Читать книгу Golden Boy - Paula Astridge - Страница 13

CHAPTER SIX

Albert and Margret set out for Berlin to sign up with the Nazi Party as soon as they could. Albert’s Membership no: 474 481 (or no.1, as any decent numerologist would classify it), augured well.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Albert’s fledgling architectural office in Mannheim. Despite his father’s well-intentioned corporate referrals Speer Jnr. was having trouble getting his business off the ground. Poor economic climate could be blamed to a degree, but the truth was that his heart wasn’t in it.

‘You can’t just give up,’ his father objected.

‘It’s not working, father, despite all you’ve done to help. I’ve sent out hundreds of marketing letters to prospective clients and had absolutely no result.’

‘But what about the referrals I gave you to my friends? Haven’t any of them come good?’

‘Only in as much as they’ve returned the most polite of rejections. Something’s not right, something’s not working. I know that it’s what I’ve been trained to do, but my heart is just not in it. I have a feeling that the business is doomed to fail.’

‘That’s nonsense! You have to give it time. What did you expect? To fall on your feet from day one? Patience and hard work, that’s what it takes. You’ll hit the big time, wait and see. And in the meantime you’re making a satisfactory income from managing my properties here in Mannheim aren’t you?’

‘I am father, and I’m grateful for it. It’s given me the cash flow to keep my doors open, but you know as well as I do that that’s not enough. I can’t be satisfied with scraping the crumbs from your table. I’m better than that and I think you know it. You wouldn’t have settled for it, and I think deep down that you’d think less of me if I did.’

His father nodded his reluctant assent. The writing was on the wall. Keen as he was to have his clever son stay and share in his fortunes in Mannheim, he knew that Albert was acting for the best. There was little to be achieved then in arguing the point when, from experience, he knew better. Nothing he could say or do would stop Albert from doing precisely what he wanted. It never had. It never would. Yet, irritating as this was he rather admired this stubborn, selfish streak in his son. It gave him a certain strength of character which was something positive to cling onto when he thought so little of Albert’s other attributes and even less of his architectural ability.

Nonetheless, Speer Senior wasn’t about to go down without a fight.

‘I don’t approve of that vulgar National Socialist Party you’ve been talking about lately,’ he said in an abrupt change of subject.

Although completely off the point, it was his last opportunity to voice his opinion and advise his son against it. He had an uneasy feeling that Albert was sailing into dangerous waters by aligning himself with such a controversial crowd, but he knew he had to tread carefully. One wrong word would trigger Albert’s perversity and push him towards rather than away from Hitler and his roughneck gang. If he wanted to have any sway over his son, it was imperative that he stay as calm and objective as possible.

So, striking a match, he lit his cigar and puffed on it until its tip glowed red. It was a play for time, however, that offered as much to Albert. He took advantage of it to tackle his father head on, rather than wait to be intimidated.

‘I’ve done more than just talk about it father. I’ve joined The Party.’

It took great presence of mind for his father to take in this alarming piece of news without reacting violently against it. Working hard to subdue his rage, he paused and slowly shook out his match, but it was no use. He was appalled.

‘Disgraceful! To think that a son of mine should connect himself with such riff raff. Mark my words, if we’re weak and foolish enough to vote them into power, that man and the mongrels around him are going to be the death of our country.’

‘The death?’

Albert was genuinely surprised. His father, if nothing else, had always been such a sensible, shrewd man. Couldn’t he see the good Adolf Hitler was doing, not only for the business community but for the economy as a whole?

‘He’s breathing new life into it. He’s going to save, not sacrifice us,’ Albert continued.

At these words his father looked up at him, his eyes unflinching and filled with cynicism. ‘Evidently I made a mistake in crediting you with insight. Are you blind as well as stubborn?’ he snapped, before sighing in resignation. ‘I suppose there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?’

‘No, nothing, it’s made up, and I’m not alone in my convictions,’ Albert replied, feeling defensive yet diminished.

