Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection. Barbara Taylor Bradford
Читать онлайн книгу.
sadness for them both. ‘I don’t know what to say, how to express my regret for having opened up so many wounds. It was thoughtless of me to pry. I’ve caused you such unnecessary heartache, making you relive these terrible events.’
‘Don’t chastise yourself, Victor dear,’ Diana murmured. ‘And you might as well hear the rest of the story, so that you can truly understand why Christian and I are so reluctant to constantly thrash it over. At first, Christian and Grandmother were not too worried when my father did not return that night. As a matter of fact, they weren’t particularly concerned even after several days had elapsed. After all, continually coming and going was Father’s normal pattern of behaviour. By this time, Grandmother knew a little about her son’s activities as a clandestine member of the underground movement, since Christian had filled her in, albeit in a sketchy way. Also, there seemed to be less reason for them to be alarmed, in that the Third Reich had collapsed, Berlin was in the hands of the Allies – the British, the Americans and the Russians were occupying Berlin. What could possibly happen to the notorious Blue Gentian now? He was amongst friends, wasn’t he? However, as the days became weeks, their anxiety increased, and inquiries were made. They turned up nothing. Father had simply disappeared. A few weeks later, another member of the underground movement, who had been wounded during the fighting in Berlin, finally came out of hospital. When he heard that my father was missing, he told Dieter that he had seen Daddy talking to some Russian officers in the part of the city which became the East Zone. That man, Wolfgang Schroeder, had seen Daddy only a few days after he had left Grandmother’s house, and they had actually exchanged greetings. Wolfgang said he was convinced my father had been a casualty during the last-ditch fighting in the final battle of Berlin. Dieter seized on this and set to work. Hospitals were searched, people were questioned, the dead were carefully checked. In fact, the whole of Berlin was turned upside down by Dieter and his friends. To no avail.’
Diana closed her eyes for an instant. When she opened them, she said in the lowest of voices, ‘Daddy was never found, his body was never found, and in the end we had to assume he had been killed during the last days of the war. Naturally, as things gradually became a little more normal, Mummy wanted to get back to Christian and Grandmother. We eventually packed up in Zurich and returned to Berlin. Slowly, we attempted to pick up our lives, to go on living as best we could, grieving for Daddy but having to accept the fact that he was gone. You more or less know what happened next, how we moved from Berlin to Munich, then to Wittingenhof. Nine years passed. Two years ago, Dieter came to see Mummy. He was excited, jubilant almost. It seemed he had a possible solution to my father’s mysterious disappearance, as well as information about his whereabouts.’
‘Your father had finally been in touch with Dieter then?’ Victor was on the edge of his seat, innumerable questions running through his head.
Diana shook her head. ‘No. But by accident he had stumbled on a strange story. Let me explain something. In 1953 and 1954, numerous Germans – civilians actually – who had been arrested for one reason or another by the Russians at the time Berlin surrendered were straggling back. They had been released from Lubyanka Prison in Moscow. Anyway, there was talk amongst them about a mystery prisoner who was kept in solitary confinement most of the time. Apparently he was an aristocrat, and a German. Furthermore, he had been in Lubyanka since 1945. The man had been seen occasionally by many other prisoners, and his physical description, his age, along with other details, fitted my father like a glove. This tale was told to Dieter by his cousin, whose father-in-law had just returned from the Russian prison. It didn’t take Dieter long to come to the obvious conclusion that the man in Lubyanka might conceivably be my father. He spoke to lots of repatriated prisoners and the more he heard, the more certain he became that the mystery prisoner was the Blue Gentian, alias Rudolf Kurt von Wittingen. Armed with this information he came to Mummy, and that’s when the trouble really started.’
‘What do you mean by trouble?’ Victor asked, raising an eyebrow.
