Page 26 of An Invitation to the Kennedys
‘He’s the Duke of Devonshire, darling.You may be certain Chips has already invited him.’
‘Well then, maybe they won’t want to go?’
‘I’ve thought of that.It’s a possibility alright.But I have a plan.’She lowered her voice.‘I shall suggest that Diana and Mosley call to visit the Blounts.That will get Billy and his parents out in record time.’She gave a gurgle of laughter.‘They’d go anywhere to avoid meeting Mosley.All I have to do is suggest Kelvedon.’
Chapter Thirteen
Berlin
Doris
Summer reached a height, and Doris was almost glad of the invitation to a party by the Müggelsee lake where she was to stay two nights.It was given by Hans Fritzsche, the man who had driven her home.He was a smooth and genial broadcaster, the ‘voice of Germany’, who was adored by housewives for his light and melodious patter.To celebrate his appointment as head of radio at the Propaganda Ministry, he had gathered half-a-dozen couples – mid-ranking Nazis and their wives – and a smattering of more artistic types to his summer house.It was the kind of party Doris was used to; the stuffy couples leavened by her, perhaps a poet who composed verse in honour of the Führer, occasionally an older actress who mostly played idealised maternal roles these days.
‘Dear Doris,’ Fritzsche greeted her on the first evening, ‘always so tranquil.’There was a steady wind blowing from the lake, and he himself was dishevelled and harried-looking.He’s taken on too much, she thought, looking around the garden with its glowing lanterns, tables full of food and couples dancing on the lawn.
‘So kind of you,’ she said.‘There I was, simply sweltering in Berlin, wishing for a miracle, and behold – one arrives!’She swept an arm out to take in the tables, lanterns, the lake beyond and, with a smile, her host.
He looked relieved.‘You think it’s alright?’
‘I think it’s perfect,’ she said warmly, tucking her hand into his arm and thinking that in London she had never once been asked anxiously by a host what she thought of their efforts.
‘Let me introduce you …’ He took her to a group of men in uniform and performed a series of practised introductions, making much of her Englishness, her interest in Germany, her friendship with the Mitford sisters and Herr Channon, how sympathetic she had been to Edward VIII before his abdication.These were the things that were always said of her.They were the things that made her safe.
Doris was there to be charming – she had still heard nothing more since the Tiergarten encounter and so she was as always gay and frivolous; alert to their jokes, flattering in her questions.Some of them she had met before; one, a man with a thick head of blond hair that he tried to comb flat on his head and that kept springing up in tufts, was new to her.He broke off what he had been saying to greet her, then resumed.
‘We will be rolling out a new system of identification soon,’ he said expansively.‘It is an idea of perfect genius.So simple and so effective that a child might understand it.’He looked around, pleased.‘It is a yellow Star of David to be stitched into the clothing of every Jew over the age of six.At a glance, it will be possible to tell who is who and what is what.’He smiled.
‘Genius,’ one of the other men agreed.Doris knew him vaguely, some kind of administrator.The woman beside him, his wife, nodded eagerly.
‘A relief,’ she said.‘No more mistakes.No confusion.’Murmurs of assent.‘But why no younger than six?Surely, at three and four, they are still Jews?’She looked brightly around.‘Not that there is ever much confusion,’ she continued gayly.‘So easy to spot.’
The man with the tufty hair drew his brows thoughtfully together, nodding at her.‘We will make a note of it,’ he said.
‘There will need to be communication,’ Fritzsche said eagerly.‘People must be instructed how to respond when they meet a neighbour with a yellow star.’
‘They will need guidance,’ the administrator agreed.‘From a trusted person such as you, Herr Fritzsche.’Fritzsche flapped his hands modestly, animated at the prospect of his own role in this.
‘What do you think, Fräulein Coates?’The tufty-haired man turned to her.
‘It certainly seemssimple,’ Doris said.‘So very simple.’She tried to keep her voice light, high, unburdened by the wave of horror she suddenly felt.She thought of her cousins, her aunt, even her mother; coarse yellow stars stitched into their smart, sombre clothing.Of Hannah, her pale blue poplin shirt defiled with a symbol rendered crude and ugly by the intent.‘So simple,’ she repeated.‘And yet no child would ever have dreamed of it.’Again she kept her voice light.
The administrator’s wife gave her a beady look but the man seemed to find nothing amiss.‘Precisely,’ he agreed.‘Will you dance?’And Doris smiled and nodded and pressed her painted nails into the palm of her hand as he took hold of the other.She pressed so hard that a nail broke.
She went to bed as early as she dared and the next day, pleading a headache that would not relent, declined a boat trip on the lake.By lunchtime, despite Fritzsche’s almost desperate entreaties, she insisted she must go back to Berlin.She knew it was unforgivable to be so indisposed.He knew it too.‘How unfortunate,’ he said nastily as she got into her car.‘Most inconvenient indeed.’
Once clear of theschlossshe rolled down her windows to let in the humid air and drove too quickly to try and whip it into something fresh.It was like stirring treacle, she thought.But she trailed her hand out the window, feeling it bounce off the air, and sang snatches of songs she remembered from last year’s London parties.The day was stale but she felt lighter than before.She had no idea what she would do for Beatrice and Hannah, but now, after last night, she knew she would do something.So what if the doing compromised her, she thought, when doing nothing was likely to destroy her?
At her building, thehausmeisterwas mopping the floor of the lobby.He greeted her warmly, and made a joke – always the same joke – about an English policeman and a horse, that Doris had never understood.
She laughed politely and made for the lift.How hot it was in the city, she thought, longing for the dim cool of her apartment.‘You will have new neighbours,’ he said as she passed him.‘You’ll be glad of it.’
‘Really?Where?’
‘The apartment beside yours.The Jewish family.’He didn’t spit.But he looked as though he might.
‘Where have they gone?’
‘I don’t know.’He looked affronted.‘East?Back to Poland?Wherever the Gestapo sent them.’He laughed and thrust his mop into the pail of water.He took it out and the smell of carbolic was so strong that Doris choked.He swished the mop against the smooth floor, back and forth, and the sound of it was like a roaring in her ears.
