. In the meantime, over on the settee, it had apparently fallen to Marina to entertain the child, although he was doing his best to be amusing. Wolf was standing beside the door, openly staring at Soren, but obviously whatever conditioning he had towards obeying Dieter was holding. Ava was perched on the bookcase above him, watching imperiously.
Then my cousin noted my presence, and barked an order at the boys.
"Hauptsturmführen! Das wird genügen!"
And suddenly, both young men snapped to parade ground rest, and were silent. Which looked very strange on Armand, given that he was wearing a cotton shirt and denim jeans. I even noticed Wolf move beside me, as he stood up straighter, hands behind his back, so ingrained was his training, and I was suddenly furious at the control Dieter could exert over my family.
"Why are you here?" I demanded, angrily.
For a moment, he seemed surprised at my reaction, and then he rallied.
"My daughter told me that she was coming to visit you for the Christmas season, and I offered her a lift."
"Did it occur to you to ring ahead?"
"But that would have spoiled the surprise, Mein Kusin," he said, with a truly malicious grin on his face, "especially as I come bearing gifts."
"Somehow I don't see you in a red suit with a big white beard."
"Green..." he commented, as Carmichael came in with the refreshments, "the original suit was green."
My butler set about laying his wares out on the library table, and then beat the hastiest retreat he could politely justify. I glared at Dieter, then poured into pre-warmed glasses for everyone, which gave me an opportunity to get a handle on my temper. As I distributed glasses of eggnog, I was surprised when Marina asked for juice, instead. Then I retreated to my second favourite chair and sat down. I took a sip from my glass, and then looked over at my cousin.
"What's going on, Dieter?" I said, with a sigh.
"Family, Ian," he answered, "The last time we spoke, I had the impression that you were despondent. That you felt things were spiralling out of your control in that regard."
"For good reason, as well you know."
"For both you and my grandson. Which is why I've come to offer an olive branch."
From his position by the door, I saw Wolf's attention snap completely to Dieter.
"Start at the beginning," I said, sounding testy even to me.
"Very well," Dieter answered, "first...Hauptsturmführer Becker, perhaps you would introduce your companion."
"Yes, Herr Oberstgruppenführer," came the prompt answer, and then Armand looked at me, "Ian, permit me to present my friend, colleague and Kamerade, Artur Acker."
Acker? I glanced in turn at Armand, Artur, and then over at Marina, who had the good grace to look sheepish.
I returned my attention to the young SD officer and gave him a proper once over, noting that he was doing the same to me. He stood around my height, maybe an inch taller, with a wiry build similar to Armand's when I had first met him, although he and Wolf's son looked to be of an age. His hair was dirty blond, with traces of red in it, and it was worn slightly longer than military cut and inclined to curl. It framed a sharply defined face, with distinct cheekbones, from which my own eyes looked back at me. And yet despite the obvious intelligence - maybe even cunning - behind them, something in those eyes made him look old beyond his years. What trouble had marked someone so young?
"Artur and I were in the same platoon at the Lebensborn Centre," Armand continued, "then later, we went through Bad Tölz together. After the time I spent in England, we served in Russia for a couple of years, before he was reassigned to Auslands-SD and I was transferred to Danzig. We haven't seen as much of each other since then."
Whatever familiarity was between them, from the look he threw at Armand just then, Artur wasn't entirely sure why his life history was suddenly becoming public knowledge, and wasn't at all pleased that it had been. Then he looked questioningly at Dieter.
"Hauptsturmführer Acker," Dieter said, addressing him directly, "this is Major Ian Cushing, British Army Intelligence Corps."
He obviously recognised the name, and it caught him by surprise. He glanced at his commanding officer, and then back to me, and I couldn't tell if he was pleased or disappointed. Off to one side, Marina went stock still.
"It's been a long time since that rank was valid," I commented to Dieter.
"Would you prefer Crown Prince Ian of Amber...Your Highness?"
"Fair point."
I noted Artur collecting himself, and then he stepped forward and offered his hand. As I took it, I felt that he had personal wards running, with a similar feel to them as Dieter's. A Thule initiate? I noted that his grip was firm, if not entirely friendly, but he nodded to me politely enough.
"Major Cushing. I have heard a lot about you."
"Very little of it good, I suspect."
"On the contrary, my mother speaks highly of you," he answered, and nodded towards Marina.
My lover pretty much cringed into a corner at that point, and I must confess, I didn't feel particularly upset at her discomfort. She and I needed a long talk.
"I'm sure she must be proud of you," I answered, perfectly politely.
"I try my hardest to make her so."
"My friend, there's no need to be so formal," Armand said, obviously puzzled, "this is my family. What's wrong with you?"
"How did you feel when you were first introduced to your father?" he answered, turning back towards my grandson, whose face dropped, and he looked at each of us in turn.
"Your...? He's...? Christ. That makes you my uncle," he blurted out, before he could catch himself.
"And you, nephew, should show better decorum," Artur replied, recovering quickly.
At which point, the pair of them devolved into fits of laughter. It was like watching a pair of my younger students, and I caught myself smiling at their easy familiarity. I glanced over at Wolf, to see what his reaction was, but he just looked at them and shook his head. Then Dieter snapped at them again - "Becker...Acker...Ruhe!" - and the moment was broken.
Silence.
I felt so sorry for both of them. How much of their childhood had they lost because they'd been brought up in under the thumb of the military?
"Better. Remember, Hauptsturmführer Acker. You are currently still on duty."
"Yes, Herr Führer."
