The Star of Kazan

‘I was expecting him to be here already. Our appointment is for eleven o’clock.’ Frau Edeltraut was not accustomed to being kept waiting and made this clear.

The clerk went into the outer office and spoke to the typist, who went away to make coffee. Even when they had drunk it there was no sign of the lawyer, and Annika saw that her mother was getting upset. The papers they were here to sign must be very important, and Annika, to reassure her, said, ‘But I am a von Tannenberg already, aren’t I? I am your daughter, everyone knows it.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Frau Edeltraut absently. ‘All the same, things must be done properly.’

They waited for another half-hour, then the phone rang in the outer office and presently the clerk came in. ‘That was Herr Bohn – he is extremely sorry, but his wife has had a fit and he has had to take her to the hospital.’

‘A fit? How extraordinary. Doesn’t he have servants to look after his wife?’

‘Yes, yes. But . . . He says he will be with you by two o’clock without fail.’

‘I very much hope so,’ said Annika’s mother, ‘otherwise he cannot expect to go on handling my affairs.’

Lunch in the dining room of the Majestic was very grand. Annika was put next to Uncle Conrad and he had Edeltraut on his other side. Hermann was in a bad mood; the gun they had given him at the rifle range had thrown to the left, and though he had explained this, they had refused to give him another one.

Zed was not present of course; servants did not eat in the hotel dining room. Everyone spoke very quietly and Uncle Conrad occasionally told them in a low voice what was wrong with the other guests. The lady on the next table had come in with an agonizing septic throat, which had turned out to be caused by a green bean wrapped round the root of her tongue.

‘They had to give her chloroform to get it out,’ he whispered.

The food was splendid: venison broth, asparagus, beef in a pastry case, lemon soufflé with whipped cream. Annika had begun to wonder if there was a famine in Norrland, but if there was it had not reached Bad Haxenfeld.

She would have enjoyed her meal more if she had not thought of Zed perhaps going hungry. Then, as the waiter came out with coffee, she had a glimpse into the busy bustling kitchen. And there, with his sleeves rolled up, was Zed, his face flushed by the heat. He was helping to load the trays and laughing at something one of the cooks had said and he did not look hungry in the least.

The lawyer was still not in his office when they returned after lunch.

His clerk was grovelling, wringing his hands.

‘Herr Bohn sent word that he will personally come to Spittal tomorrow with the necessary documents. At his own expense.’

‘I should hope so,’ said Frau Edeltraut. ‘Please tell him that I am most displeased.’

But she looked more than displeased. She looked distressed and very worried, and Annika was puzzled. Why was this document so urgent? Surely nothing was going to happen to Hermann for years, if at all?

‘I shall go back to the hotel and rest,’ Frau Edeltraut went on. ‘If you like you can go to the pump room. There’s usually a band there. It doesn’t cost anything to go and watch. I’ll expect you back at the hotel at four o’clock.’

Annika heard the music coming out of the pump room before she reached it: a large domed building with a flight of steps flanked by statues. Inside there was a round hall with a fountain in the middle. People came up to it, gave some money to a lady sitting there, and were given a tin cup, which they took to the fountain to fill with spa water.

The rest of the floor was filled by people parading up and down, nodding their heads to the music, greeting each other. The orchestra was an eight-piece band and they were playing the kind of music Annika had grown up with in the streets and parks of Vienna: waltzes, polkas, marches . . .

She made her way closer to the orchestra and stood listening. The violins soared sweetly, the leader smiled at her and she came closer and closer still. After a while she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find a white-haired gentleman with a clean-shaven face and a paunch, looking down at her.

‘Would the fräulein care to dance?’ he asked.

Annika was startled – no one else was dancing, and in any case one didn’t dance with strangers. She was about to refuse when an elderly lady in a wheelchair propelled herself forward.

‘This is my wife,’ said the old gentleman. ‘She saw your feet tapping and she thought you might like to waltz a little.’

The old lady nodded. ‘A s you see, I can’t dance any more – but you should have seen us when we were young!’

Annika smiled, and held up her arms. As she and the old gentleman twirled in a waltz, the spectators smiled too, then a couple joined in, and another . . . The members of the band were delighted. When the music came to an end they played another waltz, and another . . .

Then she heard an angry voice calling her name. Zed was standing at the edge of the dancers, scowling at her.