DATHAN CHARLES
Belovéd Obsession
By
Dione M. Coumbe
SMASHWORDS EDITION
*****
Published by Dione M. Coumbe on Smashwords
Dathan Charles
Belovéd Obsession
Copyright © 2010 by Dione M. Coumbe
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*****
To
Walter R. Lilley, John-Edward Coumbe-Lilley and the man in the grey
suit. Thanks for the back up guys.
DATHAN CHARLES
Belovéd Obsession
Dathan Charles
Table of Contents
Prologue
Introduction
01 The Soirée, Berlin, November 1934
02 A Walk in the Black Forest
03 High Places
04 Awakening
05 The Dinner Party
06 Rudi’s Studio
07 The Invitation
08 Message
09 Catastrophe
10 Dulwich, December 1934
11 Sebastian’s Chambers
12 Swing Street, New York, January 1935
13 Giovanni’s Restaurant
14 Déjà Vu, February
15 Contracts
16 Pressure, October
17 The Madonna
18 Connections
19 Serrugio
20 Maison Vivienne
21 Rudi’s Request, December
22 Disagreements
23 The Cheshire Cheese, London, January 1936
24 Wine and Rivals
25 Before the Fall, February
26 Murder
27 Fashion on Fifth, March
28 Valentine and Stephen, London, June 1937
29 Confrontation, Berlin
30 Misjudgement
31 Confession, London, July
Belovéd Obsession
Prologue
Introduction
32 D.C.I.
33 Great Meadow, August
35 Protection
36 Deceptions
37 Letters November 1938 to January 1943
38 Final Straws, April
39 A Town Named Adam
40 Return, New York, July
41 Foundations, Europe, November 1945
42 Release, New York, December
43 Rome
44 Frustration, New York, January 1946
45 A Return to Faith, March
46 Braun, September
47 Memories, London, December
48 Family Christmas, New York
49 Col’s Report, January 1947
50 Alcantara, Jerez, Spain, February
51 Party at Piles, March
52 Plans at Adam
53 The Board Meeting, New York, June 30
54 Gregory’s Revenge
55 Concession
56 Symptoms, July
57 Jessica, January 1948
58 Retribution
59 Vultures
60 Recovery
61 Tamacora, April
62 Calvary, June
63 McKenzie’s Warning, July
64 Émile Zôla, August
65 Accountability
66 Reprisals
67 Quid pro quo
68 Truce, Naples, September
69 Balance, Scarsdale, December
70 Hans Stein
71 Roger, Canterbury, August 1994
72 David, Piles, July 1994
73 The Beneficiaries
74 The Chaucer Hotel, Canterbury, August 1994
75 The Legacy
Prologue
Now then, you will see men love
As in real life they love,
And you will see,
True hatred and its bitter fruit,
And you will hear
Shouts of both rage and grief
And cynic laughter.
Mark well, therefore our souls,
Rather than the poor players garb
We wear, for we are men
Of flesh and bone like you, breathing
The same air of this orphaned world.
From the Prologue to “I Pagliacci” by Leoncavello
Introduction
David steadied himself as he entered the room and stood in front of the vast canvas. Audibly, he caught his breath. This was appalling, horrific, yet so appropriate. He broke into uncontrollable laughter. “Who’s that?” he asked, a shaking finger pointed at the smaller portrait. Roger bent his head and looked at the title, “Edward Charles,” he said. David’s face was instantly sober, “Looks like unfinished business. You two better have dinner with me tonight. You’ll never hear this story from anyone else.”
*****
1. The Soirée, Berlin, November 1934
Too ornate, Dathan decided, studying the room’s reflection through an acre of mirror. All rococo and no balls. She glanced at her chignon and tucked in a wisp of auburn hair. A man on the opposite side of the salon caught her attention. He was tall, striking and staring at her in amazement.
Dathan turned as he stepped onto the dais. Who was he? She looked for her uncle and aunt. This was their métier. As diplomats they knew everyone.
“Dathan!” Edward said behind her.
“Yes,” she started.
“You were miles away,” he accused, “finding this a little boring?”
Dathan smiled, “Who’s the violinist?”
He glanced at the stage, a silver haired patrician, “Heydrich.”
“Does he play that thing or is he a wood grain fetishist?” She watched as the soloist gently stroked his instrument with one finger.
Edward grinned, “He’s very good and far too modest to admit it.”
“Really,” she said sceptically, S.S. officers weren’t known for their shy, retiring qualities, “make you a bet he plays Beethoven.”
“No chance,” Edward laughed, “and do try to look appreciative.”
The strains of “Moonlight Sonata” drifted towards them. Her thoughts began to wander. Himmler, who looked anaemically bloodless and a chief of the S.S. stood below a portrait of the recently installed Reichsfuhrer Hitler. Dathan’s eyes glazed over. Two fruitcakes in search of a brain. Why hadn’t the Germans noticed yet?
Heydrich drew out the last note expertly, reluctant to relinquish the sensuality of the moment. Staccato applause crackled across the salon and gratified, he bowed gracefully. Placing his instrument carefully in its case he acknowledged the French Attaché.
“Very moving,” the suave, little Frenchman complimented accepting his hand, “your playing is so interpretive.”
“You’re too kind, I wish I could be worthy of Beethoven’s genius.”
“Indeed!” The Gaul’s eyebrows lifted cynically as he sipped his drink.
Heydrich glanced around the salon. Very attractive, Dathan thought, lots of animal magnetism. Could be a little too overpowering maybe, like this room. She realised he was coming towards them. So was her aunt, trailed by a waiter.
Adela, a gaunt, faded woman with perfect cheekbones, carefully cultivated her rôle as a dignified matriarch. She was supremely happy swimming in the gossipy, back biting intrigue of diplomatic life. A sympathetic listener, many confidences came to her ears for Edward’s benefit.
“Have you noticed that appalling young man is joining us?” her smile was a parody.
Dathan glanced at her, “He looks fine to me.”
“Does to most women, dear, that’s his problem, and theirs,” she said then lowered her voice, “got his fiancée pregnant then said anyone that easy was a slut not fit to marry.”