"Good," Dieter said, and turned back to me, "Hauptsturmführer Acker is one of my agents in Germania's efforts against the Lynx Cult. With your agreement, he will be staying with you for a few days, and during that time, I hope you will make the effort to get to know him. He is also authorised to share with you any Lynx-related information we have gathered."
"That would be appreciated."
"Not as much as Licent's head on a plate," Wolf growled from off to one side, and I threw him a look of sympathy.
"No," I said to him, quietly, "but it will help." And he nodded, grudgingly.
"Good, that's settled then," Dieter answered, then he shot a hard glare at Marina, who was still doing her best to disappear into the couch. For a moment, I forgot I was annoyed with her, she looked so miserable. "I also believe my daughter also wishes to have words with you, during her stay here."
Then he turned his attention to my older son.
"And to you, Wolfgang," he continued, "I have some idea of how difficult the last couple of months have been for you, even if I don't know all the details. And as both my grandson, and my subordinate, your wellbeing is important to me. So I offer you two things: one of which is already decided, but the other you may choose to accept or not."
Wolf looked at him, curiosity and suspicion both evident in his stance and expression.
"First, as you are already aware, Hauptsturmführer Becker is being posted to the GGR Embassy in London. Unless some unexpected emergency arises, that posting does not have a set duration."
"Thank you, Herr Oberstgruppenführer," Wolf replied, even managing a weak smile, and off to one side I saw Armand nod in approval. Unlike Artur, who seemed somewhat annoyed at the prospect.
Dieter gave a satisfied nod, then continued, "the second has more...strings attached."
As he spoke, he glanced over at where Soren was trying to drag one of the books off one of the lower shelves. It was so heavy - it was one of my big campaign map books - he could barely lift it and I heard him grunting with frustration. Nearby, Marina was obviously deciding whether or not to help him. And then he realised that everyone was staring at him, and suddenly became very self-conscious.
"Child," my cousin said to the boy, "come here."
"Yes, Herr Furer," he answered, and he walked over towards him. He was surprisingly confident and co-ordinated for a five-year old. Wolf watched guardedly, as Dieter got to his feet, taking the boy's hand in his, and crossed towards him.
"This is Soren," he said, then looked down at the boy, "Child, this is your father, Freiherr Wolfgang Armand Ulrich."
Wolf's German noble rank had been restored as well as his SS one? I'd missed that memo somewhere along the line.
"I'm pleased to meet you," he began in exceedingly polite German, before stumbling over the unfamiliar words, "Frrr... er...Herr Ulrich".
And as Dieter released him and he looked up at Wolf with big, child's eyes and offered a raised hand. My son took it gently, then looked down at him, all but frozen to the spot, obviously unsure what to either do or say. Seeing them together, I could see the resemblance between the boy, and the picture Wolf had given me long ago, of himself and Greta, when he was a child.
"What's the catch?" Wolf asked, staring at Dieter in disbelief.
"You, child of my child. You need to consider the following very carefully. Do you want him to grow up here? Do you have time to teach him and protect him? And are you in a position to give him safe, secure home and keep him from harm?"
"I...don't know," he answered, quietly.
"I trust that answer far more than if you'd immediately said yes," Dieter acknowledged with a slight nod, "it means you realise you need to think about it, rather than jump in at the deep end. So I would propose the following, if your father is agreeable. Soren stays here for Christmas, and you spend the next few days thinking about what I've said."
I nodded to him, indicating that I was more than agreeable. Although it would make things interesting. There hadn't been a child at Wittersham House for close to thirty years. Since Michel had decided she was a teenager, and had put away childish things.
"Good. I will ask for your answer when I return for Hauptsturmführer Acker on 2nd January."
"You're not staying for Christmas, then?" I asked, half serious, half joking.
"I'm sure you would be delighted if I did," he answered, with a straight face, "but alas I cannot. However, I feel certain that you will be kept busy enough with your other guests that you won't miss me."
I gave him a wry smile, and then turned back to where Wolf and Soren were still holding hands and looking at each other, weighing each other up. Soren seemed puzzled. Wolf's expression was unfathomable. And then the standoff broke, and Wolf crouched down to his level.
"Papa?" the boy said, finally, as if he'd finally understood something, and my son picked him up effortlessly and put his arms around him, breaking into a smile.
"That looks hopeful," Dieter said to me, sotto voce.
"Yes it does."
"Excellent. Now, will you give me a few moments of your time in private."
"Of course," I answered, my mind burning with questions. I knew him well enough to assume that altruism didn't play any part in his decision-making process.
I stood, and we took our glasses then headed for the door, but as we were leaving, he paused, and looked back.
"Hauptsturmführer Acker. Consider yourself off duty until I return after the New Year."
"Thank you, Herr Führer."
Then we walked out into the hallway, and almost as soon as we'd gone, the others began talking more freely. As we passed through, I could see that luggage had been unloaded from the car, and his driver and the two motorcyclists had been provided with warm drinks in the glazed section of the hall. The moment they saw him, they came alert, but following a quick gesture from him, they stood down once more, and return to their chattering. We went through into my study and I indicated for him to sit. Then I walked around the desk and took my place opposite him, taking a sip of eggnog - Mary really does make good stuff - before putting it on the desk in front of me. Dieter matched me, before sitting back and lacing his fingers in front of him and looking at me.
"I hadn't realised how bad a state Wolf was in," he commented to me, sticking with English rather than reverting to German, which was fair enough. I usually spoke German when I was on his home territory, so it was fair for him to return the courtesy, "he looked hunted...or perhaps haunted."