His father’s air of intellectual and moral superiority always made Albert feel that he had to justify himself.. But then nothing he ever said or did seemed to please his father or make him proud, even when they tried to go one-on-one and indulge in the unworkable fantasy that they were a loving father and son. The sad reality was that they just never could, nor ever would, see eye to eye.

‘You do know that Mother has joined The Party as well?’

For the first and only time in his life, and thanks only to Frau Speer’s newfound hobby in Hitler, Albert had her on side. Throwing her hat into the ring was the ace he had up his sleeve. Her sanction for deeds either good or bad stood as their ultimate justification. The strength of her convictions and her fierce-eyed challenge to those who questioned them brooked no argument.

‘Yes, I do. I’m shocked and disappointed,’ his father replied, tight-lipped. ‘I would have expected better of her.’

‘But not of me!’ Albert thought bitterly, mentally filling in the gaps in his father’s cruel argument. It was an argument insulting enough to push his son over the line. In a state of pique and political zeal, Albert decided to base himself in Berlin, his professional and political interests well matched to a city gripped by election fever.

First however, he had to say goodbye to Wolters, who had secured a steady architectural position with the National Railways Department and was about to be transferred across the border to oversee the construction of a new transcontinental rail link.

‘Perhaps your talents could be put to better use overseeing the local rail infrastructure, Rudy,’ Albert said in frustration.

They had been waiting at Mannheim Railway Station for over an hour. Wolters’ train was running thirty minutes late and unlike his tall, sentimental friend who was not looking forward to saying goodbye, Albert was getting impatient to do just that. Several times he had looked at his watch, quite aware that in doing so he was making his friend uncomfortable, but that could not be helped. He had other obligations and his time was of the essence. Even now, Margret was at home waiting with their suitcases packed in the car to start out for Berlin.

With his hands in his trench coat pockets, Albert began to pace the platform in a way that made Wolters feel not only embarrassed and annoyed, but also disappointed to see that Albert could not wait to be rid of him.

‘You can go if you like,’ he said. ‘I can manage alone.’

The hurt edge to Wolters’ tone pulled Albert up short. ‘No, don’t be silly. I wouldn’t think of it. Bad form not to see you off on your new career. Dear ol’ Rudy, I don’t know how I’m going to get along without you.’

They were kind but glib words that didn’t go far to convince Wolters of his friend’s sincerity. So perhaps it was the prospect of his imminent departure that gave Rudy the courage to finally speak up.

‘Why is it, Albert, that I always have such an uneasy feeling about our friendship? It’s as if I always have to work harder at it than you do, as if I’m your friend purely on sufferance.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Albert was quick to dismiss the comment. Damn! He had hoped to escape this goodbye without a full-blown show of emotion on Rudy’s part.

‘Don’t deny it, it’s true,’ Wolters continued. Now that he had taken the bull by the horns, he had no intention of letting Albert off lightly. ‘Sometimes I feel like a real chump. Just like a little kid who’s terrified that one day you’re going to get sick of me and say that you don’t want to play with me anymore.’

‘God, how maudlin can you get!’

Lighting a cigarette, Albert laughed off the emotive accusation and Wolters lowered his eyes in disappointment, realising that his friend had stopped short of denying it. Obviously the thought had crossed Albert’s mind. But that was as far as Albert dared go. To voice his feelings would be unthinkable and Wolters deserved better. It was, however, the truth of their lopsided relationship. Rudy was right. There was a patronising quality to Albert’s side of the deal, doling out, as he did, only the minimum of commitment. Wolters’ eagerness was flattering to an extent, but also slightly oppressive, not to mention way too personal. He lapped up whatever titbits of attention Albert was in the mood to dish out and always gave him the uneasy feeling that he wanted to lick the plate clean and devour him whole.

Under the circumstances it would have been simpler to slough Wolters off, but Albert never got round to it. Often it felt good to have this satellite orbiting around him, and it did Albert’s ego no harm to know that he was the centre of another person’s universe. For this reason he chose to keep their relationship on simmer while he busied himself with other far more important issues. He had places to go and big things to achieve in his life. If Wolters wanted to come along for the ride, why stop him? There was always the chance that his friend’s cloying obsession might just come in handy one day.