Dathan choked down a laugh, sipped some champagne, then said, “That’s very cavalier.”
“Admiral Räedar agreed with you and chucked him out of the navy for bringing the honour of his officers into disrepute.”
“Seems to have been a good career move,” Dathan murmured as Heydrich drew closer.
“It certainly hasn’t done him any harm,” Edward agreed.
Heydrich shook hands warmly with her uncle then went through the motions of kissing Adela’s hand, she saying, “It’s such a pleasure to hear you play, Herr Heydrich.”
“You’re too kind,” he answered gallantly.
“My niece Dathan Charles,” Edward introduced them, she’s staying with us for a while.”
“I hope you’re enjoying your visit, have you seen much of Germany?”
Dathan shook her head, “Very little, I’m hoping to persuade Edward to lend me his car in the next few days.”
He nodded, then said thoughtfully, “Perhaps you would care to join me tomorrow after lunch? We could go to a concert and drive into the countryside for an hour or two.”
Dathan noticed his use of the familiar “du”, “I should like that very much.”
He bowed slightly then joined another little knot of admirers. Dathan’s spine tingled and she lowered her head, marvelling at the effect he seemed to have on her, she said, “A real lounge lizard isn’t he.”
Edward stared at the Colonel’s retreating back, “If he can survive their internecine feuds for a few years and out manoeuvre Göring and Himmler, he’ll either succeed or topple Hitler. He’s got a brain like a butcher’s knife and is a much better friend than an enemy.”
Dathan shrugged, “Politics bore the pants off me.”
“How vulgar, but you should live in interesting times.”
Dathan smiled vaguely at the cliché, missing nothing. Edward would welcome closer links with this Lothario. He was looking far into the future. She rather liked the idea herself. Just on a temporary basis, a light flirtatious dalliance to add some spice to her holiday. Nothing too dangerous. She could manage Heydrich if he wanted more than that.
2. A Walk in the Black Forest
It was warm for early November. The sunlight streamed across the carved, wooden furniture, touching on the autumnal table decorations trailing the length of the table.
Dathan and her relatives lingered after lunch, savouring Turkish coffee and small tots of Cognac. Her uncle sighed, “I really do have to go and report to the office last night’s jollifications.” Stooping over Adela, he kissed her cheek, “Don’t forget we have the Stein’s tonight.”
Dathan brightened, it would be good to see Rudi, a friend since their early days at art school together.
“I’d forgotten,” Adela murmured, “damn, I’ll have to give Frau Gerber fresh orders and she’s always difficult when I alter her schedule. It’s like holy writ to her.”
“So read her the Bible, I’ve got to get ready for the dashing Heydrich.”
“Watch yourself, the man’s a smooth operator,” Adela said archly.
“Don’t worry about me, my darling aunt, my moral fibre may take umbrage.”
“You’re an absolute bitch sometimes, dear,” her aunt drawled.
Dathan grinned at her, “Imagine what I’ll be like at your age!”
Promptly at two thirty, a sleek, black saloon car glided to a halt outside the house. The uniformed chauffeur knocked on the outer door.
Dathan, standing at the top of a long wooden staircase watched as Frau Gerber opened a double set of doors and let the man in. His height eclipsed the housekeeper.
“Herr Heydrich for Fraulein Charles,” the voice was high-pitched, almost feminine, as though someone, sometime had decided he should be a choirboy, permanently.
“Frau Gerber,” Dathan called, “I’m just coming,” and began her descent.
The housekeeper acknowledged her nervously, obviously relieved to be able to leave the foyer.
“Dathan Charles,” she said and the chauffeur ushered her to the waiting limousine. She was guided into the rear seat beside Heydrich. A faint, masculine perfume hung in the air.
“It’s a good afternoon,” he smiled his welcome.
“Glorious!”
“A romantic,” he said, lifting his arm to place it along the back of the seat behind her shoulders.
“Not especially,” she answered, “I like the sun.”
Heydrich removed his uniform cap with his right hand and placed it on the small shelf in front of them. The death’s head emblem faced outwards.
“Do you really want to go to a concert,” he asked.
“Not particularly,” Dathan was warily non-committal, “what else do you have in mind?”
He eyed her speculatively, “A drive in the country?”
Dathan nodded, “I should like that very much, all I’ve seen of Germany so far is railway stations and baroque reception rooms. Not sure there’s much difference really, waiting around doing nothing in both places.”
“That’s a penalty of diplomatic life.”
“My aunt and uncle enjoy themselves, it really doesn’t appeal to me.”
“What does? What all women want I suppose. A man, a home, children?” he patronised and doing so amused her.
“Good Lord no, domesticity wouldn’t suit me at all?” Her large dark eyes glittered, she glanced away cautious of revealing the hard edge of her ambitions.
“That sounds a little naïve! You have youth, inexperience and your sex against you.”
“Is that kindly advice or just chauvinism?” Dathan enquired blandly.
He ignored her question, “My name is Reinhart, or you might say Richard, I’d like you to use it.” His arm fell across her shoulders. She shrugged, unready for such intimacy. To avoid embarrassment he was forced to remove it. Dathan turned the conversation around to what she guessed was his favourite topic-- him.
“What do you do, and where will it take you?”
He eyed her warily. Was that question genuinely innocent? “I’m a collector.”
“Of what?”
“Information.”
“What sort of information?”
He knew she was playing games, not taking his answers seriously. It suited him, “Anything which could be useful to the Party.”
“And where do you intend to go?” she asked, teasingly.
“Is there any where else but the top?”
“I imagine you won’t have too much difficulty.”
He swiftly brought his head down and kissed her lips.
“I thought Italians were supposed to be the uninhibited Romeos and Germans solid, dull, predictable types,” she remarked.
“We’ve had a bad press,” he said, then urged, “Do have some brandy, and forget the clichés.”
She turned towards the window, “Where’re we going?”
“To a small hotel about twenty kilometres from Berlin. It was a hunting lodge, belonging to the late Kaiser’s family, but now it is used by Party members. It has a music room which I like to use.”