"You probably won't believe me when I say this, but he's a lot better off than he was a month ago. But I'm not sure he's in a position to care for a child right now."
"I wondered when I saw him, but by then it was too late to take the boy away, which is why I proposed a trial stay over Christmas. But I must confess I'm at a loss to know why he's been so much more badly affected by what happened to Armand than Armand was. He's never struck me as particularly fragile."
"I suspect he was more fragile than either of us realised," I said, quietly, "in no small part because you and I have been pulling his loyalty in two very different directions for a very long time. And then, more recently, he's suffered several major hits. The kidnapping was only part of it."
"Go on."
"You know as well as I do that he didn't cope well with the Germania Working."
"I am aware of that."
"Well, to try to clear his head, he went into Shadow. While he was out there, he was grabbed and tortured. We think it was Caine, but we don't know for sure. However, he very nearly died. "
"You obviously found him in time."
"Thank the gods. But it was touch and go. Then, a couple of weeks later, he took Armand to the Pattern - on my urging...""
"After the Untermensch grabbed Thorsten."
"That's right. And Armand nearly died."
"That makes no sense. He has a triple-bloodline. He should be strong in arcane matters."
"I'm just going from Wolf told me. He didn't go into specifics, but it was bad enough that he had to walk the Pattern himself, to pull Armand out. And then, when he tried to teach his son about Shadow..."
"The Lynx got them. I can understand why those pressures might have become too much for him. However, you said he's better than he was."
"He's been getting help since Armand began to recover."
"Your friend Adam?"
"Yes."
"From what I have heard of the Scotland's Chief Huntsman, Wolfgang is in good hands."
"He is," I answered, realising that I wasn't surprised that Dieter knew about Adam's occult inclinations. After all, the Edinburgh Group, like our own, had been dedicated to fighting the likes of Dieter's Thule for centuries, and you get to know your opponents.
We sat there in silence for a few minutes, drinking and listening to the clock tick, before I finally spoke again.
"Why did you come? And more to the point, why did you bring Artur and Soren?"
"When you visited me in Germania, I was concerned about you. You seemed depressed and lacking in focus, and it was obvious that your immediately family was the primary cause of that. And that is not a good situation for you to be in."
"I'm surprised you care, given how often you've actively tried to break me in the past."
"That was then. Before your circumstances changed."
"Before I became worth cultivating for political reasons?"
"If you like," he said, with a shrug, "I was thinking more before you proved to me that you were a man who would do what was necessary to get the job done. My personal opinion is that you're going to end up as the stabiliser in the current Amber government, with Fiona as the magical brawn and John as the organiser in the background. Your father is very charming, and very much a people person, but he needs the guidance of good advisors. And for you act effectively in that role, you need to be focused. Too much has got in the way of that lately."
"I needed to see that Wolf and Armand were alright."
"I don't dispute that...I would have done similarly. Family bring us as much pain as they do joy, and we try to protect them from harm. But the difference between you and I, is that you're the Crown Prince of Amber. You can't afford to play in that sandpit with anything less than your full attention, especially with hyenas like Rambault snapping at your heels. Tell me, when were you last there?"
"About ten days ago."
"Amber time, perhaps. How long has it been here...in your personal timeline."
"Maybe a couple of months."
"So...long enough for you to have taken your finger off the pulse. And when you do go back, which will presumably be once Armand reports for duty..."
I nodded.
"...then you're going to have to catch up and get your head back in the game."
"I'm pretty good at catch-up," I commented.
"Perhaps," he answered, with a shrug.
"Go on."
"So my motivation was twofold: first, to try to prove to you that I am no longer your enemy, with a gesture of goodwill in the form of allowing you to meet Artur; and to give some comfort to Wolf, especially with regard to Armand's safety, because you son's welfare has a disproportionate influence on your effectiveness."
He paused, then added.
"And, of course, you are also my daughter's lover."
"And yet she neglected to tell me we had a son."
"Don't be too hard on her for that," he said, surprisingly gently, "it wasn't her choice. I wanted to avoid the mistakes I'd made with Greta and Wolf, and took matters out of her hands."
"I had the right to know."
"Really?" he snapped, his old coldness coming back into his expression, reminding me that our relationship was only evolving so fast, "You were an enemy and a traitor. Exactly what right did that give you with regard to a German child?"
I glared at him, but he seemed unfazed.
"So why bring him here now? To rub my nose in it?"
He paused before answering, and I could almost see him collecting himself before he spoke.
"No. To give you the opportunity to get to know him a little. Admittedly, you may find it a little difficult to break through his reserve initially. I didn't explain where we were going, so by bringing him here, I rather dropped you on him, as much as I have him on you. But I assure you it's worth persevering. I think you'll find that you and he have quite a lot in common."
"He and Armand seem close."
"Nothing untoward, I assure you," he answered, then chuckled as he saw my reaction, "I saw your expression when Armand greeted him. If it's any consolation, I might have thought similarly, if I didn't know their history."
"You didn't seem entirely pleased and their display."
"I'd hoped they might wait for a more appropriate moment to greet each other. Artur was on duty. Decorum at all times, and all that. However, such was not to be. We forget how impetuous they can be at that age."
"I probably wasn't even as mature as Armand."
"As evidenced when you screwed my daughter," he commented, coldly.
"That wasn't exactly a one-sided relationship."
"No," he said, with a sigh, "no it wasn't. Bloody Dietrich von Ansbach."
He paused, took a sip of eggnog, and then continued.
