Adoption
Tenterden, September 2008
Summer's end.
The first job had been to get Katharine and Blaine back to Germania. My chat with Ian over a beer back in August had got me thinking, and I'd come up with a solution to the problem of how to figure things out to Dieter's satisfaction - and hopefully to Katharine's as well. I'd proposed that she become my chatelaine at Schloss Geslau and, unspoken but understood, my mistress when I was on Germania. It would give her security, status and somewhere where the child she was carrying (because of course Ian and Marina had been bloody right about that one) could be born in relative safety and comfort. I'd also agreed that Blaine should continue his education within the Lebensborn System, but as a boarder, rather than a lifer. It meant that during the holidays, I would be able to spend time with him and bring Soren to Geslau. Katharine had seemed game for the arrangement - it probably wasn't everything that she wanted, but it was better than what she'd had - and Dieter had agreed to the compromise.
Maybe the chat he'd supposedly had with Bleys had sunk in.
Then, at the beginning of September, Sylvia and I took Soren to boarding school for the first time. He hadn't wanted us to make a big fuss of him, so we saw him to the door, said our goodbyes, and handed him into the care of his new House Master, an organised-looking young teacher by the name of Andrew Buxton. As Buxton gathered him up and took him to join the rest of his flock, Soren looked back towards me and gave a little wave, before turning back towards his new classmates.
As I watched him, I felt a lump in my throat. Empty nest syndrome had been hard with Michel - although obviously more so for Suzanne than me. But this was different. This was my own son going away to school, even if school was less than an hour from Wittersham House.
As we walked back to the M5, Sylvia and I looked at each other, and I could feel us both thinking "so what now?" She'd worked with me and Soren for five years, and we'd become friends, but now her duties were effectively at an end.
"I suppose this means I should start looking for a new position," she said, quietly, as we climbed into the front seats.
"Not necessarily," I answered, as I started the engine - revelling in the smooth purr as it caught - and then made my way slowly down the drive.
A few possibilities where she could be very useful to me had occurred to me as part of my life in Amber and I had idly wondered if perhaps she might be willing to move from Tenterden. After all, she'd never married, so there were no children of her own in the picture, and her parents were gone; and she'd seemed to enjoy the challenges that Bowring had brought her. More to the point, in the years we'd been there, she'd learned - and figured out - a lot about myself, Amber and the Family, and more than she'd ever wanted to know about Germania and what it stood for, and she'd taken it all in her stride.
"If you're willing to consider a complete change of career and probably relocation, I can almost certainly offer you something," I continued, as I pulled onto the main road and headed for Wittersham House. Soon we were through the village where Tonbridge School was located, and on the A26, where I could get up to a decent speed.
"Part of your other life?"
"One of them," I answered, "the Amber one. I need to set up a staff to help me out there. So if you thought you might be interested, I'd be happy for you to be part of it."
"I'll think about it," she said, with a nod, "it could be an interesting challenge from what you've said about the place. Yes...I'll definitely think about it."
"I'm glad," I replied, "let me run a few ideas past you."
By the time we got back to Wittersham House, we'd come to an agreement that she would join my staff in Amber as my Principal Secretary and general organiser - a task she was well used to. And I was glad, as we parted in the hall, that we'd figured something out.
The following morning, I headed back to my flat in Lancaster Gate, taking Ava with me this time, rather than leaving her to wait for me. After all, with Soren gone there was less reason for me to stay at Ian's place full-time. And I actually liked the idea of having some time to myself, which was happening rarely enough now, given my new duties: just occasional evenings when I could play hooky, either alone or otherwise.
Among other things, it would give me the opportunity to close down my PI business in an orderly fashion. Because I had to admit to myself that sadly, my days as a private eye were over unless circumstances really changed in Amber and I was suddenly out of a job there. And in reality, if someone took the place from Bleys, my days would be numbered, given that my current status meant I could potentially be a threat to any usurper.
