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“I dislike her already,” Margot agreed, “but I will not show it, I promise.”
“And don’t make me laugh,” Cecily added. “She thinks loud laughter is vulgar in women.”
“She doesn’t strike me as a woman with much to laugh about,” Margot replied.
* * *
—
Cecily was right. Frau Beckendorff arrived exactly on time for luncheon. She had a striking appearance, but only because of the beauty of her gleaming halo of pale hair, her perfect complexion, and the art with which her linen suit had been tailored. It was the color of tomato soup, a little harsh for a woman of her bleached-out coloring.
Winifred introduced them in the hall and Margot was instantly aware of Winfred’s inner tension, though only because she knew her. It was the pitch of her voice, higher than usual, that gave her away, as if her throat were tight. Naturally, she spoke in German.
“How do you do?” Margot replied with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Frau Beckendorff.” She looked at the pale blue eyes and thought of jumping into iced water. It was supposed to be good for your health, if it didn’t kill you.
“I believe you have come for Cecily’s wedding,” Frau Beckendorff observed. “I’m so glad she has someone here from her home country.”
It was a double-edged remark: nice at first, with a bitterness inside, as it reminded Cecily that she did not belong here. It was on the tip of Margot’s tongue to say, “We are here because we conquered you,” but of course she bit it back.
She was aware of Winifred’s stiffness beside her.
“Do come in and sit down,” Winifred insisted. “Luncheon will be in about fifteen minutes.” She turned and led the way into the sitting room, and they all followed her.
Frau Beckendorff sat down, started to speak, and then bit it back.
Margot knew that Winifred would have practiced something to say. She was an ambassador’s wife, for heaven’s sake. She had a lifetime’s experience of being charming to people she did not especially care for. Now, however, she remained tongue-tied.
“Obviously, you care for fashion, Frau Beckendorff,” Margot plunged in. “That suit is most beautifully cut. It becomes you very well, and it is not in the least ordinary.”
Frau Beckendorff looked Margot up and down, noting the equally fashionable cut of Margot’s dress. “Thank you,” she replied, a little less stiffly. “One has to find where to shop. There is a lot of rather poor taste around.” She carefully did not look at either Cecily or Winifred. “I hope you enjoy your stay in Berlin. It is a little battered still, but we are rising to our feet again, and there is much to see.” Her voice was polite, even warm, but her face was expressionless.
“I’m sure I shall,” Margot replied. “Do you travel much, Frau Beckendorff?”
“To Salzburg, occasionally, of course. To Vienna, one of the most beautiful cities.”
“I don’t know it,” Margot admitted, although she would have pretended not to even if she had known it as well as she knew London. “What would you recommend?”
From there, the conversation went quite well. Winifred knew Vienna also, and Cecily was content to listen. She shot Margot a quick glance of gratitude.
The maid announced lunch and they went through to the dining room. Frau Beckendorff looked at it briefly, but neither smiled nor made comment. It was a pleasant room, meant for family life, with photographs of places in England they could barely remember now, and ornaments of value for the memories more than for their intrinsic worth.
Margot hardly knew what she was eating; she had to look at it in order to compliment Winifred on the meal.
“Thank you,” Winifred murmured, looking at Margot to see for herself if she meant it. Satisfied that she did, she nodded her acknowledgment.
After several mouthfuls, Margot turned her attention to Frau Beckendorff again. “I’ve not yet had the pleasure of meeting Hans,” she said with feigned interest. “And I’m keen to learn something about him.”
That was sufficient to animate Frau Beckendorff, who regaled them through the rest of the meal with Hans’s achievements, all his life to date. It was a momentarily chilling thought to Margot that this woman knew the list so intimately! Never once did she hesitate. It was a dance she had choreographed.
“I’m sure he has a great future ahead of him,” Margot said with as much enthusiasm as she could, to keep out the sarcasm. She was not a natural sycophant. She turned to Cecily. “It’s going to be a great adventure.”
Winifred looked at Cecily with a smile and an intense hope.
Suddenly, Margot felt tears in her eyes and a wave of hatred for Hans Beckendorff, his mother, and all his family and friends. It was ridiculous. This woman was arrogant and insensitive, but neither Margot nor any of the rest of them knew what grief or pain lay behind her.
It was Frau Beckendorff who broke the silence. She turned to Cecily. “I think Hans planned to take you out this afternoon,” she said. Then she turned to Margot. “It’s a lovely day for a walk in the park. He would be happy to show it to you, I’m sure. Any friend of Cecily’s is a friend of his.”
It suddenly occurred to Margot that Frau Beckendorff, too, was nervous. Instead of making her tongue-tied, it had affected her the other way. She was mounting a defense, almost in expectation of attack. She was old enough to have been an adult all through the war. What loss of family, shame, and grief had she known? And perhaps at the hands of British soldiers. And now her only son was going to marry an English girl.
