been detached to coastal protection in case of English raids and I’ve been left with the remnants of HQ company to do everything. Just be grateful you’re not here. I should stay at Doorn if I were you and keep your head down. If the old man wants you to have dinner with him, eat it. There’s bound to be more of it than anyone will get here. Meanwhile, just make sure no unauthorised persons approach him and that he doesn’t make a bolt for it or do anything stupid. Note anything important he says or does so you’ve got something to report to your SS Standartenführer, your colonel – what’s his name? – Kaltzbrunner.’ He pronounced the name with careful distinction. ‘As for your Dutch major, tell him if he’s got any food in his pocket he should eat it now, before anyone else does. Then make yourself scarce before I find you something to do. Heil Hitler.’ He put the cigarette in his mouth.
There was an ironic edge to the adjutant’s dismissal that took Krebbs aback. It suggested an attitude corrosive of discipline and endeavour, the sort of thing for which he had seen men sacked from Braunschweig, the SS officer academy. SS personnel were supposed to report such instances; he would remember it. He went off to retrieve his kit from the room that was now part of the quartermaster’s ample suite of offices, then returned to find Major van Houten standing smoking by the lorry. Nobody, anywhere, guards or prisoners, seemed to have any idea what to do. Everyone was standing and staring at everyone else. There was no tension, no expectation, only a depressed waiting. There was not even a football.
‘Your driver, Herr Leutnant, may have gone absent without leave,’ said the major. ‘As soon as you left he said he was going to the toilet and he has not reappeared. Your escort – my escort – are catching up on doubtless well-deserved sleep in the back. It may be possible to find and reprimand your driver in this sad situation but it would take some time and meanwhile someone might commandeer your lorry. If I were you, Herr Leutnant, and speaking as one officer to another’ – the major’s expression gave nothing away but the exaggerated lowering of his voice suggested humour – ‘I would take your lorry and your men and go, quickly. In all armies it is the same: you are either doing something, or something is done to you.’ He transferred his cigarette to his other hand and took a key from his tunic pocket. ‘I took the precaution of relieving your driver of his ignition key. I hope you don’t object to a German soldier taking orders from an enemy officer. If you do, you can add it to his charge sheet.’
Krebbs had never driven a car, let alone a lorry. Nor, he knew, had any of his men. Finding the driver and then dealing with him would certainly take time. He might not get back for dinner with the Kaiser. He was as determined not to let that happen as he had been about anything in life, except perhaps getting his commission. It was essential, he told himself – and would have protested to anyone who asked – that this first move of the Kaiser’s should be accepted. It was important to the Reich to have a co-operative and approving, or at least acquiescent, Kaiser in exile. Neutral countries would be impressed by that, just as they would be impressed the other way if the Kaiser defected to England or somewhere – well, it would have to be to England or its empire, since there was no other enemy left to fight now. But behind all his reasoning, like sunlight filtered through leaves, was the pleasing image of the maidservant. He had persuaded himself that she would be there; and if she would, he would, even though she was only a servant.
‘Can you drive?’ he asked.
Major van Houten’s eyebrows arched. ‘I am a qualified army instructor.’
‘Would you be so good as to drive us back?’
‘If that is an invitation to co-operate with the invader, it would be treasonable to comply. But if it is an order from a captor to his prisoner-of-war, it would be correct.’
Krebbs permitted himself a smile. ‘It is an order, Herr Major.’
The major drove the unfamiliar lorry better than its Wehrmacht driver, with less grating of gears and less bumping and jerking. The noise in the cab made conversation difficult, which suited Krebbs because he wanted to think. At least, that was what he told himself but now that he had the opportunity he found nothing on which he wanted, mentally, to dwell. He wanted neither to recall the past nor – his more usual state – to fantasise about a glorious future. He felt he was somehow floating in no-man’s land, seeking nothing, imagining nothing. It was a novel state, but not unsettling. As they approached the tall trees of Doorn the major turned to him. ‘I am sure you will take good care of your charge, Herr Leutnant, but there is one small piece of advice I should like to offer, if it is permitted.’
‘It is permitted.’ Krebbs was beginning to feel he could like the man, despite his being an enemy.
‘Be respectful of him. He is half a genius and half a child. He is clever but not always wise. He has great inner youth, he is much younger than his years. He has never properly grown up but he has much valuable experience. He is not tactful but he is sensitive. Listen to him, put up with him, and you can learn, as I did.’
‘So, what can I learn from the old man?’
‘You can learn’ – the major paused while he turned at the village crossroads towards the gate lodge, going hand over hand on the heavy wheel and changing down with an adroit double-clutch movement – ‘you can learn from his wrongness. When he is most wrong, you learn most.’
‘He is often wrong, then?’
‘He is at least half wrong, always. It is his nature. But he is also half right and not always how you expect.’
Now, sitting at dinner, they were all listening respectfully as the Kaiser described his archaeological discoveries on Corfu. Archaeology had become his passion and his mottled old face became animated as he spoke, heedless of the breadcrumbs in his pointed white beard. He had founded and now annually hosted the Doorn Research Society, a symposium. He should, Krebbs thought as he halved his last piece of cold meat, to make it seem more, have been a professor, not an emperor. That was where his true gifts lay. Krebbs was not sure where Corfu was, though he was increasingly sure that he had been wrong to let Major van Houten drive himself back to the barracks, unescorted. It was all very well accepting the major’s argument that, since his family lived in the officers’ quarters beside the barracks, there was nowhere else he would be tempted to go. He knew, too, that the lorry had not enough fuel to get much farther. It would be all right, most probably, but it still would not look good in an inquiry if it were not. It was wrong, whatever his reasons. He had made the decision hurriedly, in order not to be late for dinner, and now the girl was not there. Perhaps she had the night off. Perhaps she had a boyfriend. Apparently the Kaiser nearly always had cold meat in the evenings.
Apart from the Kaiser and the Princess, dinner comprised only himself and the Kaiser’s private secretary, von Islemann, with his Dutch wife. Von Islemann was pale, exact, polite and unforthcoming. He had been with the Kaiser since before his exile and was reputedly devoted to him. He was certainly too loyal, Krebbs felt, to be pumped on his master. Also, he probably thought too well of his own aristocratic background, and too little of Krebbs’s, to form anything like common cause, unless under the pressure of events. Nothing he said betrayed any indication of his attitude towards the Reich. His Dutch wife seemed a pleasant, easy-going, practical sort of woman, a daughter of the household at Amerongen where the Kaiser had spent his first few years in exile. She talked about the tulip-growing areas of Holland and their contribution to the economy, as well as about Leipzig, Krebbs’s home town. No one mentioned the occupation. Krebbs was surprised that the Kaiser wore field grey; he had assumed he could afford something more elaborate and special.
‘And what does Herr Hitler propose now?’ asked Princess Hermine. ‘He carries all before him so expeditiously. Will he stop here?’
It was a moment before Krebbs realised she was addressing him. He put down his fork. ‘I regret, Princess, that I am not privy to the Führer’s plans. Once we have made the coastline of Europe properly secure, I imagine we shall prepare to deal with England.’
The Princess smiled encouragement. ‘Certainly, logically, it must be the next thing to do.’
The china rattled as the Kaiser struck the table with his good right arm. ‘It is not only logical, it is a necessity