And, perhaps more importantly, a little privacy back at home would also finally give me a chance to track down Theodor, my lost son. Assuming he was still alive, which at this point wasn't confirmed.
I spent the day doing admin, then prepared myself a light meal, although I made a point of not having my usual glass of wine with it, as alcohol could potentially interfere with what I wanted to do. Once I was done, I retrieved the blood sample Dieter had given me from its place of safety, and made my way downstairs to the den.
A full location ritual needed a bit more preparation than my usual technique of sitting in a comfortable chair. I moved a couple of chairs out of the way, and rolled back the loose rug to reveal the wooden floor. Then I collected the various bits of paraphernalia that I would need, before sealing the room. I hadn't noticed that Ava had sneaked in until it was too late, but she took up station on one of the displaced chairs and settled down to sleep. Hopefully she wouldn't interrupt anything.
The next question was how to actually do a location ritual when I potentially had the whole of Shadow to search for him. Maybe that was somewhere where the Pattern might come in helpful. My Shadow geography was quite decent, and I had a good feel for direction, so as I set everything up, I incorporated the cross-Shadow elements into it. Then I tipped a little of the blood sample onto my hand as a focus, and began to cast out towards its owner.
The first thing I confirmed was that he was still alive. Looking for the living and the dead have a different feel to each other: a vibrancy versus the feeling of looking for something inanimate. What I didn't expect, was how quickly I got a location as well. In fact, I had travelled virtually no distance at all before I got what seemed to be a solid ping. I analysed the readings and quickly came to the conclusion that far from being lost in Shadow, Theodor was still somewhere on Tenterden. I definitely hadn't expected that, after his forcible removal from the Berlin Lebensborn Centre.
I needed an atlas.
I temporarily closed things down, wiping the blood on my handkerchief, with the intention of disposing of it safely later, and then headed upstairs to my study. I pulled the latest Times Atlas of the World off the shelf and went back downstairs, to be met by a glare from Ava. As if to say "can't you make up your mind if you're coming or going...I'm trying to sleep here". I scratched her between the ears until she deigned to forgive me, and then put myself back into a Working trance and re-closed the circle.
I held the bloodied handkerchief in my left hand, and let my right run along the pages, until I felt where it was right to open the book. However, I didn't look at which page I'd opened it at, as I didn't want to influence my own actions. Then I lifted the phial of blood once more, and eyes closed, I reached out towards him mentally and let a single drip fall onto the pages. As I did, I felt a shiver down my back, as if I subconsciously knew that the location I'd chosen was right. I put the lid back on the phial, then brought myself out of the trance and looked down.
The drop had landed on Plymouth.
I wiped it away, the coating on the pages meaning that not too much damage had been done (Ian would never have approved of me mistreating a book...even a humble atlas), and stared at the ghost drop that remained. Could it really be that simple? Could Theodor actually be in England?
I glanced at my watch, and realised that more time had passed than I'd realised. It was certainly too late to do anything else tonight. But as I closed down the Working and put the room straight, picking Ava up before I closed the door behind me, I smiled as I realised that I'd just been given my last missing person's case - with myself as the client.
* * * * * *
I set to work the following morning, approaching the problem the way I usually did when I've been hired to find a missing person. I had his birth name and date of birth - Theodor Hofmann, b.19 April 1966 - at least according to the new label on the phial, which I had to assume was correct; and a place of birth. I also knew he'd been taken from the Berlin Lebensborn Centre in late-1968, which gave me an approximate timeframe. It wasn't a lot, but it was something, and I started jotting down questions to help me think.
Had he been brought to England immediately after he was removed from Berlin? And if so by whom?
If he hadn't, where might he have been? Chad and Tommy had been taken to E1's Canada, as far as I knew - they were certainly there now. Had Theodor spent time there as well? Or if not, what, if anything, was so important about Theodor that it was worth Brand treating him differently?
Had Brand staged the kidnapping on his own initiative? Or had he been put up to it by Bleys?
I poured myself a coffee, then came back to my desk and started at my jotted down notes, trying to figure out the most likely sequence.