“I’ll accompany you on piano,” Dathan offered, “do you ever do your own arrangements?”
“I play around a little,” he said, “but not in public,” he intended the double meaning Dathan thought.
“I like syncopated rhythms, you know, ragtime, jazz.”
“American music! Some I like, but it isn’t welcome here,” he said leaning across her to slowly wind down the window. His arm pressed lightly against her breasts.
“You can smell the scent of the pines,” he murmured, “so clean and fresh.” The tall trees lined either side of the road absorbing all the light.
“Like a scene from Hansel and Gretel, so where’s the gingerbread house?” her eyes twinkled.
“Only the lodge,” he replied gravely.
“They’re so impressive, can we stop for a moment and walk?” and nullify the effects of the brandy, Dathan thought.
“Certainly,” he tapped on the dividing glass.
Dathan looked at her strappy, high-heeled sandals and frowned. This could be messy. Heydrich caught her glance.
“You’ll be alright,” he tucked her arm in his, leading her into the woods as their car drove away.
“Where’s he going?”
“He’ll wait for us further on,” he reassured her.
“Very considerate.”
“I try to be Fraulein Charles,” his nod to her was ironic, “are you enjoying your holiday?”
“It’s the first time I’ve visited Germany.”
“Do you like what you see?” he persisted.
“I told you, I’ve not seen much. The days tend to be spent recovering from the previous night and preparing for the one to come. This is a welcome alternative.”
“So you’re not aware of the great political changes occurring?”
“I didn’t say that. I implied my knowledge is insufficient to comment!” She was determined to be pedantic, even if it was pompous.
“But your uncle and aunt?”
“Edward and Adela are diplomats, they’re paid to live politics, I’m not.”
They’d walked some distance during their conversation. Heydrich released her arm and now held her hand. It felt warm and natural, protective. Then she stumbled.
“Shall we go back to the road?” he asked.
“Delightful though this is, it’d be a good idea.” Dathan checked her heel.
As she straightened he pulled her against him, brushing his lips against hers. She resisted briefly, conventionally, then relaxed.
“Since I saw you playing with your hair last night, I wanted to do this,” his tongue thrust rhythmically into her mouth. Drawn into his masculinity, her response was immediate, excited. It was a new experience and she forced herself to pull away from him.
“You’ve a way of getting your feelings across,” she said huskily. His attraction was too powerful. It was provoking desires, which might become overwhelming, which she’d always believed she could control. He threw his head back and laughed, knowing his effect, her confusion, “Let’s find some English tea.”
3. High Places
Some fifty metres away the chauffeur was leaning idly against the car casually smoking a cheroot. He raised his arm acknowledging them, climbed into the vehicle and swiftly reversed it to where they stood waiting. Efficiently, he settled them comfortably in the rear seat.
Within fifteen minutes they had arrived at the boundary of the estate surrounding the lodge. There was no change in the scenery, the perimeter being marked by a high wire mesh fence concealed against the crowded density of the trees.
The gateway was marked by a small wooden hut, against which the last dregs of life from the summer glory of climbing clematis and honeysuckle clung sparsely.
As the car slowed to a halt in front of the double white painted wooden gates spanning the roadway, two men appeared from the forest dressed in traditional Bavarian costume. They barely glanced at the familiar, gleaming limousine. One waved his hand at the occupants and smiling genially assisted his companion to open the gates.
Entering the grounds, Dathan was reminded of Richard Tauber, the German tenor whom she’d seen recently performing in London. The reason why he should come into her head was elusive until she realised the past few moments had been like a kitsch, theatrical performance. She wondered what would come next, jolly dancing maidens with flaxen hair all named Brunhilde? Stop being ridiculous she told herself, it wasn’t so unusual to find traditional costumes in the countryside these days.
The road ended abruptly at a large stone flagged courtyard, beyond which a long, white-stuccoed building sprawled in comfortable complacency. Saccharinely picturesque, Dathan pondered, or sweetly vulgar, looking at the green painted wooden shutters. They were all open. Below the small hearts carved in the top of these, stood pots of hothouse geraniums, brilliantly scarlet, a blaze of contrasting colour.
The building seemed to be of two storeys. The rooms above showed French windows opening onto a balcony which extended along the whole of the building to meet solid, wooden staircases leading down to the courtyard.
As she stepped from the car assisted by Heydrich, Heydrich interrupted her thoughts explaining, “It’s been added to inconsistently over the years, but is very comfortable inside.”
They entered the lobby where a maid dressed in traditional Austrian dress removed their coats then disappeared behind the many doors leading from the lobby. Her footsteps were soundless on the highly polished wooden floor, silenced by the thick felt under soles on her ornamental slippers.
In similar silence, a grey haired woman approached them from their left.
“Ah Herr Heydrich, you are later than we expected,” she stood to one side allowing them to enter the room behind her.
“Yes,” it was beneath him to explain why, “it is Fraulein Charles’ first visit here, indeed to Germany itself.”
The elderly woman gave a welcoming smile and took Dathan’s hand saying, “Then you must certainly sign our Visitor’s Book,” and led her to a heavy table, where a large volume lay open near an inkstand equipped with various styles of pen.
Dathan looked at the previous signatures in the book whilst the older women dipped a pen in preparation for her signature. She noted, both surprised and impressed, the names of prominent party members including Göring, Himmler and even Hitler himself. The only other noticeable English name was that of Unity Mitford. A very exalted roll call. Refusing to feel intimidated by her own relatively humble status, Dathan took the pen offered and signed her name with precise strokes.
Tea was served at a table overlooking the rambling gardens at the rear of the building. Heydrich watched her intently as she studied the gardens until a slight flush first stained her throat then spread to the lower parts of her cheeks.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he apologised.
Dathan smiled back, her eyes sparking a little, “I’m not used to such close and personal attention.”
“That is difficult to believe,” Heydrich said gallantly, “you are a beautiful woman, I’m sure you’ve no lack of admirers in London.”