"As your grandson said, they grew up together. They were only born about six weeks apart, despite being of different generations - Artur came along just after Summer Solstice 1981, and as you know, Armand is a Lammas child. How much do you know about their childhood?"
"Next to nothing. Just that they were Lebensborn."
"Armand was one of the alpha children: bright, popular, and yet not one to play favourites. Despite being the youngest in his platoon, he became platoon leader and was both willing and capable of keeping peace among his subordinates. He treated them with a respect beyond his years, and they would have done anything he asked. Very much the ideal product of the system, in fact."
"For some reason, that doesn't surprise me."
"He's a very special individual. He'd be a brilliant leader and tactician if he wanted to be, but that doesn't seem to be his main focus. He seems happy to work at small-unit level."
Dieter sounded genuinely fond of my grandson, which made it even more surprising to me that he had been willing to let Wolf and Armand spend time together outside of his sphere of influence.
"In contrast, Artur was something of a misfit," he continued, "he was too intelligent for his own good: he has an IQ of over 160, and when you're a child, that really doesn't help you interact with your peers. Neither does it sit well with your teachers when you're smarter than they are and can't help making sure they know. So Artur was often bullied and marginalised, and while Armand tried to stop it, he only had limited success."
I listened in silence, far too able to picture what Dieter was talking about, and saddened that it was my son he was discussing. I'd had something similar as a child, but not as badly as it sounded to have been for Artur.
"And then, when they were eleven, there was a death."
"A child?"
"No, an adult. His name was Hölzer, and he was one of the NCOs assigned to guard the Centre," he answered, then paused for a moment, taking the opportunity to empty his glass, before returning it to the corner of my desk. I got the impression that he was debating whether to tell me something else. So while I waited for him to continue, I gave Carmichael a call, and ordered a refill. Then I looked at him expectantly, once my butler had departed again.
"Armand was involved," he replied, which really surprised me.
"What happened?"
"No-one's really quite sure. The staff were alerted when they heard what sounded like two muffled gunshots from the school block, during one of the sports periods. They found Armand one of the classrooms, which had been pretty much wrecked. He was standing over Hölzer's body, with the latter's gun in his hand. He was bruised and battered, and had blood pouring down his face. He'd been pistol whipped in what apparently had been quite a fight. I'm sure you've noticed the scar over his left eye...?"
I nodded.
"That's when it happened."
"Who would do that to a child?"
"Not every apple in a barrel is wholesome," Dieter answered, sounding genuinely regretful, as if he'd failed somehow, "Hölzer had been shot in the lower abdomen and then through the eye. Armand surrendered himself immediately, and refused to say what had happened. When he was taken to the medical centre, the doctors found that he had been severely beaten. However, from the post mortem on Hölzer, it looked like Armand had given as good as he could, which given his Family physiology was better than any other child his age would have managed. It certainly impressed his teachers.
I was at the Board of Enquiry. He gave a clear and concise version of events, but as far as his motivations were concerned, all he would say, was that he had been protecting his platoon. Beyond that, he refused to go into details; refused to mention any names. And likewise, his platoon mates closed ranks and said nothing. It could have gone very badly for him - after all, he'd killed a man - but in the end, the Board decided it was self-defence and settled for demoting him from platoon leader. He took his punishment with a maturity that I wish some of my adult subordinates had, and pretty much walked out of the Enquiry to a standing ovation. However, from that point on, the bullying stopped, and he did more than any of the Centre staff to teach Artur to defend himself and to stand on his own two feet. Which is why I believe that your son was the one Armand was protecting. And maybe it was because they came to recognise each other as kindred spirits - the only Cornelians in their platoon, and both exceptional in different ways - but as the years passed, they became virtually inseparable."
"Does Wolf know any of this?"
"I don't know. I certainly haven't told him. I do not know if Armand has."
"By the gods. To kill someone when he was that young. I couldn't have done it. Could you?"
"Probably not," he conceded, "however, I don't think either of us is in a position to judge. We weren't there. We don't know what led to it. But no doubt you're blaming the fact that he did on his being brought up Lebensborn. But despite your perception of his background, and despite what happened with Hölzer, Armand is that rarest of animals. An inherently decent person. Just never make the mistake of confusing that with weakness."
"I know," I answered, quietly, "that was why what happened to him was so terribly unfair. I can think of certain of my relatives who deserve what happened to Armand. Hell, some of them would probably say I do. But not him."
"And yet he has a past-life destiny that links him to it all. You need to help him embrace that. I know Wolf has taught him some of the basics of ritual work. But as I think I hinted when you visited me, for his sake, and yours, you should bring him properly into your Group, and make sure he can function fully as an adept."
"Not the Thule Gesellschaft, like Artur?"
"Armand's inclination is as a servant of the Light, and his bloodline will make him formidable, if he's allowed to reach his full potential. But you and Wolf are better teachers for him than I am."
"So, by extension, my son is a natural servant of Darkness?"
"You know as well as I do that not everything the Thule Gesellschaft does is to strengthen the Darkness: that would destroy us all, in the end, and as tarnished as you probably think it is, I'm actually quite very fond of my soul. Working for the betterment of the GGR doesn't automatically mean that everything we do is what you would term 'black magic'. However, Artur's temperament is far more ambiguous than Armand's."
"That doesn't sound very positive."
"You'd be surprised. But then, perhaps you'll be able to come to your own conclusions about him over the next few days," he answered, with a shrug.
"So give me the thumbnail sketch of my own son."
