War Cry

‘Did the British shoot him down, then?’

‘I do not know. Our ambassador in Bern was informed by his British counterpart merely that the Count had died. This was a gesture of courtesy, in honour of your late husband’s eminence. I gather, however, that the British do not have any Royal Flying Corps units in Africa, so we must assume that this was an accident of some kind. The gas used to elevate these “dirigibles” can, apparently, be very unstable.’

Athala looked Solomons straight in the eye and very calmly said, ‘Was she on board the Assegai at the time?’

The lawyer did not need to be told who ‘she’ was. Nor, for that matter, would anyone remotely acquainted with German high society. Count von Meerbach had long been a notorious philanderer, but in recent years he had become obsessed with one particular mistress, a ravishing beauty, with lustrous sable hair and violet-blue eyes called Eva von Wellberg. The Count had begged Athala to divorce him, so that he could make the Wellberg woman his wife, but she had refused. Her Catholic faith would not allow her to end her marriage. And so they had come to an arrangement. Countess Athala lived, with their two young sons, in her perfectly proportioned classical villa in the chic little town to the southwest of Munich where the smartest elements of Bavarian society could be found. Meanwhile, Count Otto had retained his family castle on the shores of the Bodensee. And there he kept his mistress, or as Athala thought of her, his whore, and saw his sons on the rare occasions he was able, or remotely willing to spare the time to attend to them.

‘The Assegai was housed within the grounds of the Meerbach Motor Works,’ Solomons said, referring to the gigantic industrial complex on which the family fortune was based. ‘I am told by senior company officials who were present at the airship’s departure that a woman was seen going aboard her. I was also informed by the War Office that the Assegai went down with all hands. No one survived.’

Athala allowed a slight, bitter smile to cross her face. ‘I will not even pretend to be sorry that she is dead.’

‘Nor can I pretend to criticize you for that. I am well aware how much you have suffered on her account.’

‘Dear Viktor, you are always so kind, and so fair. You are …’ She paused to correct herself, ‘You were my husband’s lawyer, yet you have never done anything to hurt me.’

‘I am the family’s lawyer, Countess,’ Solomons gently corrected her. ‘And as long as you were, and remain part of the von Meerbach family, then I will always consider you my client. Now, may I ask, are you ready to discuss any of the consequences of your husband’s tragic demise?’

‘Yes, yes I am,’ said Athala and then, for reasons she could not quite explain, she suddenly felt the loss to which she had been numb up to that point. For all that she had suffered, she had always prayed that one day her husband might see the error of his ways and devote himself to his family. Now all hope of that had gone. She began to cry and started rummaging through the bag at her feet, trying to find a handkerchief.

‘May I?’ asked Solomons, reaching into his pocket.

She waved him away, shaking her head, not trusting herself to speak. Finally she found what she was looking for, pressed the handkerchief to her eyes, dabbed her nose, took a deep breath and said, ‘Please forgive me.’

‘My dear Countess, you have just lost your husband. Whatever difficulties you may have faced, he was still the man you married, the father of your children.’

She nodded and ruefully said, ‘It seems that I do not have a heart of stone after all.’

‘I, for one, never supposed that you did. Not for a single moment.’

She gave him a nod of thanks and then said, ‘Please continue … I believe you were going to describe the consequences of …’ She could not bring herself to use the word ‘death’ and so just said, ‘Of what has occurred.’

‘Quite so. There cannot be a funeral, sadly, for if the body has been recovered, the British will by now have buried it.’

‘My husband died serving his country overseas,’ Athala said, straightening her back and resuming her air of poised composure. ‘That is to be expected.’

‘Indeed. But I think it would be entirely appropriate, indeed expected, to have a service of remembrance, perhaps at the Frauenkirche in Munich, or you may feel that either the family chapel at Schloss Meerbach, or even a service at the Motor Works, would be more appropriate.’

‘The Frauenkirche,’ said Athala, without a moment’s hesitation. ‘I don’t think a factory is a suitable location at which to commemorate a Count of the German Empire and the chapel at the schloss is too small to accommodate the numbers of people who will wish to attend. Could someone from your firm liaise with the Archbishop’s office, to secure a suitable date and assist with the administration of the event?’

‘Of course, Countess, that would be no trouble. Might I suggest the Bayerischer Hof for the reception after the service? If you give the hotel manager your general requirements, the hotel staff will know exactly how best to provide exactly what you need.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t even begin to think about that just now.’ Athala closed her eyes, trying to put the jumble of thoughts and emotions in her head in order and then asked, ‘What will become of my sons and I?’