Dathan was now very amused, “Until recently I was a student, working with all kinds of people, none of which showed more than a brotherly interest.”
“They must have been blind, or a little strange,” Heydrich suggested.
“No, neither of those, they were mostly artists and musicians, too poor or too busy with their work,” Dathan explained.
“But you re no longer a student?”
“No, I work for my aunt designing fashions.”
“Adela!” Heydrich’s voice lightened in surprise. It would have been hard for anyone to envisage Adela as a businesswoman. She enjoyed spending, not making, money.
“No, another aunt in the family,” Dathan replied, enjoying his reactions, “she too, lives in London.”
Tea was served with economy of movement, fine bone china, elaborate pastries and sachertorte. Heydrich took advantage of the moment to speak with several other men in the room accompanied by what, Dathan presumed, were the fashionable ladies of Berlin. He made them noticeably nervous.
“You seem to have a peculiar effect on your fellow officers,” Dathan commented drily when he returned.
“If I didn’t, I’d be worried,” he replied, understanding her perfectly.
“The man who is going places,” she remarked, both attracted and repelled by the menace just suggested.
“You would not be here, if I were not!”
“Now what should I deduce from that?” she asked.
Heydrich leaned back in his chair and lit a long thin cigar, “Women like you are attracted to men like me. Power, even vicariously enjoyed, is a potent aphrodisiac.”
She shook her head, “I cannot conceive of any reason why any human being wants to run anyone else’s life. Left to themselves to make their own choices most people would lead a more comfortable existence.”
“What, in controlled anarchy?”
“A contradiction in terms don’t you think?” Dathan smiled.
“This conversation is getting too serious, let’s go up to the music room?” Heydrich suggested.
He led her up the richly patterned, carpeted stairs and along a gloomy corridor. Dark, grainy paintings hung along the walls portraying hunting scenes. Stopping, he opened a door to the right decorated in pastel blue, white and gold, overlooking the house front.
Dominating the room was a grand piano on its own dais. Piles of music were neatly stacked on a long narrow table placed against one wall. Musical instruments of varying types balanced on shelves opposite.
Dathan went directly to the piano. Raising the lid she struck a chromatic chord then sat on the double music stool. The tone of the instrument was perfect and after running her hands along the keyboard in a series of arpeggios, she segued into a haunting Chopin nocturne.
Recognising the first few bars, Heydrich quickly opened a violin case, tested the resonance of the strings softly with his fingers and began to play. At the finish, Dathan switched abruptly to jazz. Heydrich listened for a moment and then began to improvise.
She looked up at him, his enjoyment was obvious. She concentrated on the keyboard and spun out the magic they were making, bringing it to a close with brisk, staccato, chords. They finished together and laughed.
“That was terrific. If you ever have the need I’m sure you could get work in any club. Not that you ever will, I know,” she said.
“If it gets around I like playing jazz, which isn’t exactly popular with our government, I may end up having to earn a living with music, but in another country.” He laughed and put the violin away, “Let me show you some of the other rooms up here.”
He opened a door at the far end of the chamber, which led to a small anteroom, “Performers often prepare in here before their recitals,” he explained. The next door opened to reveal a sumptuous bedroom. “This is an historic room, since it was Kaiser Wilhelm’s bedroom.”
“That sounds like our Queens Elizabeth and Victoria, they slept everywhere,” Dathan said flippantly, wondering if she’d just lost control of the situation.
4. Awakening
Heydrich put his hands lightly on her shoulders and pulled her towards him, “It’d be tragic to waste such a comfortable bed,” he said pressing his mouth onto hers.
She responded immediately, unable to suppress the surge of desire he stimulated. She put her hands to his waist as he pressed her against his priaprismic hardness. He released her mouth, she leaned against his chest, panting lightly, thoughts in turmoil. The pause was long enough to recover slightly and Dathan struggled to free herself. He loosened his embrace, but still gently held her.
“What’s the matter,” he asked mildly, “is it the wrong time for you?”
“Any time is the wrong time, I’m a virgin,” Dathan said bluntly. She spoke through gritted teeth, betraying her nervousness.
Above her head, unseen, Heydrich smiled his pleasure at this revelation. Such prizes were rare these days. He stroked her hair saying, “That can be remedied very quickly and pleasantly.”
“I’m not sure I want it to be,” she said with a ragged laugh, suddenly conscious her opinion in the circumstances was irrelevant.
“You think I’ll hurt you?” he asked quietly.
“Yes! No! I don’t know,” Dathan stuttered.
He lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes and asked gently, “You really believe I’d harm you?”
Mesmerized, her heartbeat jumping, Dathan’s mouth was dry. She was unable to speak. Without releasing her, he eased her stiffened figure backwards towards the bed. Dathan fell across it still paralysed.
He kneeled before her, then unfastened the buttons on the front of her dress and pulled it over her shoulders. Dathan could feel herself tensing, becoming cold, beginning to shiver, afraid of the physically unknown.
His lips burned as they brushed her neck and he slid the petticoat from her shoulders, removing it with her panties and shoes. He released her stockings down from their suspenders, carefully rolling the silk down her legs, touching his warm lips against her knees which were frigidly clamped together
Putting his arms around her, he unhooked the suspender belt, letting it slide to the floor as he kissed her unresponsive lips. Lowering his head he pressed it against her stomach pushing his tongue into her navel whilst caressing her pubis with his hand. Dathan relaxed her legs a little, she could feel the excitement fluttering in her stomach, she wanted to touch his body, feel the strength in those powerful shoulders and dreamily lifted her hands to stroke his smooth skin.
He licked at her nipples, then biting gently teased them into hardness, making her feel the sharp tugs of need from her womb. She lifted her head, wanting him to kiss her lips again and he knew she was his.
Her fear now was he’d find her inadequate. Sophistication is no substitute for inexperience. Sensing her tension, he was gentle when he picked her up bodily then lay her upon the bed, head resting on the voluminous, trapunza ivory satin pillows. Dathan waited, wanting, yet not wanting him, holding her breath, feeling the manic pounding of her heart.
