Lieutenant Hans-Georg von Aichborn had not qualified for the three-day eventing. His mother and sister consoled him for his disappointment. 'I can't go to Spain with the Condor Legion either,' he complained. 'My commanding officer won't let us. Prussian officers are not mercenaries, he says.'
'Well, he's right,' said Detta. 'Imagine how easily something could happen to you there. I don't even like to think of it,' she added quietly, looking at her brother with affection. Anyway, what does the war in Spain have to do with us?'
'More than you think,' said the Baroness gravely. She was watching her daughter closely, and summed up her observations in the laconic inquiry: 'When are you going to introduce him to us?'
Detta was surprised. 'How did you guess?'
The Baroness smiled. 'I'm your mother.'
'When he's back from England,' Detta promised.
'Does he have a name?'
'David Floyd-Orr. He's third secretary at the British Embassy.'
They had been together for nearly a year and saw each other almost daily, either at his place in Tiergartenstrasse or Detta's small apartment on Steubenplatz, where she had moved in January. She had recovered from her obsession with Tom Glaser, and had no regrets. She loved David, his dry English manner, his occasional 'embarrassment' and the lanky, youthful appearance that belied his twenty-nine years.
They explored Berlin together. They drank lager at the Plumpe, as the people of Berlin called the Fountain of Health; they visited Museum Island; they watched the annual firework show 'Treptow in Flames'; and they drank sticky lemon liqueur at 'Goldelse's'. The proprietress as a blonde child had modelled for Zille, the illustrator and photographer. Detta hadn't been able to entice David up the Radio Tower, known affectionately to Berliners as their longer Lulatsch, the term for a tall beanpole of a man. 'I get vertigo if I so much as climb on a kitchen stool,' he confessed.
'He is the heir of the eighth Earl of Bexford, which makes him Viscount Floyd-Orr,' the Baroness wrote to her daughter. She had looked the family up in Debrett's Peerage.
'David hasn't said anything to me about that,' Detta replied. 'He wants me to accept him as he is.'
'Invite him to Aichborn,' her mother wrote. 'If he can stand the shock of meeting the family he'll probably be up to dealing with you too.'
In the summer of '38 Detta was a guest at Bexford Hall, and won the hearts of David's parents and the rest of his family. A Prussian wife with an impeccable background,' said the delighted Lord Rexford. 'You couldn't have done better for yourself, my boy.'
At the house party held in Detta's honour, the earl expressed his admiration for her countrymen. 'Fine people, these Germans. Particularly their Reich Chancellor. Amazing, the way the man is creating order out of chaos.' The other guests, all members of the establishment, seemed equally impressed by Herr Hitler. Only the Duchess of Newcastle had reservations. 'The man isn't married, and apparently he speaks terrible German. So Queen Mary says, anyway. She heard him on the radio.'
There had been changes in Berlin. Arvid von Troll introduced Detta to the new Foreign Minister. Joachim von Ribbentrop had previously been ambassador to London. 'Minor gentry from the Rhineland,' remarked her secretary disparagingly. Detta laughed. 'Frau Wilhelmi, you're a snob.'
'He's good-looking and polite,' Detta told David over supper. 'We talked about horses a little. He used to be a hussar officer.' They were eating potato salad and meatballs, which she bought ready made from the butcher and put in the pan: she was no great cook. David had fetched a siphon of light Botzow beer from the bar on the corner.
'My boss Sir Nevile Henderson calls him a social climber,' he said, shrugging his shoulders. 'Could I have some more potato salad, please?' He liked the hearty Berlin fare.
Detta put some on his plate. 'Herr von Troll thinks its time we fixed a date for the wedding.' She waited to hear his reaction.
'Why?' he asked, teasing her a little. 'Is Herr von Troll hoping for an invitation?'
'He told me that as a Foreign Ministry staff member I have to apply for permission to marry a foreigner, and it could take a little time.'
David nodded. 'My people see it the same way. I'm a diplomat in the service of his Britannic Majesty and I want to marry a German girl.'
'Your king is as German as I am. I'm sure he'll have no objection.'
But Detta had to wait. The Foreign Office wants to be clear about Great Britain's future relations with the German Reich before it will agree to our marriage,' David patiently explained. The usually down-to-earth Detta was too much in love to wonder what their wedding had to do with international politics, of which she only very occasionally took any notice — although she began to take notice in March 1939.
'Goodness, can we actually do that?' she cried in surprise when German troops marched into Prague.
'We have written a protest note to the government of the German Reich asking the same question,' David told her.
And?'
Your ambassador, like his colleague in Paris. simply refused to accept the note.'
A week later, when the German Wehrmacht occupied the Memelland, the Western powers expressed no more protests. The shocked Lithuanian government gave up the territory without opposition, and it was incorporated into the province of East Prussia.
'The Memel was always German and still is,' was the reaction of Lieutenant Hans-Georg von Aichborn to the well-executed manoeuvre in which his own regiment had taken part. Now we'll get West Prussia back from the Poles, and Alsace from France,' he added briskly. And then we can finally consider the shameful Treaty of Versailles null and void.'
'I only hope it can be done without bloodshed.' said Detta anxiously.
'They won't dare attack us.' There was a combative look in her brother's eyes, but he was probably right. The Western powers had long ago lost their bite, and in whose interest, for heaven's sake, could it be to fire the first shot?
David was not so sure. 'I'm afraid we're drifting towards war,' he said, when London and Paris declared guarantees of support for Poland.
'Then we shall be on different sides,' said Detta, sounding concerned.
'Only until your side surrender,' replied David. And then you can marry the victor.'
'Don't be so arrogant,' she snapped at him, and he left the apartment in a huff.
Next morning he sent flowers and tried several times to get in touch with her. But the pride of the Aichborns held out. She refused to speak to him for a week and then, when she called his apartment on Wednesday to make her peace with him, there was no reply. 'Mr Floyd-On has been temporarily recalled to London,' they told her on Thursday morning at the British Embassy. There was an atmosphere of imminent departure about the place.
On Friday 1 September, German troops marched into Poland. Two days later, Great Britain and France declared war on the German Reich. The Foreign Ministry was very busy that Sunday. Rumours were flying rife.
'The Fiihrer has offered to reinstate the Duke of Windsor on the British throne. As Edward Vlll, he'll make peace with us at once and see that we get our colonies back,' Frau Wilhelmi the secretary had heard.
'Oh yes? And Frau Goring will take tea with Queen Wallis.' Arvid von Troll finished the absurd story. But not even that could cheer Detta. Pale and withdrawn, she got through her work and thought of David. Would she ever see him again?
The four-engined Focke-Wolf quietly pursued its course at a height of six thousand metres. Detta looked out of the window at the snow-covered peaks of the Pyrenees. They had taken off from Berlin-Tempelhof a few hours earlier, and would reach Barcelona at eight in the evening. The war was a year old. France had been defeated, fighting was in progress on all fronts, and special bulletins preceded by fanfares flooded in. First Lieutenant HansGeorg von Aichborn was in Saumur with his regiment, performing dressage exercises on the black horses of the French cavalry school. 'I'd rather be at the Front somewhere, there's no firing here except by a few French partisans when they're not drinking pastis,' he wrote, much to Detta's relief. 'We'll be home by Christmas,' he optimistically concluded.