Roots of Evil(72)

Edmund had to wait three hours for a very young, very rumpled-looking duty doctor to arrive. He spent the hours sitting on the landing floor, with the bathroom door propped open, watching his father’s body, trying not to wonder what he would do if that the dreadful head with the two sets of gaping lips – one pallid, the other blood-caked – suddenly turned towards the door.

While he waited the carriage clock downstairs ticked away the minutes and then the hours. Tick-tick…Always-be-with-you-Edmund…Tick-tick…The-murdered-ones-walk-Edmund…

The murdered ones. Conrad Kline. Leo Dreyer. Mariana and Bruce Trent.

Edmund listened to the ticking rhythmic voices for a long time, and very slowly he began to understand that Crispin – the real Crispin who had been young and good-looking and full of confidence – was filling him up, and he knew that Crispin would stay with him no matter what he, Edmund, did. He could hear Crispin’s voice inside the ticking clock, and inside the goblin-chuckling of the rain as it ran down the gutters. We’re both murderers, Edmund…We’ve both killed someone…So I’ll stay with you, Edmund…I’ll make sure you’re safe…

Shortly before dawn Crispin’s body finally began to stiffen, slipping down in the cold water so that it washed against the sides of the bath, adding its slopping voice to that of the ticking clock. The murdered walk, Edmund…I’ll always be with you, Edmund…Always be with you…Whatever you do and wherever you go, I’ll always be there to help you…



After the fire Lucy had not minded living with her father’s family, who were kind and generous, and who made her part of them. There were holidays with Aunt Deborah, who talked to Lucy about Mariana, which Lucy liked. Looking back, she thought she had eventually managed to have a reasonably happy childhood, although she had been glad when she was old enough to leave home and work in London and have her own flat.

But the trouble with memories was that even though you fought them as hard as you could, they were sometimes too strong for you; they could lie quietly in a corner of your mind – sometimes for years and years – and then pounce on you. Lucy knew very well that there were some memories that were dangerous and painful, and that must be kept out at all costs.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE




Alice had always known that the past was something that might be dangerous, and she had always known, as well, that the ghosts of that past might one day be responsible for destroying the careful, false edifice she had built up. It would only take one wrong move, or one unexpected moment of recognition, and the baroness’s career would be over.

But what Alice had not known was that there were other ghosts in the world who might destroy far more than a fake identity. Ghosts who were eagle-talon cruel and who stalked nations and haunted entire generations, and ghosts who bore as their device an ancient, once-religious image, which they had arrogantly reversed in the service of an implacable regime…

It was not until after Alraune became a success (Brigitte Helm was reported to be furious at this impudent annexing of her most-famous role) that Alice began to have the feeling that Viennese society was changing; that the gaiety was a little too hectic to be quite natural, and that the lights were burning a little too brightly. Afterwards she was to wonder if those days had held a touchstone moment – if there had been an hour or a day or a night when those faint scribblings on the air had formed into the patterns of augury, like the tea-leaves in old women’s cups, or the misted surface of a scryer’s glass…

But surely she was not the only one who had sensed that the dangerous sinister ghosts were regrouping their forces and preparing to enter the world once again? For every major event in the world there were always people ready to nod wisely, and say, Oh, yes, we knew there was something wrong…We said so at the time…We had a feeling…Had those Cassandras sensed that a grisly chapter of history was being revived and mobilized so that it could march forward once more…? Had some of them glanced uneasily over the years to a time when the lights of an entire continent had gone out and when they had stayed out for four long years…?

But everyone agreed that no government would allow another war to happen, and that after the Great War there would be no more conflict. Alice had only been eight years old on that November day in 1918; at the time she had not really understood the cheering and the celebrations, and the word ‘Armistice’ had meant nothing to her except that people had been shouting it joyfully in the streets. But she understood it now; she understood that the war to end all wars had come and gone, and that since that time the world had become safe.

So forget this unease. Dress up in something startling, go to an outrageous party – better still, give an outrageous party! Order pink champagne, commission an extravagant gown from Schiaperelli, a flagon of perfume from Chanel…


And close your ears to the tales of injustice and oppression said to be rife under that ridiculous, vulgar little man in Germany, and remember that Vienna is a self-governing state, self-contained, perfectly safe even if the rest of Europe runs mad. Ignore the stories about the suppression of free speech, about the censorship of letters, about the burning of books thought to preach anti-Nazi propaganda – yes, and ignore the alarmists who warn that people who burn books may end in burning men, and who whisper dreadful things about G?ering’s labour camps…Above all, close your ears to the accounts of the spies who prowl the streets, seeking out people with Jewish blood…