For whatever reason, Brand had wanted to get the boy away from Dieter, so chances were he would have got Theodor out of Germany as soon as he could. But why did he stay on Tenterden? On the plus side, it was the bolt-hole Bleys had used to stash Ian, and it must have offered at least a measure of security, as my father, and later myself, had grown up reasonably unmolested by the likes of Eric. However, on the minus side, it was also where Dieter had gone out of his way to try to kill us both.
Was the fact Chad and Tommy were taken to E1 actually some kind of decoy? Especially given the mislabelling of the sample. It seemed a complicated way of doing things if he wanted to keep Theodor's location hidden from Dieter, although that said, it had taken forty years for my other grandfather to discover the error. But then, that led to the obvious question...why? It obviously wasn't because of me, so it was probably to do with his mother. Or maybe I was just overthinking the actions of a madman.
Sadly, with Brand as crazy as a loon, Bleys busy elsewhere and Dieter up to his eyeballs with his own business, I probably wouldn't get a straight answer out of any of them. Time to make some assumptions on which to base my search.
I decided to work on the theory that Theodor had, indeed, been brought straight to England, while the other two were sent off-Shadow. That gave me a window of, say, six months from November 1968 to April 1969, to search the adoption records and figure out who Theodor might be now.
So next question. Who might the adopted parents have been? Most likely, I decided, was a pre-selected couple, who could be trusted to look after the boy without asking too many questions. However, the Family have the ability to manipulate the worlds they're on, and Tenterden wasn't claimed back in '68, so Theodor would have needed at least some kind of paper trail so that he could actually grow up with a future. Which meant it certainly wasn't impossible that Brand - or perhaps more likely a minion - would have caused the required paperwork to come into being.
In which case, would his original birth name be anywhere on that? If this had been a normal case, I would have said yes: the parents of adoptees in the sixties did still retain their adoptive children's original birth certificates. But this wasn't normal. It involved Family, and more to the point, Theodor's original birth certificate would have been German. Still, maybe a British certificate was created for him as well. I could see a day at the National Archives in Kew in my immediate future, but first there were a couple of things I could do quickly and easily.
First, I registered myself with the UK Adoption Contact Register, as a parent looking for an adoptive child. I entered his German name and date of birth, as that was all I had to go on, but I could change that later if I had to. I debated whether to use my current official UK identity, or my real name, and after a bit of thought, I decided to go with the latter. After all, when Armand had first come to England, he'd specifically asked for me by my real name, so obviously I was no longer as dead as I used to be in the eyes of the GGR.
And second, I applied to the German authorities for his original birth certificate. That was less likely to bear fruit, given the strict secrecy around children born into the Lebensborn System, but I didn't lose anything by trying. After all, if I went with the same logic I'd used for putting my own name on the Register, I was officially an Ahnenerbe officer, which gave me slightly more right to request such things than many.
I spent a little while debating with myself whether it would be worth attempting another location ritual, that evening, to see if I could narrow his location down from Plymouth, but came to the conclusion that it probably wouldn't help me. After all, I had no idea of what he actually looked like. Maybe, if I had a picture of him which I could age, using a clever piece of software I'd got hold of, it would be different. But I didn't, so it wouldn't really solve the problem.
I turned in relatively early that evening, Ava curled up on the end of my bed, and planned to be up early to make my way out to Kew.
* * * * * *
The morning dawned warm and clear - one of those early autumn mornings which make you feel glad to be alive. I showered, dressed, grabbed a quick breakfast and then decided to head for Kew on the bike. It would be able to negotiate the rush hour traffic far better than the Beemer, and it had been in the garage for a while, so it was due a spin. I slipped my laptop into my backpack, and then made my way out of town. At least, once I got out of the centre of town, I was heading against the traffic, although the Chiswick Roundabout was as ballsed-up as usual. However, I made it to the National Archives shortly after it opened, and headed inside.