"He's something of a loner. He has few close friends, Armand being the major exception. He's driven, more self-sufficient than I would have thought possible before your grandson took him in hand, and bloody good at observing and analysing. And he has a very deep understanding of the occult: far beyond just the Thule Gesellschaft, or the Lynx Cult, or even the Lyminge Group. It doesn't make him a particularly good soldier - that was very apparent when he was serving in Russia - but it does make him an excellent intelligence operative, especially in the war against the Lynx. So perhaps that tells you that he does, at least, have something in common with you."
"How long can he stay here?"
"I can spare him until New Year...Tenterden time. After that, I'll need him to return to duty."
"And Soren? Last time we spoke, it was apparent that you had every intention of bringing him up on Germania. What changed your mind?"
"It was when I saw you with playing him. You seemed so...lost. It was if something was broken inside you."
"Knowing how Thorsten turned out, it wasn't easy imagining what your influence would do to that little boy."
"But balanced against Thorsten is Armand."
"He seems to be the exception, not the rule."
"Harsh, Ian. And inaccurate. Thorsten is the exception, and that is because of who his mother is. For your information, Wolf's other son under in my care, Uwe, is a lawyer with Germania's Inland-SD, and is unlikely to be involved in any form of war crime in the foreseeable future. He's not even an adept, so you don't need to worry about him being involved in 'black magic'."
"I thought you wanted Soren to grow up to be the great commander, with his cadre of faithful retainers."
"And then I realised that I'd rather have you focused and looking out for your father."
"Harder with a five year old around."
"But you won't spend your time wondering what I'm doing to him," he answered, with a shrug, "he could ultimately become a formidable ally for you, if you and Wolf decide he should stay here."
"We'll have to think about that over the next few days. I want to do right by him."
"I'm glad his wellbeing is in your mind, as well as your own. Which leaves me with one final question."
"Which is?"
"What are your intentions towards my daughter?"
It was my turn to sit back, take a drink and try to decide what I was going to say. As I did, he looked towards me, expectantly.
"That isn't an easy question to answer," I said, finally, "she's been the only woman in my life for a long time. But I'm not sure it's reciprocal."
"Why?"
"We've never had what I'd call a regular relationship...certainly not like the one I had with Audrey."
"Do you love her?"
"Love is complicated."
"Surely you either are or aren't in love with someone."
"Have you ever been in love with anyone, Dieter?"
"I've never had time for that," he said, with a shrug, "my marriages have been political."
For a moment, I actually felt sorry for him.
For a moment.
"Then, with respect, I'm not sure you have the right to ask me that."
"She's my daughter, Ian. I want to protect her. And so I'm trying to decide whether I should give you my official blessing to be with her, or warn you off."
"If she wanted that kind of relationship, then I would love, honour and protect her. I'm just not sure she does."
"So be it. Do right by her, or I will be displeased."
"Thank you...I think."
"And now...I need to be getting back."
We downed our respective glasses, and then he got to his feet, and I rang for Carmichael to bring him his coat and cap.
"I meant what I said, Mein Kusin," he commented, as we headed into the hall, "I know things have been difficult...for you, for Wolf and for Armand. But you need to focus."
"I know."
"Then my work here is done."
Carmichael, appeared promptly and handed him his things, then opened the door for Dieter's flunkies to go out and get their vehicles warmed up.
"No doubt I'll see you after New Year."
"Indeed you will," he answered.
Then he turned on his heel and headed for the door. I stood and watched him go, but as he headed down the steps, I heard the sound of a car pulling up outside.
Michel or Tony? Damn it!
I followed him out, in time to see Michel climb out of the driver's seat of her car, looking tired. She stopped dead as she saw a senior SS officer walking out of my home.
"Frohe Weihnachten, Fraulein Gerber", he said, with a slight bow, then paused and corrected himself, "Entschuldigung...Frau Collins. Sind sie gut?"
"Yes thank you..." she answered cautiously in English, "have we met?"
"A long time ago, when you were still a little girl," he replied, switching language, then offering his hand, "my name is Ritter...Kasimir Ritter. Your step-father and I go a long way back."
I saw her reaction as she recognised the name: understandably concerned and suddenly nervous. She glanced over at me, and I tried to look reassuring. I'm not sure how well it worked.
"You have your father's eyes, Frau Collins," Dieter said, politely, "he was a good man, and I'm truly sorry that you never had a chance to know him."
That seemed to flummox her.
"But much as I'd like to stay and speak with you, I need to be going. A pleasure to meet you," he said with a nod, clicking his heels, then turned back to me, "May your gods stand between you and harm in all the empty places you must walk, Ian."
"And yours, Dieter, as you wend your way," I answered, and he climbed into the car. His driver shut the door behind him, and a short while later, they were heading up the drive.
"Ian?" Michel asked, looking at me with the look I'd got so often from her mother.
"It looks like we have a few more people for Christmas than I'd expected," I answered, "do you have bags in the car? I can get them."
And I proceeded to do so, in large part to avoid the interrogation I knew was coming.
"Why was there an SS General on your front porch?" Then she went white, obviously remembering the conversation we'd had that morning, about the men from Army Welfare. "Is my father alright?"
"He's fine."
"Armand?"
"They're both fine."
"I want to see them. Right now."
"They're in the library," I answered, balancing her various packages, and extremely grateful when Carmichael took them from me as we entered the house. Somehow he seems way better at juggling three boxes and six carrier bags than me.
"Are they gone, sir?" he asked, quietly.
"Ritter, his driver and outriders are, yes. Artur and the little boy are staying for Christmas. Possibly longer in child's case."
