sold. All she had left was her wedding ring. “I must invite her again, with her parents next time. Her father is the Markgraf von der Helbard.”
“Yes, I know.”
“It’s a very good family. They belong to the Uradel, the ancient nobility.”
Walter moved to the door. “At what time do you expect Father to return home?”
“Soon. Walter, sit down and talk to me for a moment.”
Walter had made it obvious he wanted to get away. The reason was that he needed to spend a quiet hour thinking about Gus Dewar’s message. But he had been discourteous to his mother, whom he loved, and now he set about making amends. “With pleasure, Mother.” He drew up a chair for her. “I imagined you might want to rest but, if not, I’d love to talk.” He sat opposite her. “That was a super party. Thank you very much for organizing it.”
She nodded acknowledgment, but changed the subject. “Your cousin Robert is missing,” she said. “He was lost during the Brusilov Offensive.”
“I know. He may have been taken prisoner by the Russians.”
“And he may be dead. And your father is sixty years old. You could soon be the Graf von Ulrich.”
Walter was not seduced by this possibility. Aristocratic titles mattered less and less nowadays. Perhaps he might be proud to be a count, but it might turn out to be a disadvantage in the postwar world.
Anyway, he did not have the title yet. “There has been no confirmation of Robert’s death.”
“Of course. But you must prepare yourself.”
“In what way?”
“You should get married.”
“Oh!” Walter was surprised. I should have seen that coming, he thought.
“You must have an heir, to assume the title when you die. And you may die soon, though I pray-” Her voice caught in her throat, and she stopped. She closed her eyes for a moment to regain her composure. “Though I pray to heaven every day to protect you. It would be best if you were to father a son as soon as possible.”
She was afraid of losing him, but he was just as fearful of losing her. He looked fondly at her. She was blond and pretty like Greta, and perhaps she had once been equally vivacious. Indeed, right now her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed from the excitement of the party and the champagne. However, just climbing the stairs made her breathless these days. She needed a holiday, and plenty of good food, and freedom from worry. Because of the war, she could have none of those things. It was not only soldiers who died, Walter thought worriedly.
“Please consider Monika,” his mother said.
He longed to tell her about Maud. “Monika is a delightful girl, Mother, but I don’t love her. I hardly know her.”
“There isn’t time for that! In war the proprieties may be overlooked. See her again. You’ve got ten more days of leave. See her every day. You could propose on your last day.”
“What about her feelings? She may not want to marry me.”
“She likes you.” Mother looked away. “And she will do as her parents tell her.”
Walter did not know whether to be annoyed or amused. “You two mothers have fixed this up, haven’t you?”
“These are desperate times. You could get married three months from now. Your father will make sure you get special leave for the wedding and the honeymoon.”
“He said that?” Normally, Father was angrily hostile to special privileges for well-connected soldiers.
“He understands the need for an heir to the title.”
Father had been talked around. How long had that taken? He did not give in easily.
Walter tried not to squirm in his seat. He was in an impossible position. Married to Maud, he could not even pretend to be interested in marrying Monika-but he was not able to explain why. “Mother, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I am not going to propose to Monika von der Helbard.”
“But why not?” she cried.
He felt bad. “All I can say is that I wish I could make you happy.”
She gave him a hard look. “Your cousin Robert never married. None of us were surprised, in his case. I hope there isn’t a problem of that nature… ”
Walter felt embarrassed by this reference to Robert’s homosexuality. “Oh, Mother, please! I know exactly what you mean about Robert, and I’m not like him in that respect, so set your mind at rest.”
She looked away. “I’m sorry to have mentioned it. But what is it? You’re thirty years old!”
“It’s hard to find the right girl.”
“Not that hard.”
“I’m looking for someone just like you.”
“Now you’re teasing me,” she said crossly.
Walter heard a male voice outside the room. A moment later his father entered, in uniform, rubbing cold hands together. “It will snow,” he said. He kissed his wife and nodded to Walter. “I trust the party was a success? I could not possibly attend-a whole afternoon of meetings.”
“It was splendid,” Walter said. “Mother conjured up tasty snacks out of nothing at all, and the Perrier-Jouet was superb.”
“What vintage did you have?”
“The eighteen ninety-nine.”
“You should have had the ninety-two.”
“There’s not much of it left.”
“Ah.”
“I had an intriguing conversation with Gus Dewar.”
“I remember him-the American whose father is close to President Wilson.”
“The son is even closer, now. Gus is working at the White House.”
“What did he have to say?”
Mother stood up. “I’ll leave you men to talk,” she said.
They stood up.
“Please think about what I said, Walter darling,” she said as she went out.
A moment later the butler came in with a tray bearing a goblet with a stiff measure of golden-brown brandy. Otto took the glass. “One for you?” he said to Walter.
“No, thank you. I’m full of champagne.”
Otto drank the brandy and stretched his legs toward the fire. “So, young Dewar appeared-with some kind of message?”
“In strictest confidence.”
“Of course.”
Walter could not feel much affection for his father. Their disagreements were too passionate, and Father was too flintily intransigent. He was narrow-minded, outdated, and deaf to reason, and he persisted in these faults with a kind of gleeful obstinacy that Walter found repellent. The consequence of his foolishness, and the foolishness of his generation in all European countries, was the slaughter of the Somme. Walter could not forgive that.
All the same, he spoke to his father with a soft voice and a friendly manner. He wanted this conversation to be as amiable and reasonable as possible. “The American president doesn’t want to be drawn into the war,” he began.
“Good.”
“In fact, he would like us to make peace.”
“Ha!” It was a shout of derision. “The cheap way to defeat us! What a nerve the man has.”
Walter was dismayed by such immediate scorn, but he persisted, choosing his words with care. “Our enemies claim that German militarism and aggression caused this war, but of course that is not so.”
“Indeed not,” said Otto. “We were threatened by Russian mobilization on our eastern border and French mobilization to the west. The Schlieffen Plan was the only possible solution.” As usual, Otto was speaking as if Walter were still twelve years old.
Walter answered patiently. “Exactly. I recall you saying that for us this was a defensive war, a response to an intolerable threat. We had to protect ourselves.”
If Otto was surprised to hear Walter repeating the cliches of war justification he did not show it. “Correct,” he