I was familiar with the layout from many hours spent here in the past, tracking down lost relatives for my clients. I nodded politely to Nancy, the receptionist, who smiled as she recognised me, and then made my way to the section dealing with birth records. It took me most of the day, but after a number of near misses and possibilities which didn't pan out, I eventually came up with one which seemed to fit. Theodore Peter Farmer, b.19 April 1966; mother, Julia Farmer; father, not stated. It was close enough to a direct translation of his German name that given the date of birth, he seemed like a good candidate. Now I had to figure out if someone of that name had ever been adopted, officially or otherwise.
Earlier in my PI career, I'd come to the realisation that people were far more prepared for me to bill by the hour it they were confident that I could guarantee that I'd pursued their case as expediently as possible. As a result, my search process had become pretty streamlined, if not always altogether legal. After all, it's a lot quicker to get the information directly, than having to wait for someone to get back to me, especially as I often had a better feel for where to look than the person I was talking to. So the following morning, after I'd updated my application in the Adoption Register to match his British details, I began working my way through my usual sites and sources to track down what might have happened to Theodore Farmer, using the date he was removed from the Berlin Centre as the base for my search.
It wasn't easy. But then, having the issue muddied by an elder Amberite of dubious sanity was never going to make things any simpler. As a result, it took me nearly a week of typing, talking and cajoling to get what I wanted. During that time, slightly to my surprise, I received a courier from Germany with a copy of his original birth certificate. Most of the details matched, allowing for German to English translation, with the exception of the father's name. Instead of "not stated", I read own my name in neat Gothic letters, with both my SS and Kripo ranks noted under profession, but followed by the annotation 'verstorben' - deceased. It made me wonder why whoever had created the false one had left my name off. More misdirection, no doubt.
Eventually I found what I needed. The adoption of Theodore Peter Farmer by David and Hayley Meredith of York, through a private, rather than a government agency. The adoption was legalised on 1 January 1969, and a change of name for him to Samuel Meredith had been filed almost immediately. The poor child must have been really confused, which made me wonder why they'd done it. In my experience, adoptive names are more often changed in infancy. More dissimilation? Some kind of condition of the adoption? Sadly, I had to accept that I'd probably never know. But at least I had more information. With three names to play with, I could start tracking down the family.
The first thing I discovered, was that David and Hayley were dead, killed in a car accident in fog on the M5 in 2007. The article didn't say much about them, except age and profession, although it did mention that they were returning from a family get-together in Plymouth. So assuming Theodor was the family they were getting together with, what would take a young man brought up in Yorkshire down to Plymouth? Obviously, it could be anything, but the simplest answer was probably the Royal Navy.
Trying to find the personal details of potentially currently serving military personnel wasn't that easy, for obvious reasons. If the IRA had taught Britain anything, it was that. However, I'd developed an extensive range of contacts over the years, and given that I was pretty much retiring from the PI business, there was no reason not to call in a few favours. It took a few days, but I eventually got what I needed. Samuel Peter Meredith had graduated at the top of his class at the Dartmouth Royal Naval College in 1990, and had since reached the rank of Commander. He was due to become Executive Officer of HMS Daring on her entering service in January 2009, and in the meantime, he was working landside at HMS Drake in Devonport, making sure the commissioning was going according to plan.
My contact even supplied me with a recent photograph. The blue eyes which stared out at me looked very familiar, although his hair was darker than most of my offspring. However, for me, the final confirmation that I'd got the right person was the fact that he looked a good few years younger than his birth age would suggest. It was as if he'd reached his mid-thirties and just stopped aging. He'd probably be able to get away with that for a few more years yet, without wondering too much about why, especially given that any form of military service usually keeps you fit and healthy. But eventually the time would come, and he'd start to realise that something was wrong.
I sat back in my chair, looking down at the picture. I knew who and where he was now. The question was, what should I do about it? Did I try to contact him? Or would it be kinder to just leave him in ignorance, secure in the knowledge that he was alive and well? It was hard to know the right answer.