‘Well, the extent and variety of the Count’s possessions mean that his will is unusually complex. But the essential facts are that the family estate here in Bavaria, and a majority share in the Motor Works, all go to your eldest son, Konrad, along with the title of Graf von Meerbach. Your younger son, Gerhard, will have a smaller shareholding in the company. The various properties and the income they generate will be held in trust for each son until he is twenty-five. Prior to that point, they will each receive a generous allowance, plus the cost of their education, of course. Any additional expenditure will have to be approved by their trustees.’

‘And who will they be?’

‘In the first instance, you and I, Countess.’

‘My God, fancy Otto allowing me such power.’

‘He was a traditionalist. He felt that a mother should take charge of her children’s upbringing. But you will note that I said “in the first instance”. Once Konrad is twenty-five, and takes control of the family’s affairs, he will also assume the role of trustee to his brother, who will then be eighteen years old.’

‘So for seven years, Gerhard will have to go cap in hand to Konrad if he ever needs anything?’

‘Yes.’

Athala frowned. ‘It worries me that one brother should have so much power over the other.’

‘His Excellency believed very strongly that a family, like a nation, required the strong leadership of a single man.’

‘Didn’t he just … I take it that I am provided for.’

‘Oh yes, you need not worry on that score. You will retain your own family money, added to which you will keep all the property, jewellery, artworks and so on that you received during your marriage, and receive a very generous annual allowance for the rest of your life. You will also have a place on the board.’

‘I don’t care about the damn board,’ Athala said. ‘It’s my boys that I worry about. Where are we meant to live?’

‘It is entirely up to you, whether you wish to reside here in Grünwald, or at Schloss Meerbach, or both. His Excellency has set aside monies that are to be spent on the maintenance of the castle and its estate, and on employing all the staff required to maintain the standards he himself demanded. You will be the mistress of Schloss Meerbach once again, if you choose to be so.’

‘Until Konrad’s twenty-fifth birthday …’

‘Yes, he will be the master then.’

When Solomons had gone, Athala went upstairs to the playroom where Gerhard was playing. She looked on him as a gift from God, an unexpected blessing whose birth had brought a rare moment of joy to a marriage long past rescuing. Gerhard had been conceived on the very last night that Athala and Otto had slept together. It had been a short, perfunctory coupling and he had been away with Fräulein von Wellberg on the night Gerhard was born. But that only made her baby all the more precious to Athala.

She wondered how she was going to explain to him that his father was dead. How did one tell a three-year-old that sort of thing? For now, she didn’t have the heart to interrupt Gerhard while he played with the wooden building bricks that were his favourite toy.

Athala always found her son fascinating to observe as he arranged the brightly coloured bricks. He had an instinctive grasp of symmetry. If he placed one brick of a certain colour or shape on one side of his latest castle, or house, or farm (Gerhard always knew exactly what he was building), then another, identical one had to go on the opposite side.

She leaned over and kissed his head. ‘My little architect,’ she murmured, and Gerhard beamed with pleasure, for that was his favourite of all her pet names for him.

I will tell him, Athala told herself, but not yet.

She gave the news to both her boys after Konrad had come home from school. He was only ten, but already regarded himself as the man of the house. As such, he made a point of not showing any sign of weakness when told that the father he took after so strongly was dead. Instead he wanted to know all the details of what had happened. Had his father been fighting the English? How many of them had he killed before they got him? When Athala had been unable to give him the answers he required, Konrad flew into a rage and said she was stupid.

‘Father was quite right not to love you,’ he sneered. ‘You were never good enough for him.’

On another day, Athala might have smacked him for that, but today she let it go. Then Konrad’s fury abated as fast as it had risen and he asked, ‘If Father is dead, does that mean that I am the Count now?’

‘Yes,’ said Athala. ‘You are Graf von Meerbach.’

Konrad gave a whoop of joy. ‘I’m the Count! I’m the Count!’ he chanted, marching around the playroom, like a stocky little red-headed guardsman. ‘I can do whatever I want and nobody can stop me!’

He came to a halt by Gerhard’s building, which had risen, brick by brick, until it was almost as tall as its maker.

‘Hey Gerdi, look at me!’

Gerhard looked up at his big brother, smiling innocently.