Her boss at the Foreign Ministry did not share that opinion. 'We should expect a long confrontation, and we mustn't neglect our neutral friends,' Arvid von Troll told her. 'Who knows when we'll need them, and what for? You speak excellent Spanish, you have family in Spain on your mother's side, and we want you to go to our diplomatic mission in Barcelona as viceconsul. Consul-General Dr Kessler is already expecting you.'
Away from Berlin and her memories of those wonderful times with David. Another country, another language, new friends — perhaps that would help her to come to terms with the past. Detta agreed to go.
They were shaken by turbulence above the mountains, and dropped height suddenly a couple of times. A few faces turned green. Detta didn't notice. She was imagining herself lying in David's arms. A pleasant feeling overcame her, driving away the reality of this senseless war which had torn them apart, heaven knew for how long, and which meant that David was now her 'enemy'. What an absurd idea.
A hand was laid on her shoulder. She jumped. 'Welcome aboard.' It was Thomas Glaser.
'Tom, how reassuring to find you flying us.'
'My first officer is at the controls just now. How are you, Detta?'
'Fine. I'm really looking forward to taking up my new appointment in Barcelona. Your uniform suits you, Flight Captain. What's Ulli doing these days?'
'She's busy with the twins and our house in Mahlow.'
And meanwhile you're flying all over the place?'
'Not all over the place, I'm afraid, in view of the international situation. Many destinations are barred to us. The Americans, for instance, won't let Lufthansa land anywhere, on the flimsiest of grounds.'
'You mean you wanted to fly to America?' asked Detta, incredulous.
'We did fly there, without landing, just to show the Yankees,' he said proudly. 'Non-stop Berlin — New York — Berlin. Thirteen thousand kilometres in forty-four hours, thirty-one minutes. That certainly surprised them. Their Pan-American Airline can only make it as far as the Azores, with a tail wind at that. Will you excuse me, please? I have to go back to the cockpit. Shall we eat together sometime soon? I'm in Barcelona twice a week.'
'I'd like that, Tom. Call me at the consulate.'
After landing, he waved to her from the pilot's cockpit, as if to confirm the arrangement. She waved back, glad to think that she would have a friend in this foreign country.
Consul-General Dr Heinrich Kessler was a cultivated man in his sixties who had been consular representative of the German Reich in the time of the last king of Spain. Alfonso XIII was a real gentlemen, well educated, and with a sharp wit when he didn't like something,' he said approvingly.
'Uncle Rex,' said Detta, apparently inconsequentially.
Her new boss was baffled. 'What do you mean?'
'We called him Uncle Rex, because no one was supposed to know who he was when he came to Aichborn with Uncle Juan for the shooting,' Detta explained. 'He was a very bad loser when we played ludo. My brother HansGeorg and I sometimes cheated just to get him into a rage. He would swear in Spanish like a vaquero then. It was very funny to hear him.'
'Well, Arvid von Troll didn't exaggerate when he described you. You could always be relied on for a surprise, he wrote. As for your quarters — your predecessor Jagold has had his call-up papers sent express, so he'll be off to join the colours next week. You could take over his apartment.'
'That would certainly make life simpler. When do I start work, Dr Kessler?'
'In a day or so will do. There's nothing urgent going on in the passport department, for which you'll be responsible as vice-consul. Who's applying for a visa to visit Germany these days? Ah, there you are, Jagold.'
A youngish man had come in. He had dark-blond hair that curled at his temples and the nape of his neck. Detta thought him rather dandified with his brown and white shoes, cream linen suit, and dark-blue shirt, which he wore with a lemon-yellow cravat that matched the carnation in his buttonhole.
Axel Jagold — Henriette von Aichborn,' the consul-general introduced them.
'My charming colleague and successor!' The vice-consul kissed her hand. 'If our boss doesn't object I'll show you my apartment. and then we can have lunch together. After that I'll take you to the hotel for your siesta, and in the afternoon you'll meet the rest of the team here.'
'Do that, Jagold,' Kessler agreed. He turned to Detta. 'My wife and I would be glad if you'd come to supper with us. I'll send Pedro with the car for you at eight.'
'That's very kind of your wife and you. Thank you so much, Dr Kessler.' She followed Jagold out. Blazing heat hit them in the street, and even the breeze through the open taxi window didn't provide relief.
Jagold's apartment on the Ronda Sant Antoni was a pleasant temperature. 'The architects of Barcelona gave their Art Noveau buildings remarkably thick walls,' her host explained. 'May I offer you an iced tea?' He took a glass pitcher out of the refrigerator and filled two tall glasses, garnishing them with sprigs of fresh mint.
Detta looked around. The living room was in the Moorish style. There was a photo propped on the sideboard, showing a bare-chested, athletic young man. She could see half packed suitcases through the open bedroom door.
Jagold noticed her glance. 'I've booked a passage to Spanish Morocco. My friend has gone ahead.' He pointed to the photograph. 'Gunnar is Swedish. We plan to go on to Angola and open a restaurant in Sao Paolo de Loanda. The Portuguese don't particularly mind where you come from or who you are, just so long as you bribe the right people.'
'Dr Kessler said you'd received your call-up papers and had to fly home.'
'To go to war? I'm not crazy. Well, imagine, suppose the enemy were to shoot at me!' He laughed a little too shrilly for her liking.
She understood, and everything in her Prussian soul rebelled. 'My father's too old for armed service, and it grieves him,' she said icily. 'My brother is in France with his regiment. Two of my uncles and three of my cousins reported for duty on the first day. One of them fell in Poland. We don't shirk our duty in my family, and nor, which is lucky for you, Herr Jagold, do we denounce anyone.'
'Do you like the apartment? I can let you have the furnishings very cheap.' he said, trying to change the subject. 'The rent isn't very high, and the owner of the building is a friendly soul. I'm sure you'll feel comfortable here, my dear Henriette.'
'Baroness von Aichborn to you.' she told him sharply, and left. Outside she took a deep breath, and in spite of the heat marched off, full of energy.
Military men were in the majority on the streets and squares. There were police officers everywhere. The Civil War had been over for a year now, and General Franco was holding on to what he had won with a grip of iron. The people of Barcelona ignored him. The dictator was Spanish, while they were proud Catalans.
She had calmed down by the time she reached the Placa de Catalunya. A taxi took her to her hotel near the cathedral, and she showered and changed. Then she chose a table for lunch in a small niche behind some potted palms, where she wouldn't be disturbed. She studied the menu over a glass of chilled rose.
'The grilled gambas with fresh figs are said to be particularly good today.' David Floyd-Orr stood before her, smiling. She was about to leap up and embrace him. 'No, don't,' he said quietly.
'David. 'She couldn't say any more.
He sat down. 'We're just good friends. Public displays of emotion would only attract attention. The entire foreign colony comes to this hotel. The Front runs right through the restaurant: Axis powers on the left, representatives of the entente on the right. The neutrals go now to the left, now to the right, as the mood takes them. You see everything and everyone here. Don't forget, we're on different sides.'