I was pretty sure what Ian would say, if I asked him - that Theodor would probably be better off not knowing until he had to. Certainly, that was the tack he had taken with Adam. But I wasn't sure if that was the route I wanted to take. I suppose the difference was that of all my various known children, he was the only one who wasn't aware. At least, I presumed he wasn't aware. While my other children were involved with Amber, or at least myself, to a greater or lesser degree, Theodor...Samuel...showed all the signs of being a Royal Naval officer and nothing more.
As I sat, Ava jumped up on the desk and pawed interestedly at the picture. Then, in typical cat style, she turned around a couple of times and planted herself slap bang in the middle of whatever was distracting her human. I decided to leave her to it, and go for a run.
* * * * * *
I dithered for several days, during which time I finished up what I needed to do in London, caught up on a lot of those odd jobs I hadn't got to for ages, and visited with Ian, Marina and the twins. I also spent some time with Sylvia, briefing her on what her new duties would involve. Soon, I'd pretty much come to the conclusion that I'd done everything I needed to do on Tenterden, with the exception of resolving the Theodor issue.
I'd all but decided to let sleeping dogs lie, given that there wasn't exactly anything I could offer him just now except the grief which came with his being related to the Heir Presumptive to the Amber Throne, and was considering heading back to Amber with Sylvia, when I received a phone call which changed my mind. It was the Adoption Contact Register. They had received a potential inquiry with regard to my request for information. Was I willing for them to pass on my details?
I gave them permission, and then stayed around for a few days longer to see if anything came of it, and was delighted when he called the following Friday.
"Am I speaking with Wolfgang Ulrich?" came the cautious voice at the end of the phone. His accent smacked of a public school education, although that didn't quite hide the slight underlay of a Yorkshire twang.
"You are," I answered.
"My name is Samuel Meredith. I was given your name by the ACR."
"They said that someone had asked for my details," I answered, "I'm glad you decided to call."
I caught the slight pause as he processed the fact that I still speak English with a slight German accent...not that my name shouldn't have already given that away.
"I was wondering if we might be able to meet," he said, finally.
"I'd like that. Where and when?"
"I know it's short notice, but are you about this weekend at all. I have a business meeting in London on Monday, and was thinking of coming up Sunday..."
"I could do Sunday evening. Say, around 18.30?"
Another pause, and then he continued, "That would work. I'm staying at the Naval and Military Club on Piccadilly."
"The In and Out? I know it," I answered.
It had always been one of Ian's favourite haunts for dinner, along with the Press Club, although I'd never qualified for membership. The organisation in which I had served wasn't on the approved list.
"Then I'll see you there on Sunday evening," he answered, "just ask for me at the front desk."
"I'll be there," I replied, and he hung. I checked the caller ID and made a note of his mobile number, just in case.
Sunday evening was cool, with light but persistent rain which I hoped wouldn't dampen how the meeting went. I decided to catch a cab, instead of walk, as I had a briefcase of bits and pieces with me, and I didn't want to turn up looking too dishevelled. And I'll admit, I was nervous as I gave my name to the man behind the front desk.
"Commander Meredith is waiting for you in the Tewkesbury Room, Mr Ulrich" the doorman answered, and gestured to one of his assistants, "Sandy will take you through to him."
"Thank you."
I fell into step beside my guide and was led past the bar and down the hall, where he knocked on one of the doors. I heard "Come in" from behind the door, and Sandy opened it and gestured for me to do as bid.
I glanced around as I entered, as much out of habit as anything else. The room contained four leather armchairs beside the fireplace, and there was a dining table and chairs to one side. The man I'd come to meet was over by one of the armchairs, and I could see a glass of what looked like Scotch on the table beside him.
"May I get you anything to drink," Sandy asked, as I stepped inside.
"Single malt - Balvenie if you have it, otherwise another Speyside. No ice and a small jug of water," I answered.
He nodded and headed out, closing the door behind him, leaving the pair of us alone. Sam got to his feet, and I could see he was weighing me up as I crossed over to him and offered my hand. Not that I could complain, as I was doing the same thing to him.