Swiftly Heydrich undressed and climbed onto the bed beside her. He pulled her tenderly against him and again fondled her breasts, nibbling at them one moment then plunging his tongue deep into her mouth during the next.
She was innocently unknowing of the practised skill, the orchestrated manipulation being performed on her body. He made her aware only of their mutually overwhelming sexual attraction.
His hand stroked her vagina and involuntarily she parted her legs allowing his finger to rub her clitoris. Abandoning any attempt at rational thought Dathan surrendered herself completely to the multitude of sensations, the ripples of pure lust. Instinctively she caressed his penis wanting to feel him inside, on her, happily adrift in a sea of carnality.
“You see, you do want me, you are ready,” he whispered, eyes creased with a gentle smile.
She raised her lips to his greedy for the taste of his sex. Why had she waited so long to enjoy this pleasure? It was beyond anything she could have imagined.
He drew his legs up to kneel astride her stomach, his fingers kneading and pulling at her nipples, offering his penis to her mouth. She pulled his buttocks towards her and touched her touch to his orifice. As her lips closed over him he pulled away, wanting to prolong this play for as long as possible.
His fingers sought her vagina again, she felt her increasing lubrication and he suddenly withdrew. She gasped, now so sensitised it was a physical shock.
Again and again he teased her, deep in controlled passion himself until she violently pulled his hand away and begged him to take her. Waiting no longer he thrust into her, forcing a passage through the tightly embracing virginal flesh. Its silken softness took him to an almost unbearable height of sensory delight and as much as he was capable of feeling, he loved this woman. When her hymen broke and scant, warm blood began to flow Dathan gasped, frightened by the pain. He stifled her sounds with his mouth, his tongue and his manhood. Rhythmically he prepared himself for his climax quickly putting a pillow under her hips to give him deeper penetration. His breath came in short panting gasps until his final lunge ejaculating high into her womb.
Dathan clung to him as he lay on her, not wanting to release the source of this overwhelming passion. She wanted to feel the juices of him fill her belly again and again, to submerge herself in this new experience.
For some moments they lay there together, bodies slippery with perspiration, then he raised his head and kissed her closed eyes, sat up and slowly withdrew. He glanced at her thighs, “You are no longer a virgin.”
“No,” came the drowsy response. Dathan, exhausted by the acute awakening of erotic desires she hadn’t known she possessed was falling asleep.
Heydrich reached for his jacket and pulled out a cigarette case. Snapping the lighter shut he lay back on the bed, picked up the telephone and ordered a tray of drinks.
Minutes later a trolley arrived, the maid leaving the room without casting one indiscreet glance towards the couple on the bed.
He poured large whiskies and added a dash of soda from the syphon. He took one across to Dathan and shook her shoulder. She opened her eyes lazily, unwilling to allow him to see the conflict of emotions engulfing her. She was filled with self-disgust. What was she doing? Making love, no, fornicating with a trusted accomplice of bigots and bullies.
She loathed the Nazi Party. How could she get into bed with one of its most willing opportunists? She allowed everyone to believe she had scant knowledge of politics, but the reality was different. Dathan knew enough of recent German history to detest the new regime.
In the second it took for these thoughts to pass through her mind she decided she’d made a terrible mistake. There was, had to be, a distinction between lust, love, honour and respect. As he offered her the drink she sat up, “I feel as though I’ve been in a brawl with a boa constrictor.”
“The first time,” he shrugged his shoulders, “the next time will be better.”
She looked up at him coolly, “You seem very sure there will be a next time.”
He laughed easily, “Of course there will be, if not with me, then someone else. You enjoy sex, your responses were completely natural,” he assured her.
“I imagine you’re an expert on that,” she snapped, irritated by his clinical and patronising manner, “where’s the bathroom?”
“Over there,” Heydrich waved his hand at a corner of the bedroom. “You won’t be able to return to your virginal ways after learning about yourself. You enjoyed it too much!” He sat on the bed calmly enjoying his cigarette whilst she collected her clothes.
“Spare me the psychology Richard, you know nothing about me,” she said harshly.
He caught hold of her wrist as she passed, gripping it hard, “Don’t fool yourself Dathan, you discovered a weapon today. Use it!”
“Or a weakness,” she pulled away from him and entered the bathroom.
As she washed and dressed, she could hear his light tenor voice singing a folk tune. A few minutes later she sat silently on the opposite side of the bed. Without further comment he went to perform his own ablutions and she walked out of the bedroom, along the dreary corridor, down the stairs and back to the tearoom.
The evening had drawn in and the chandelier shone dimly. Checking the time she discovered it was already six o’clock. “Is it possible for me to use the telephone at all?” she asked the grey haired woman.
“Certainly Fraulein if you would come this way,” the housekeeper replied courteously.
Dathan was ushered into a small office where the instrument sat upon a huge, walnut desk. She groped in her handbag and found the number she wanted in a small directory. Whilst the operator connected the call she titivated her hair in front of a large mirror until Frau Gerber answered.
“Charles residence.”
“Frau Gerber?”
“Ja.”
“It’s Dathan Charles, what time are the Steins expected tonight?”
“Frau Charles arranged for nine o’clock,” the housekeeper answered in her customary, kindly manner to Dathan, whom she liked, in contrast to the other members of the Charles household.
“Thank heavens!” Dathan sighed with relief, “I’m still with Herr Heydrich and am delayed, I’ll be back in time to dress for dinner.”
“Ja Fraulein, I will pass your message on.”
“Thanks Frau Gerber and goodbye.” As she replaced the receiver the door swung open behind her and Heydrich came into view, reflected by the mirror.
“I wondered where you were,” he seemed slightly annoyed by the inconvenience of looking for her.
“I’m sorry I had to telephone my aunt,” she replied evenly.
“Yes?” he enquired.
“We have guests for dinner and I promised to be there.” Why was she explaining anything to him? There was no need.
“We’d better leave at once,” his voice softened, “do you feel alright?”
“Richard I’m fine. You’re very considerate but I’m not a piece of Meissen,” she brushed him off.