"I'll prepare some rooms," he answered, and headed upstairs with Michel's things.
"Artur? Little boy?"
"Come on," I repeated, and led her into the library.
The volume had gone up again since we had stepped out. Armand and Artur were off to one side, swapping stories, and Artur had changed into civvies while Dieter and I was talking. He looked much better for it in my opinion. Wolf was playing with Soren like an old hand, and even engaging Marina as he did it. I heard the three of them laughing. But then, Wolf had been a father to Michel from an early age, and had far more idea of how to entertain a five-year old than I did.
"Who are all these people?" Michel asked me as she saw them all, "And who's the child with my father?"
I glanced at them, paused to see if they were even going to notice us, and then came to the conclusion that they weren't. At which point I put my fingers in my mouth and whistled, loudly. Silence fell, and as one they turned towards me. Even Soren, who stared at me with something approaching awe at the sheer volume I'd produced.
"Thank you."
"Is Carmichael having kittens out there?" Armand asked, his tone friendly and relaxed.
"He's Carmichael. He'll figure it out," I answered, chuckling, "although I think his mood will improve now Dieter has headed back to Germania. Wolf, do you want to do introductions or shall I?"
"I will," he answered, and came over, leaving Soren sitting beside Marina, obviously trying to take in yet another newcomer. Wolf put a protective arm around his daughter's shoulder, then addressed the assembled company, "this is Michel. I trust that you will treat her with the honour and respect due to her as my daughter."
Muttering and nods from the adults in the room, although Michel seemed slightly puzzled at the way he'd said it.
"Good...Chelle, this my son Armand..."
Armand broke off from his conversation and came over, offering his hand, which she took, to be met by his warm smile, and then he gave her a peck on the cheek.
"Hello Michel," he said, his tone and body language designed to put at her ease, "Dad has talked a lot about you, and I've wanted to meet you for a long time. I'm really glad we're going to be able to spend Christmas together."
Gods that boy can be charming.
"I'm looking forward to it," she replied, "he always speaks well of you. But who are the others?"
"Armand's friend...and apparently my brother..." Wolf began.
"Definitely your brother," Marina interrupted, with a wicked smile.
"...Artur," Wolf answered. with a sigh.
The whole exchange got little more than a curt nod from across the room, and I saw Marina glare at Artur, as Wolf's attention moved to her.
"Marina Acker. Ian's..."
"Very dear friend..." she offered and Armand stepped aside to let her greet his step-sister as well, "The discourteous young man over there is my son. I apologise for his manners."
She shot a look at Artur, who flushed slightly, and then gave a very polite, if tardy bow to Michel, who wasn't at all sure how to react. The fact that she and Wolf look to be within five years of each other now, despite the fact that he brought her up, had kind of got her used to the fact that appearance is no way of judging age, but she was obviously trying to fit these newcomers together. She glanced over at me, then at Marina, and then back to me.
"So you and she..."
"Apparently," I answered, shrugging, "you know my family well enough by now to know that life is never simple."
"That I do," she said with a sigh. But before she could say anything else, she was interrupted by small tug at the corner of her blouse, and glanced down.
"My name is Soren," he said, in English as polite as his earlier German, "I'm five and a half. And this is my Papa, Fry...er Ulrich."
It took her a moment to get over her surprise, but then she smiled at him and ruffled his hair.
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Soren. Do you know he's my Papa too?"
"You're my sister," he said, working that through, which took less time than it ought to have, given his age.
"Yes I am," she answered.
"I think I'll like having a sister," he said, with five-year old firmness, and seemed satisfied.
"How can she be his daughter?" I heard Artur comment to Armand, "she's mort...she's human."
I felt myself cringe, and then saw her shoot him a cold look.
"Of course I'm human," she said, icily, "we're all human. And just because he isn't my biological parent, that doesn't mean he isn't my father." Then she deliberately turned her back on him, and looked at Wolf, "Papa, why didn't you tell me Armand had a brother? Come for that, why didn't you tell me you had a brother?"
Off to where Armand and Artur were, I could see Artur wanting to say something, but Armand laid a warning hand on his shoulder and shook his head slightly. I saw him mouth "later" and Artur wisely stayed quiet.
"Ian only told me a couple of days ago," he answered, "assuming this isn't some great joke of Dieter's."
"I'm inclined to believe it," I commented, "but it should be possible to confirm or deny it."
"Blood tests?"
"A combination of that and something else I have in mind. But that can wait until a little later. For now...this is obviously going to be a more interesting Christmas than I'd expected, but I'm sure we'll cope. And all of you are welcome."
I glanced over at Artur as I said that, as he seemed to be the least comfortable of all of us, and gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. He looked at me and gave a slight nod.
"And in the meantime, I suggest we stop doing the whole Hercule Poirot 'I've gathered you all together' thing, and you all just make yourselves at home. Carmichael should have your rooms ready by now, and I believe that dinner's at seven-thirty."
"Dismissed?" Armand asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
"Dismissed, Captain Becker" I answered, with a chuckle that got a glare of disapproval from Artur, which made me think that he and I getting on was going to be an uphill struggle. Then the others started filing out: Armand and Artur together, and Wolf and Michel taking Soren. No doubt he and his step-daughter would have a long conversation before I saw them again.
I tapped Marina on the shoulder as she headed for the door.
"You and I need to talk."
"Now?" she said, "I'm really tired. It's been a strange day, and I haven't got the energy to argue with you."
That seemed very unlike her."
"Please?" I said, quietly.