When I'd first met Armand, it had taken me a little while to assure myself that he was really my son. Back then, he had looked young for his age - still with the skinniness of late adolescence - and I had had to picture myself much younger before I'd been sure. This time, though, the connection between myself and the man standing opposite me was obvious the moment I saw him. We stood pretty much the same height, had a very similar build, and there was no denying that my own eyes were staring back at me as we regarded each other.
There was a pause before he took my hand and shook.
"Wolf Ulrich," I offered.
"Sam Meredith," came the answer, but it was obvious that there was something wrong.
At which point I realised how stupid I'd been. The man in front of me would have been expecting someone in their late-60s or early-70s. And since I'd been studying with Fiona, and had had cause to re-walk the Pattern, I currently appeared younger than I had for a while: forty at the most, and maybe even a little younger. I'd become so used to my apparent age being irrelevant in my dealings, that I'd forgotten how I would appear to someone unenlightened. That was the point at which my heart sank and I realised that this was a terrible mistake. I should have just let sleeping dogs lie.
Sandy knocked and came in, depositing my drink on the table and then making a polite exit. And from the reaction I was getting from my son, I seriously wondered about doing the same thing.
"Perhaps we'd better sit," he suggested, finally, and after a moment, I nodded and took the seat opposite him. Then I poured a few drops of water into my Scotch, before raising my glass to him.
"Cheers," I offered, far from sure if he'd respond.
"Cheers," he answered, after a noticeable pause, and we both took a sip from our respective drinks. Then he sat back in his chair and continued to size me up. And what was worse, I recognised my own appraising look in his.
"I'm younger than you expected," I said, finally.
"Somewhat," he answered, and I thought I heard hostility underlying his tone, "I'll admit there's a resemblance between us, but you only look four or five years older than me. What kind of game are you playing?"
"No game," I answered, quietly, trying to keep my own disappointment out of my voice, "I'm older than I look."
"Thirty years older? I don't think so."
"It's complicated, but it's the truth."
"Forgive me if I don't take that on face value," he answered, and this time I definitely heard hostility, tinged with bitterness, "you're...German?"
"German ex pat. I've lived in England for a long time, but I was born in Ansbach, which is about fifteen miles from Nuremberg."
"And where was I born?"
"Berlin."
"I happen to know that's bullshit," he answered, levelly, "I have a copy of my birth certificate."
"So do I. Both of them."
For the first time, he seemed uncertain, so I opened my briefcase, and pulled out both the certified copy of his British one which I'd made at the Archives, and one I'd had made from the document I'd received from the Ahnenerbe, and handed them to him.
"I don't understand...?" he said, as he cast his eyes over both of them.
"You were born in Germany and adopted over here."
"You don't look dead," he commented, so he could obviously read German, "the Krauts aren't known for making mistakes on something like that."
"It's complicated," I repeated, trying to ignore the fact that he'd just called me a Kraut. I really hate that epithet.
"So if this is true..." he laid the German copy on the table," and I'm not saying I believe it...but if it is, how did I end up in England?"
"You were abducted and brought to England. You would have been about two and a half, although I'm not sure if you're likely to remember anything that far back."
"Then explain this one..." he laid the British one on top, "and if you say 'it's complicated' again, so help me I'll call Joseph and he'll have you escorted off club property."
"The person who abducted you arranged for the fake certificate to be lodged here in England; presumably so your adoption could go through. And for some reason, he only put your mother's name on it."
"Maybe because this other one, here, says you're a bloody SS officer," he snapped, pointing at the German certificate again, "not a great way to win friends and influence people."
"That was a long time ago," I answered, making the assessment that given his reaction, detailing my current links to that organisation might well be the one thing that could make what was already an uncomfortable and awkward situation worse.
I should have taken Ian's path.
"I defected," I said, finally, "that's what brought me to England."
"Why?"
"Why did I defect? Because it was either that, or I got put up against a wall and shot."