He gripped her shoulders tightly, her coldness provoking his temper giving his voice a grating edge, “My consideration,” he hissed, “you were a very willing partner in your seduction.”
Dathan’s eyes blazed at him with a black intensity as his fingers dug into her flesh but she said quietly, “Shall we go?”
Climbing into the limousine her thoughts returned to the bedroom. Could she be mistaken, had their recent copulation had anything to do with love?
The return journey was accomplished in silence. She was evidently forgiven as he held one of her hands in both of his. As they drew alongside the front door of her uncle’s house, he lifted her chin and brushed his lips against hers.
“Thank you for a perfect afternoon, it is one I’ll always remember,” it was a courteous farewell, “I’ll telephone you tomorrow and we shall go out again.”
“I like to be asked not told,” Dathan said and stepped away from the car.
5. The Dinner Party
“Was Heydrich entertaining?” Edward asked as Dathan sauntered into the drawing room where he was sitting alone.
“Very, we passed on the concert and went to some woods south of Berlin.”
“I know where you mean. Wonderful smell from the pines. I think there’s some of the tallest trees in Germany there, makes one feel quite insignificant in their density. You wonder if there’s anyone else left in the world.”
Edward sounded quite lyrical Dathan thought as she poured herself some sherry, “We had tea at a hunting lodge which’d been converted into an hotel. Would you like a drink?”
Her uncle’s eyes flickered with interest, “I know of it but never visited.”
“Heydrich said it was used exclusively by ‘influential party members’,” she sounded slightly contemptuous.
“I’ve heard that too.”
And what else Dathan wondered. She sat carefully on the over upholstered couch allowing the blue silk dress to drape elegantly from her shoulders, ululate across her knees and flow to her ankles. “It was very pleasant,” she said anticipating his next question. “We had tea and he showed me a really impressive music room. I played piano and he accompanied me on violin.” She paused, instinctively knowing Edward was hoping for more and determined he shouldn’t get it.
“It sounds very cultural, very civilised, was that all?” he raised his eyebrows quizzically, “weren’t you rather bored?”
“No, the piano was a beauty, any musician would’ve enjoyed it,” she deliberately misunderstood him. “It was a Steinway in perfect condition, bit out of my usual range of uprights and beat up pub pianos.” She wished he’d have a large aperitif and take his time drinking it in silence.
“Did he ask any questions about the Embassy?”
“Not directly, he pussy footed around anything he was really interested in, like you’re doing now.”
Edward laughed, “Sorry! Can’t forget the day job. Fact is, we know he’s the coming man and any scrap of information about him is welcome.”
She nodded agreement and immediately decided to keep her own counsel. “Anything which seems important, I’ll pass on,” she lied.
Adela swept into the room dressed in a plethora of drifting chiffon to hover over the drinks cabinet, “You know Rudi Stein?” she asked helping herself to gin and ‘it’.
“Yes, we trained together at art school in London. He stays with us when in England.” She saw no reason to tell them Rudi was more a brother than friend to her and her twin.
“He’ll be here with his parents so you won’t be bored while we play bridge,” she swung around to speak to Edward, “and please keep off politics if you can, the Steins have enough to cope with.” She added as an aside to Dathan, “You know they’re Jewish.”
“Hardly orthodox if Rudi’s an example,” Dathan remarked.
“Germany’s masters are interested in bloodlines, not faith,” Edward interjected tersely.
“Did you enjoy your afternoon,” Adela asked Dathan, changing the subject
“Pleasant,” came the noncommittal reply.
“Sounds damning,” she gurgled, “maybe that man is losing his touch!”
“Well he was interesting, flattering...what else is there to say?”
“If that’s all the impact he made, he’s definitely slipping.”
A picture of the Kaiser’s bedroom flew into her mind, she rolled her eyes and said, “I’d think you’d know more about that than me,” and hoped this remark would divert her interrogation. It failed.
“Are you seeing him again?”
Exasperated, Dathan bit her tongue and said casually, “I think not.”
“You’re not giving a thing away,” Adela accused.
“Oh, come on Adela. Don’t you and your friends have enough spicy gossip to digest without me as a titillating ingredient, you’d all find my excursion very disappointing.” Dathan’s blandly amused glance at her aunt was deceptive.
“Careful darling, your claws are showing.”
“I’ll sheath them carefully for the rest of the evening.” They smiled without animus, each believing they understood the other perfectly.
The drawing room door swung open and three figures entered. Dr. Stein was a tall, well-proportioned man. His dark features had mellowed into the soft folds of a lugubrious basset hound. Slightly tinted lenses concealed deep-set friendly eyes.
His wife, Lisotte, was small with a frailly anaemic appearance. Her expressive mobile features were never still and her hands fluttered like birds even as she removed her coat and handed it to Frau Gerber.
Rudi was a little taller than his mother. He had a permanent crease across his forehead and his father’s eyes. As always his appearance was slightly shabby and he had ingrained ridges of paint beneath his fingernails.
The women exchanged hugs and the men handshakes. Rudi slouched across to Dathan and sat beside her on the couch. He put his arm around her shoulder and hugged her whilst kissing her cheek, “You look good, got quite a bloom.”
“You look pretty comfortable yourself,” she said, “how’re things?”
“Dull, until now.”
“Flatterer,” she grinned, “come back with me to England if you’re bored.”
“I’d like to, but I can’t right away.”
“As soon as then,” she said, “we’ve missed you.”
For a few minutes they reminisced about the bohemian life they’d enjoyed. So many parties, so much laughter, endless characters floating in and out of their lives.
“Is Stephen doing well?” Rudi asked.
“Who knows, he looks happy enough in the wine trade, but I can’t believe he isn’t looking for something more.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t know, he strikes me as being bored half the time. Like he can see his lifetime rolling away in front of him on endless kegs of booze.”
“What does Sebastian think?”
“Oh God Rudi, you know my father. He’ll work out in a second Stephen’s ripe for mischief and throw all sorts of diversions his way. Sounds good, except Stephen’s got a mind of his own. I think he may have something going with Pogo.”