She sighed, and sat back down on the settee. I pulled my favourite armchair closer to her and sat down.
"Why didn't you tell me about Artur?"
"You were persona non gratia in my homeland when he was born. You and my father were enemies, and had been actively trying to murder each other. How could I?"
"All you needed to do was pick up the phone."
"If only it had been that simple. But it wasn't. It happened in St Petersburg, and he was born nine months after Kirishi. Pretty much when your relations with Papa were at their very lowest. After all, you shot him, and that took a long time to heal. He still has the scar."
"He looked fine when he took Wolf away to kill him."
"He's good at hiding his weaknesses."
"Go on."
"I tried to keep the fact that I was pregnant from him, while I tried to decide what to do. But he found out anyway. To say he was furious that I'd let myself get knocked up with your child would be an understatement."
"So why did you keep the baby? You never struck me as the maternal type. Back then your primary focus was your career. We slept with each other because we enjoyed it, and there were no strings attached. Being pregnant must have put the dampers on that."
"I won't lie to you. When I found out, I seriously thought about getting rid of it," she answered, and while I wasn't surprised, I was disappointed. However, I said nothing, and let her continue. "But when father learned I was considering it, he forbade me. He may have hated you like poison, but I got the impression that he still considered your bloodline important when I presented him with the potential of your child."
"So Artur came into the world unwanted."
"It wasn't like that, Miska. It really wasn't. After I had time to think things through, I realised that the chances were I'd never see you again, given what had happened, and that made me sad. At least the baby was something to remind me of you. By the time he was born, I had even come round to wanting to put my career on hold and bring him up."
"You cared something for me then?"
"You were unlike anyone else I'd ever been with. You always have been."
"So what happened?"
"A couple of hours after he was born, Papa sent his people to get him. It had been a difficult delivery, and I was exhausted. They just took him away and I was too weak to stop them."
"And he was brought up Lebensborn, to be a good little Nazi worker drone."
"It really isn't as bad as it sounds," she answered, but to me it sounded as if she was trying to convince herself, as much as me, "they get a good upbringing, one of the best educations in the GGR. Even children with parents who can afford it, often spend some time there. Papa made sure I did my senior education in the Berlin Centre. In many ways, they're more a specialist boarding school than anything else. It's just some of the children don't get to go home for the holidays. And for the ones who live there all the time, they grow up with a group of contemporaries with whom they have a life-long bond. Look at him and Armand. So while I hated my father for what he'd done, in hindsight, it may have been for the best. What kind of mother would I really have been back then?"
"Did you see him as he grew up?"
"Not initially," she replied, "my father was so angry with me that he all but cut me off. But you know me. I wasn't willing to give up. I fought him, tooth and nail. He eventually relented when Artur was roughly the age Soren is now, and after that I was allowed to take him out of the Centre one weekend a month."
"And was he happy? Was he content?"
"He was quiet, but then, he was a very gifted child, and that wasn't easy for him," she said, quietly, "but he seemed happy."
"You're not sure?"
"How the Hell could I be?" she snapped, "As I said, my father wouldn't let me see him until he was five. And after that, my access was limited. And even the little I did see him was on condition that I never tell you Artur existed."
"But relations between you must have improved somewhere along the way? You seem comfortable with him now."
"The Cold War took another five years to thaw after I was given access. And in fairness, given you gave him a civil welcome into your home this afternoon, somewhere along the way your attitude towards him has changed as well. You have no idea how grateful I am for that "
"So when did you figure out I was Ian Cushing?"
"Papa was adamant about not telling you about Artur, but I was angry, and hurt, and not inclined to listen to him. However, before I could do anything about it, Mikael Cuijper was reported killed in Azerbaijan, and I knew I'd never see you again. I went to the funeral - the one in Pretoria - and was surprised at what looked like a complete lack of family there: just colleagues and friends. I spent the next couple of months looking for any family you might have, so I could let them know that you had a son, thinking it might bring them some comfort."
"And you didn't find anyone."
"No. So I took another route, and tried to find out more about your known associates. I knew you were a member of the London Press Club, and a few well-placed questions linked you with lawyer and journalist Ian Cushing. I discovered that Cushing's interests and modus operandi when he was a journalist were very similar to yours, and that Cushing had retired before Cuijper came on the scene. It suggested a link, but at that point, it was only a suggestion. So I dug deeper, and found references to a war crimes trial when Ian Cushing defended a German defector named Wolfgang Dietrich Armand Ulrich. Talk about red rag to a bull for a journalist."
"Why?"
"Wolf Ulrich has some interesting legends around him, in certain circles."
"Really?"
"He's the defector that came home to die. There aren't very many of those, and even fewer get restored to their original ranks and privileges. It might occasionally happen with a deep cover agent, but that probably wouldn't be followed by their execution, which had happened to Ulrich. Reasons and rumours about him range from his being Kasimir Ritter's love child, which isn't so far from the mark; to the fact that he was personally reinstated into the SS by Reichsführer Klaus Heydrich, which seems less likely."
"Why less likely?"
"Heydrich never had the reputation of being willing to forgive the mistakes of his subordinates. Personally reinstating a defector who was then executed anyway? It seems very out of character."
"Wolf has an Honour Ring. You probably saw him wearing it at the Wewelsburg."
"So? A lot of SS officers have Honour Rings."
"His is dated October 1980, and has Heydrich's moniker on it."
"So there might actually be some truth to that one? Fascinating."
"Anyway...you got back to Wolf Ulrich."
