Summer at Gaglow by Esther Freud Page A

over by a real Nazi, some high-ranking official, and so they haven’t got a leg to stand on, pretending that it wasn’t seized.’
    ‘Is he still there?’
    ‘No, no, long dead. Apparently for the last ten years or so the house has been used as a training centre for Communist teachers.’
    ‘Christ, what will it be like?’
    And for a while we sat in silence listening to the gulping of my milk as Sonny sucked, choking now and then and having to come off for air.
    ‘Was it very big, the house?’
    ‘Well, I remember it as being huge. There were stables, and an orchard. Apparently all the land around had once belonged to the house, but my grandfather was forced to sell it. You know, Jews weren’t meant to own land. They were only supposed to meddle around in business. But there were families, of course, that did own land, very grand and rich, who got away with it.’
    ‘How many rooms, do you remember?’ And I moved Sonny over to my other side.
    My father folded the letter and tucked it back inside his suit. ‘Fourteen bedrooms? There was a nursery up on the top floor from where you could see right out over the gardens to a lake.’ And he drifted into silence.
    Sonny was drunk with milk. His head lolled against my arm and he burped happily.
    ‘Might you go back and look at it?’
    My father shook his head and, keeping his voice low for the baby’s sake, insisted he’d no intention of ever going back.

Chapter 9
    Towards the end of February Emanuel came home on leave and during his one short week in Berlin he was inundated with visitors. The Samson girls called for him on the first day, and Aunt Cornelia, who had been unable to part with her recipe, arrived by taxi with the Tree Cake already made and shielded from the falling snow by two umbrellas.
    Emanuel was ragged with exhaustion. He threw himself down on the sofa, and then immediately sat upright, swearing that he wouldn’t waste a moment of his leave in sleep. His mother and sisters crowded round him, craning forward, sniffing and smiling and trying to distinguish the unfamiliar smell of him. The burnt smell of fresh air. It had darkened his skin to oxblood and his hair was dry and light. Eva put out a finger and touched the sharp edge of his new beard. It bristled in strips of brown and red, circles of distinct colour. She tried to peer into his eyes, but he closed them, swaying slightly with the effort it took to stay awake. Marianna put a finger to her lips and began to ease her son back on to the cushions. He gave in heavily to the strength of her hands and let his head fall back, but then Wolf arrived home, and Emanuel started with the slamming of the door.
    Wolf hurried forward. He pushed his way past Fräulein Schulze, hovering in the hall, through the crowd of his daughters, fully intending to clasp Emanuel in his arms, but when he saw him, rising stiffly to his feet, a stranger in his uniform, he only put a formal hand around his shoulder and patted him on the back.
    Emanuel stayed in uniform. Everywhere he went people stopped and spoke to him, remarking on the latest news or asking after their own heart’s interest – regiments as far away as Egypt. Marianna gripped his arm and laughed. She told him how, as a tiny baby, his perfect face had made her reluctant to allow him out in public. ‘It was unfair on the other mothers,’ she said, and however much Emanuel teased her and protested, she would not desert her theory that he had been a child of astounding beauty.
    The Samsons held a party in Emanuel’s honour. Marianna would have done so herself, but her husband insisted it was in bad taste. It was to be a costume ball. Costumes, Frau Samson felt, might distract from the impossible shortage of young men. Bina, Martha and Eva had only two days to prepare. They flew into a rage of activity, quizzing, teasing and howling at the household to help them create the perfect outfit. Schu-Schu suggested a theme from Ancient Greece. She ordered metres of