“Do I know him?”
“Nah,” she shook her head, “he’s my father’s older brother. Lives on the coast in Cornwall. Only comes to London when he has to and then stays at their club. We see him occasionally when we have the monthly dinner with Sebastian and play partner billiards.”
“Do you like him?”
“Oh yes, very much. He seems like a typical English upper class idiot and he lets everyone think he is. Truth is he survived four years of war on the Western Front and was demobbed with a chest full of medals. In 1919 he packed himself off to Lansallos and he’s been there ever since.”
“Ah, a country squire,” Rudi smiled.
“Mmmm...not too sure about that. My guess is he’s also bored out of his mind and he and Stephen could be an explosive combination.”
“In Cornwall?” Rudi asked.
“I know. It doesn’t sound feasible until you know our family supported itself by smuggling booze across the English Channel for centuries and Lansallos Hall has a perfect set up for the business.”
He laughed, “Won’t they get into serious trouble if they’re caught?”
“Probably, but I doubt that’ll bother them. Besides all the locals, including the magistrates have always kept their cellars filled with duty frees. They’re hardly likely to toss the source behind bars.” Dathan grinned and stood saying, “we’d better join your parents.”
Their four elders were at the French windows admiring the autumn garden. The Steins showed their pleasure in meeting Dathan for the first time. They recognised her from photographs and portraits Rudi brought home with him from time to time.
“Our son also enjoys himself in England,” Frau Stein said.
“He’s very popular,” she winked at Rudi, “I can think of one or two who mourned his passing back to Germany.”
“I see you have your aunt’s talent for conversation Dathan,” Frau Stein admonished.
“I try but the competition’s fierce,” she replied succinctly.”
Frau Gerber put her head around the dining room door to announce dinner. The housekeeper had excelled. A magnificent floral centrepiece on an epergne crowned glittering crystal glasses, napery and silver cutlery. The scent of the flowers hovered in the air.
As the meal progressed several remarks by the doctor showed, unusually for him, politics would also be on the menu. Recent events had been so unnerving they’d penetrated the barrier of his unconcern.
“Have you heard anything about Heydrich’s laws of citizenship?” he asked Edward, respecting his ‘inside’ knowledge.
“Some, but it’s difficult to get reliable information. Times change, it’s not like the old days when everyone had their own favoured informer.”
“I suppose the Roehm success has increased his power,” interjected Rudi.
His father threw him a sharp glance as Rudi continued, “Father,” he said wearily, “everyone knows he planned the murders like they know he was responsible for the Reichstag fire last year.”
“I don’t know, no one has told me,” his father said staring at his empty dessert plate.
“Hans, your son is right, get your head out the sand,” Edward said.
“Bad as it is, he could’ve been contained as head of just the Berlin Gestapo,” Rudi said, “now he’s deputy head of all the police forces, political and criminal. No one can be safe.”
“Could you be laying on him more than he deserves?” Dathan commented drily, “In England if you’re fifty five, you’re a young, up and coming, politician. Heydrich’s only thirty-four. It can’t be feasible he’d be trusted with huge powers.”
“He has a Machiavellian mind,” Edward said, “intrigues better than breathes and is brighter and more intelligent than Himmler and Frick put together.”
Dathan for a moment silently speculated on Edward’s previous reticence. She’d have thought an average uncle would have been more forthcoming about his opinions to a niece who’d attracted the attentions of such a man.
“So what do these laws mean?” Dr. Stein was saying.
“I’ve heard, but it’s only rumour, they’ll be used to exclude Jews from citizenship and then strip them financially,” Edward explained.
“Legalised theft?” asked Rudi.
“Yes, a step on a logical path, I think.” Edward handed cigars to Hans and Rudi.
“I don’t understand,” Dr. Stein said passing his lighter to Edward.
“Come on Hans, wake up! They’re looking for a fight. They need it! Herr Hitler intends to introduce full employment by conscripting most of German youth into one uniform or another. He must have plans to do something with them and that’ll cost more money than’s being raised in taxation.” Edward sat back in his chair and breathed hard.
“Surely the allies will intervene?” Hans asked.
“If you think the Treaty of Versailles was worth a damn why did the Allies move the last of their troops from the Rhineland only two months ago?” Edward’s disgust at this weakness overcame his usual discretion.
“You worry me, Edward.”
“My dear friend, if I were you, which thank God I’m not, I’d start making plans to emigrate. There’s the intriguing question of where, when they’ve no citizenship and no cash, the Jewish people are going to go. Can you imagine what life will be like for anyone trapped here?”
The doctor was shocked, “You really believe all this is possible?”
“Definitely,” Edward said grimly, “you’ve only to look at the double dealing and bloodshed the members of this government have been involved in to see it as a very real, personal danger.”
“But Edward, I’m a German first. I fought for this country. What you suggest is impossible, I can’t accept it.”
“Your privilege,” Edward said curtly, offended by Steins rejection of his forecast.
“Darling,” Adela interrupted, “we’re getting too serious, shall we play bridge?”
“Of course,” Edward smiled in an effort to pass off the disagreement, “we can’t let that bunch of thugs ruin our evening.”
Dathan had not appeared to be listening particularly to Hans quarrel with Edward, but she was astonished at Edward’s knowledge. Watching Sebastian play the stock markets for years she knew knowledge was the hardest currency in the world, it was the fuel that controlled power. How much did he really know? Why hadn’t he warned her about Heydrich in stronger terms?
They returned to the lounge where Frau Gerber had set up a card table. The two middle aged couples began their opening rubber. Dathan and Rudi returned to the couch both holding their brandy. She glanced at him, “Do you believe Edward?”
Rudi nodded, “When I do leave Germany it’ll probably be for always.” He swilled the brandy around his glass, “I never go to a bar alone now and even if there’s a group of us trouble can start. A crowd of brownshirts could come in at any time. They’ve got tacit official approval to do anything short of killing and that we know’s just a matter of time. The old police force try to help out but they’re looking at their backs now they’ve been taken over by the S.S..”