"From what I could gather, Ulrich, who by all accounts was an exceedingly unlikely candidate for defection, was forced into that course of action because of an argument with my father over...Mikael Cuijper. There were even rumours that you had helped him out of Russia, ten years before we met, and looking back at when we were in St Petersburg, I realised that you knew more about the local geography than you were letting on. And his return to Germany, knowing that it would lead to his death, got you released.
Tying that to the fact that Ian Cushing had defended him at his war crimes trial, and I'd come full circle. All I needed was a final bit of proof, so I went to the Reich Chancellery, and there it was in black and white. Führer order 1980/1025/1. Ian Michael Cushing, aka Mikael Cuijper. You are hereby informed that you have been declared persona non gratia in the Greater German Reich and all of its territories, present and future..."
"...and any permissions you have to travel within those territories have been revoked. Etc, etc. My deportation notice."
"Exactly."
"But even knowing who I was, and the number of times we met - in whatever guise I was in - you never told me we had a son."
"Because you would have tried to bust him out. And you would have died doing it. The moment he got hold of you, and he would have done, my father was never going to make the mistake of letting you go again.
"So do you have any idea why he's let Artur come here now?"
"Because he wants to mend fences with you. His attitude was already changing before the Germania Working - Rebma helped. But after that, I saw a new respect towards you."
"And as part of that, he finally lets me meet my son."
"Will you throw that back at him?"
"I'm not sure Artur wants to know me - he seemed disappointed when he discovered who I was."
"Give him a little time."
"That's what Dieter said."
"So maybe you should listen to him. Artur is on Papa's staff, so he knows him pretty well. And don't forget Armand. Would you trust his opinion?"
"Yes."
"You saw how they were together."
"Still, getting to know someone is a two-way street."
"I think, from what I know of your grandson, Armand will convince him to try. And Artur isn't a fool. Anything but. Just keep an open mind."
"No doubt we'll see how that works out over the next week."
"There's something else."
"Worse than all this?"
"I'd prefer to think of it as better. I'm pregnant again."
Maybe I should have said something supportive, but I blurted out my first thought.
"Is it mine?"
"What sort of question is that?" she snapped.
"You were the one who said we didn't have an exclusive relationship."
"I may not have been completely telling you the truth about that."
"Why the Hell not?"
"As was obvious from our last conversation, neither of us have the slightest idea what we have together. Are we in love with each other? Even a little bit? Do either of us know? It was complicated enough without my admitting that I've been faithful to you this last few years as well."
"At least your father is less likely to go Medieval on you now I'm no longer as popular as a skunk in a scent shop. In fact, I got the idea he wouldn't be against us having some kind of formal relationship."
"You talked about us?"
"He asked me what my intentions were towards you."
"And your answer?"
"That if you wanted that kind of relationship, then I would honour and protect you. And I meant it. I care for you, Marina. A lot. But it's been a long time since I was in love, and that relationship was so different to what you and I have."
"What did he say?"
"That I'd better not do you wrong. But I'm curious. Does he know that you're pregnant? Is that what prompted his question?"
"I certainly haven't told him."
"Is it mine?" This time I emphasised the is, rather than the mine.
"Yes."
"When?"
"Germania. Before the Working."
"You seem pretty certain."
"I knew the moment I woke up in your arms, the following morning."
"Marry me, Marina."
"So you're the kind of man who only marries because he's got a woman pregnant?"
"I don't know. It's the first time I've ever been told when I could actually make that decision. Until now, my children have all been grown when I met them. But I'd like to do the right thing."
"Is that because you want to? Or because you ought to?"
"I'd like to be part of his or her life. And I'd very much like for you to be my wife, and for us to bring up a child together. For us to be a family."
"But boy does it come with strings, given who your father is. Is there the slightest chance that he would let you get away with anything less than a full-blown Royal Wedding? Think of the party he'd want to throw. And then I'd be firmly on the Family map, and potentially both me and our child would be in danger."
"So what if we don't tell him? We could do it here, on Tenterden. Keep it low key. A small registry office. Maybe have Wolf, Armand and Artur as witnesses. Oh...and Dieter. I don't see him being willing to miss it."
"He's as bad as your father. The Führer's daughter? No, his ideas would include the Great Hall of the Reich and a military parade down the Victory Avenue. And don't forget that Artur reports to him."
"Then just us, and Wolf and Armand. Here. And then we'd know, but the Amber Family don't have to."
"Tempting," she admitted, "but it'll come out eventually."
"And then we let our respective fathers throw blessing parties."
"I need to think about this, and so do you. I don't want this to be a knee-jerk reaction. If we do decide to get married, it needs to be for the right reasons."
"And if we don't? Will you keep the baby?"
"Of course... Papa wouldn't let me do anything else, even if I wanted to. Which I don't, by the way.
"Would you bring it up."
"Possibly...or possibly I'd use the Centre again."
"I'd rather have it here."
"See if you feel that way after Soren's been here for a few days. At your age, and with your responsibilities, full-time fatherhood is a big step to take."
"What do you mean, at my age?"
"Twice mine, remember?"
I harrumphed, and she laughed. And just at that moment, she looked more beautiful than I'd ever seen her, and I was filled with desire. I stood and crossed to the settee, then pulled her gently to her feet.
"We'll figure it out. I promise," I said, quietly, kissing her long and deep.
"I know," she answered, when we finally came up for air, "but right now, I want you to take me upstairs and make love to me."
"It's four in the afternoon, and there's a child in the house..." I protested, weakly.
"Shut up, Miska," she said, with a wicked grin, then took my hand and pulled me towards the door.