‘Mummy had been able to lead a reasonable existence up until then, a relatively normal life. Believing her husband to be dead, she had been content to build her life around us, her children. The idea that Daddy was alive after all, and rotting in Lubyanka, changed all that. In the last two years she has become a tormented woman … demented by worry, uncertainty and anguish, alternatively buoyed up by hopes … futile hopes in my opinion.’
‘What a horrendous thing for her to live with, for you all to live with!’ Victor stared at Diana aghast. ‘Are you saying that you haven’t been able to find out if it is your father or not?’
Diana nodded. ‘Precisely. Dieter, Mummy, Christian and I all went to Bonn, and through political connections of Dieter’s we were able to meet with Chancellor Adenauer. The West German Government took up the case, and they made a formal request to the Russians for confirmation that the prisoner in Lubyanka was Daddy. The Russians categorically denied the existence of any such prisoner, let alone one who was a German prince. In the last twelve months, Christian and I have been to Bonn twice, and more pressure has been exerted. In consequence, our Government made further approaches to the Russians, only to be stonewalled.’ She bit her lip, frowned. ‘We’re at an impasse.’
Victor was silent. He sat back on the sofa, ruminating on the things he had just heard. Finally he glanced from Diana to Christian and said slowly, ‘Forgive my ignorance, but why would the Russians arrest your father in 1945 in the first place? What possible reason could they have had to take him prisoner?’
Christian smiled faintly. ‘It’s not ignorance, Victor. It’s a perfectly normal question, and one we all asked each other two years ago. Dieter was able to supply the answer only too readily. He believes my father was taken by the Russians because they thought he was a spy. Specifically, a spy for the Americans, and therefore an enemy of the Soviet Union.’ Christian shook his head. ‘Don’t look so sceptical, Victor. Apparently many Germans were arrested by the Russians at that time because they suspected them of being spies – I’ll go further, were convinced they were spies. For the Americans. But whatever the reason, it’s irrelevant really, in as much as Mother and Dieter are quite positive my father is the man in Lubyanka.’
‘And you? What do you think, Christian?’ Victor asked, snuffing out his cigar which had been smouldering in the ashtray, forgotten.
After a few minutes, Christian admitted, ‘I honestly don’t know what to think, old chap. I really don’t. I waver between doubt and certainty. One minute I’m agreeing with Mother, and then, unexpectedly, I’m swayed by Diana’s conviction that Father is dead. But when Dieter makes an appearance, as he did yesterday, with more rumours, I’m siding with the two of –’
‘We don’t have enough concrete facts!’ Diana cried peremptorily, her voice unusually high-pitched for her. ‘The longer I ponder the story the more I come to realize how flimsy it is, in reality. I’m sure Daddy was killed at the end of the war in Berlin, and that his body was one of the many unidentified. I suppose, in a way, I hope he is dead.’ Her tone was suddenly tremulous and she blinked and looked away. She finished, in a sad little voice, ‘Perhaps that’s preferable to me, because then he would not be suffering. I can’t stand the thought that he’s alive in Lubyanka and being subjected to … to –’ Diana was unable to continue and her emotions took hold of her.
Francesca instantly jumped up and joined her on the hearth. She put her arms around her cousin and said soothingly, ‘Oh Dibs darling, don’t cry. It’s not much consolation, I know, but Daddy and I agree with you.’ As she spoke Francesca glanced at Christian, her eyes full of love and compassion. ‘I’m sorry, darling, but we do believe that Uncle Kurt died in 1945, as we’ve told Aunt Arabella many times.’
Christian half inclined his head. ‘Yes,’ he said, and wheeled himself over to the console. He poured himself a cognac, a thoughtful look in his eyes. Returning to the fireside, he focused on Victor. ‘Having heard this extraordinary story, what do you think? Is my father dead, or is he in Lubyanka?’
‘I can’t give an opinion either way,’ Victor pursed his lips. Suddenly he changed his mind. ‘I guess I’m ambivalent, like you, Christian. I don’t know what to think. Jesus, what a