Fall of Giants

However, Walter cheered up when the cold rooms filled with young people and a small band began to play in the hall. His younger sister, Greta, had invited all her friends. He realized how much he missed social life. He liked seeing girls in beautiful gowns and men in immaculate suits. He enjoyed the joking and flirting and gossip. He had loved being a diplomat-the life suited him. It was easy for him to be charming and make small talk.

The von Ulrich house had no ballroom, but people began to dance on the tiled floor of the hall. Walter danced several times with Greta’s best friend, Monika von der Helbard, a tall, willowy redhead with long hair who reminded him of pictures by the English artists who called themselves pre-Raphaelites.

He got her a glass of champagne and sat down with her. She asked him what it was like in the trenches, as they all did. He usually said it was a hard life but the men were in good spirits and they would win in the end. For some reason he told Monika the truth. “The worst thing about it is that it’s pointless,” he said. “We’ve been in the same positions, give or take a few yards, for two years, and I can’t see how that will be changed by anything the high command is doing-or even by anything they might do. We’re cold, hungry, sick with coughs and trench foot and stomachache, and bored to tears-all for nothing.”

“That’s not what we read in the newspapers,” she said. “How very sad.” She squeezed his arm sympathetically. The touch affected him like a mild electric shock. No woman outside his family had touched him for two years. He suddenly thought how wonderful it would be to take Monika in his arms, press her warm body to his, and kiss her lips. Her amber eyes looked back at him with a candid gaze, and after a moment he realized she had read his mind. Women often did know what men were thinking, he had found. He felt embarrassed, but clearly she did not care, and that thought made him more aroused.

Someone approached them, and Walter looked up irritably, guessing the man wanted to ask Monika to dance. Then he recognized a familiar face. “My God!” he said. The name came back to him: he had an excellent memory for people, like all good diplomats. He said in English: “Is it Gus Dewar?”

Gus replied in German. “It is, but we can speak German. How are you?”

Walter stood up and shook hands. “May I present Freiin Monika von der Helbard? This is Gus Dewar, an adviser to President Woodrow Wilson.”

“How delightful to meet you, Mr. Dewar,” she said. “I shall leave you gentlemen to talk.”

Walter watched her go with regret and mingled guilt. For a moment he had forgotten that he was a married man.

He looked at Gus. He had immediately liked the American when they met at Tŷ Gwyn. Gus was odd-looking, with a big head on a long thin body, but he was as sharp as a tack. Just out of Harvard then, Gus had had a charming shyness, but two years working in the White House had given him a degree of self-assurance. The shapeless style of lounge suit that Americans wore actually looked smart on him. Walter said: “I’m glad to see you. Not many people come here on holiday nowadays.”

“It’s not really a holiday,” Gus said.

Walter waited for Gus to say more and, when he did not, prompted him. “What, then?”

“More like putting my toe in the water to see whether it’s warm enough for the president to swim.”

So this was official business. “I understand.”

“To come to the point.” Gus hesitated again, and Walter waited patiently. At last Gus spoke in a lowered voice. “President Wilson wants the Germans and the Allies to hold peace talks.”

Walter’s heart beat fast, but he raised a skeptical eyebrow. “He sent you to say this to me?”

“You know how it is. The president can’t risk a public rebuff-it makes him look weak. Of course, he could tell our ambassador here in Berlin to speak to your foreign minister. But then the whole thing would become official, and sooner or later it would get out. So he asked his most junior adviser-me-to come to Berlin and use some of the contacts I made back in 1914.”

Walter nodded. A lot was done in this fashion in the diplomatic world. “If we turn you down, no one needs to know.”

“And even if the news gets out, it’s just some low-ranking young men acting on their own initiative.”

This made sense, and Walter began to feel excited. “What exactly does Mr. Wilson want?”

Gus took a deep breath. “If the kaiser were to write to the Allies suggesting a peace conference, then President Wilson would publicly support the proposal.”

Walter suppressed a feeling of elation. This unexpected private conversation could have world-shaking consequences. Was it really possible that the nightmare of the trenches could be brought to an end? And that he might see Maud again in months rather than years? He told himself not to get carried away. Unofficial diplomatic feelers like this usually came to nothing. But he could not help being enthusiastic. “This is big, Gus,” he said. “Are you sure Wilson means it?”