He stared at me for a moment, trying to figure out if I was joking. But of course I wasn't, and after a moment or two it was obvious that he'd realised that.
"What did you do?" he asked, and at last, I heard a softening in his tone.
"I seriously pissed off some very dangerous people by protecting someone I shouldn't have. He was wanted for a murder in Bucharest...a murder he didn't do...and I wasn't willing to throw an innocent man to the wolves. Unfortunately, I pretty much ended up throwing myself to the wolves instead."
"So you're an SS thug with scruples?"
The hardness was back in his voice, and with enough venom to it that there was obviously something else going on. I sighed, debating with myself whether to just throw my drink down my throat and leave, before this got even more painful.
"It was a long time ago," I said, quietly, "that isn't who I am now."
"How long ago?"
"I've been here since July 1968."
"And there we are...looping back to..."
"...to I don't look old enough. I know. But that doesn't make it any less true. After all, you don't exactly look your age, either."
"I keep fit...work out."
"So do I. But by the time people reach forty, they're normally beginning to get the beginnings of aches and pains - which I'm guessing you aren't."
He considered for a moment, then shrugged.
"Why should I believe a word of this?"
"You knew you were adopted, otherwise you wouldn't have registered with the ACR. It's that just your adoption is perhaps a little more...unusual than you'd realised. I had a similar conversation with my father, when he told me."
"Is he still alive?"
"Yes. He lives in Kent."
"So you were adopted as well?"
"I wish I had been. But I wasn't. I was the result of an extra-marital affair. But I only found out the truth after I got to England."
"Is your mother alive?"
"No. She's been dead for over fifty years."
"I'm sorry for your loss," he said, automatically, because that's the sort of thing you say. But it was obvious that that was all there was to it - there was no personal dimension to the comment.
Another uncomfortable silence settled between us, and we sat there, drinking and watching each other, and I could feel my disappointment still growing within me.
"What about my birth mother?" he said, finally.
"I don't know. I could probably find out if you really wanted me to."
"So you didn't keep in touch with her?"
"It was a passing thing," I answered, "she never told me she was pregnant. I didn't find out about you until a few months ago."
"Do you have any other children?"
"Yes. I have a son who's in his late-twenties, and twin boys who've just turned eleven."
There didn't seem much point confusing the issue further by mentioning Chad, Thorsten or Uwe.
"So you're married?"
"Once, but she died of cancer," I replied, "although I am in a...long distance relationship, I suppose is the best way to put it...with the twins' mother, and our third child is due in a few months. You?"
"No. I thought about it a few years ago, but it didn't work out. She didn't appreciate my being away at sea for long periods of time, so we drifted apart. How do you make it work? Shouldn't you be with her, if she's pregnant?"
"It isn't easy, but we've set some ground rules, and it seems to be going okay at the moment. I provide a home for her and Blaine...our younger boy; the older one, Soren, is at school here in England. And I visit when I can. But for various reasons I'm not able to spend all my time there."
"So what do you actually do?"
Now there was a question I'd been hoping he wouldn't ask.
"I worked in forensics for a while, and later joined the police. For the last few years, I've been a private investigator - mainly missing persons - but I recently underwent a rather substantial career change."
"To?" he all but demanded.
"Does it really matter?" I asked, quietly.
He looked at me and shrugged.
"I suppose not. So if you were a PI, and you found people for a living, why didn't you look for me before?"
"As I said, I only found out about you a few months ago. It wasn't until a friend back in Germany told me about you, that I knew to look."
"And now, here we are. I assume that means you were good at what you did."
"I had a pretty good success rate," I replied, my tone matter of fact, trying not to sigh outwardly, "but that isn't going to make any difference, is it? Because you don't believe me."
"You can understand why," he answered.
"I suppose so. Is there anything I can do to prove it to you?"
"The obvious way is a paternity test."
"I have an exotic blood group. Which means a DNA test isn't very reliable. Although given that I suspect you do as well, maybe that, in itself, should be an indicator that I'm telling the truth."
"How did you know about my blood type? No...let me guess. You found that out when you were doing your PI thing. What medical records did you hack into to get that snippet of information."
"I didn't," I snapped, worn down by the hostility. It reminded me far too much of the man who had prosecuted my trial. And then I realised that wouldn't help, and continued more calmly, "I'm as sure as I can be that you're my son, even if you aren't willing to believe that. And if that's the case, then there's no way you wouldn't have inherited it. The genes are dominant, so they breed true in my children. If you care enough to find out, I would be willing to give you a sample to get tested. It might not give you the clearest answer, but it should confirm the basics. And you did say earlier that you saw the resemblance between us."
"I could almost believe you were my brother. But not my father."
"On the other hand, why would I be here, claiming to be your father, when as you've said, from my appearance, it couldn't possibly be true? Surely that would be a strange way of trying to mislead you."
"The old Sherlock Holmes adage? When you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?" he asked, "Except you haven't eliminated the impossible yet."
"Then tell me how I can do that," I answered.
"Right now, I can't think of a bloody thing."
"Can you even accept that I might be your brother?"
"I accept that we have a resemblance. That's all."
"But that doesn't even make you slightly curious? Knowing you're adopted?"
"Not enough to risk believing you without proof."
"Then maybe I can give you some names...you can make your own enquiries. Find the truth for yourself."
"Such as?"
"Wolfgang Armand Ulrich, Ian Michael Cushing, Mikael Cuijper, and Ian and Rudi Hawke."
"And who are they?"
"Ian Cushing is my father. He was an SOE operative in the War, then ran his own law firm for a while, and later became a journalist. While he was a lawyer, his biggest case was probably the trial defence of an alleged war criminal named Wolfgang Ulrich, who had recently defected to England."
"You? If your story is to believed."
"I came to England with baggage," I answered, "Mikael Cuijper won the Pulitzer Prize in 1981. Ian Hawke is a published military historian and journalist, and is currently a lecturer in the War Studies department at Kings College, London. Rudi Hawke, his brother, is a former Lothian and Borders policeman, who later came to London to run a PI business. Look them up, see what you find, and then, if that piques your curiosity any further, you have my contact details."
"How many actual people are you talking about here?"
"If you can be bothered, I'm sure you can figure it out," I answered, sounding very bitter to my own ears.
He looked at me, but it was far from clear if he'd even try and do what I'd ask. It was time to cut my losses and go. I emptied my glass, and placed it on the table in front of him, then got to my feet. I left the copies of the birth certificates where they were, so he could choose to keep hold of them or not.
"I'm pleased to have met you...Commander Meredith, even if you haven't particularly enjoyed meeting me," I said, as I rose, "for my part, I'm sorry I wasn't what you expected. I shouldn't impose on your hospitality any further."
"Let me walk you out..."
"I'll find my own way, "I answered, "enjoy the rest of your evening."
And I made my way towards the door.
"Herr Ulrich..." he began, his tone uncertain.
I paused at looked back towards him. Was there finally a trace of regret? Or even just interest? Even if there was, given his reaction thus far, it would just hurt too much to stay.
"Perhaps another time," I said, before he could say anything further, and then headed out of the door. As I did, I felt him watch me go, but I couldn't read whether he was disappointed or relieved.
I made my way back to the main entrance and signed out, then walked back out onto Piccadilly, where the autumn rain was still coming down. And as I did, I was kicking myself. How could I have been so stupid to think he would have listened to a word I had to say, once he'd seen me?
The sense of achievement I'd had from finding him, and the false hope I'd built up after he'd agreed to meet with me had pretty much all drained away, and I was left feeling tired and deflated. And the whole situation was made worse by the fact that everything I'd said to him was true. He really was Theodor. Of that I was certain. And there was pretty much fuck-all I could do about it.
I paused by the gate and glanced wistfully back towards the door of the In and Out Club. And then, with a sigh, I pulled the collar of my coat up around my neck, and started walking home through the rain.