“How can your father be so blind?”
“It’s beyond his comprehension Hitler’s rabble who were the biggest joke in Germany a few years ago are actually governing this country. The lunatics have taken over the asylum,” Rudi sighed, “he’s so buried in his work he doesn’t notice what’s happening. In hospitals sick Jew haters become needy people. Bigotry disappears when their life’s on the line.”
“I’ve met Heydrich a couple of times. He’s cultured, very sophisticated, hardly a barbarian. What you describe is so crude.”
“He usually has that effect on women apparently, he’s a well known philanderer,” Rudi grinned.
“So’s Sebastian,” she muttered, “oh what the hell! Lets talk about something else?”
“Fine, was your invitation serious?” he asked.
“Yes, you know you’re always welcome, you’re our extra bit of family.”
Rudi was touched, he took her hand and squeezed it, “It’ll give me time to arrange my emigration to New York, it’ll be easier for me to leave from England. When are you going?”
“About four days I’d guess. I’m tired of all these diplomatic parties.”
“By train?”
“How else?”
“Not risking an aeroplane?”
“Too cramped, I like to spread.”
“I can imagine how much luggage you have, you always empty your wardrobe when you visit anywhere.”
“I refuse to give up wearing hats,” Dathan laughed.
“And each one needs it own box, I remember very well,” Rudi’s rueful smile recalled the dozens he’d carried home from exhausting shopping expeditions. “It’ll be good to see Stephen again.”
“What’ll you do about your work here?” Dathan asked.
“It’s over. I was sacked from the University where I was teaching. I’ve spent the past few months trying to create my own style. I’ve wasted hours trying to paint like Picasso, Jawlensky and Gericault and a dozen others. Somehow I’ve lost my way, I thought I was long past all the dithering.”
“You think you’ll be able to settle better in New York?”
“Who knows, but it’ll be a fresh start and I’ve got to move somewhere. I’ve a cousin there who’ll help me find my way around.”
“Sounds tempting. I’m just about earning a living through my aunt and godmother.”
“Isn’t that the florist?”
“Yes, I design the unusual pieces she gets asked to make and sell bridal designs through her shop. They pay well as original creations.”
“So you’ve given up painting?”
“No, I don’t think I could ever do that but the work never comes easy. There’s so much prejudice against women artists, men always think we’re useless.”
Rudi acknowledged that truth and said, “You must get the odd commission, even from old friends?”
“Usually very odd commissions which no one else’ll touch.”
He laughed, “Visit me tomorrow, I’ll show you some of my work.”
They excused themselves and left the bridge players to their game. As Rudi retrieved his coat and hat she opened the twin sets of double doors onto the drive in front of the house.
“What a beautiful evening,” she breathed, “the air tastes like champagne. I can’t remember ever having such a clear view of the moon and stars from a city before.” She jerked nervously as a man passed by on the pavement.
“Another party goer,” Rudi suggested, “sure to be, they’re all diplomatic homes around here.” He stepped onto the drive, “Any time after lunch tomorrow?”
“Look forward to it Rudi,” she blew him a kiss, “good night.”
Dathan listened to his footsteps disappearing, it was too great a coincidence someone should suddenly arrive outside the house exactly when Rudi decided to leave. Closing the doors quietly she removed her shoes and crept up the stairs and into the front bedroom overlooking the street.
The shutters had not been closed and through the heavy lace curtain, by moonlight, she could see the bulky figure of the pedestrian returning. Watching idly, she saw him stop, lean against the fence opposite and light a cigarette. Dathan stood still thinking for a moment. If he didn’t care if he was seen, presumably he intended he should be, “Is he for Edward or have I been promoted from obscurity to interesting via a perforated hymen?” she muttered aloud.
6. Rudi’s Studio
The following day arrived wet, cold and miserable. Dathan lazed in bed feeling physically uncomfortable after her first experience of sex. There was no message from Heydrich and she dressed in a grey tailored suit and red silk blouse.
Edward was incommunicado working in his study according to Adela who was nursing a hangover. The weather seemed to have permeated the house.
“What are you doing on this ghastly day,” her aunt asked irritably
“Visiting Rudi,” Dathan answered noting Adela’s quarrelsome mood and keeping her voice even.
“We’re invited to another soirée this evening.”
“Do you mind if I miss this one Adela. I’d like to do some work this evening so I’ll have something ready to sell when I get back to London.”
This seemed acceptable to her aunt, “The invitation was open so the only person likely to miss you is Heydrich,” she added bitchily, “assuming he’s there.”
Dathan smiled, ignored the remark and left the house quickly. During a restless night she’d thought endlessly about the dinner conversation of the previous evening. She knew, moving in Sebastian’s circle of friends occasionally which included national politicians of all persuasions, the political situation in Germany was appreciated, at least by them. The rest of the United Kingdom was not so well informed. English newspapers were very insular, the Empire merited more space than Europe. Someone as currently obscure, as Heydrich wouldn’t rate a column. She thought that would appeal to the Colonel, it’d always suit him to operate in shadows.
She was aware of being followed but felt untroubled. It did confirm she was being watched which meant Heydrich was still interested in her. She wasn’t sure if she was pleased or not. Her ambivalence bothered her more knowing it was caused by the pleasure they’d taken in each other. She’d never realised the difference the act itself made to the way women reacted to a man afterwards.
Dathan paused in front of a shop window. She knew from her upbringing and reading, women’s status and the expectations held of them were a social construction of reality. Until yesterday afternoon she’d always felt she was immune to society’s influence and perceptions. That society was emphatic women’s sexuality was only respectable within the boundary of marriage. There was no other category between Madonna and whore. Worse, in marriage women were expected to be submissive and submerge their ambition in a welter of household care and children. Sebastian hadn’t raised her for that. He’d deliberately stoked the fires of her ambitions. Dathan grinned, Heydrich had made losing her virginity a joy and she was grateful to him, but their affair had to end with that. She couldn’t get involved with a monstrous carpetbagger, there was no time, too much else to do. In a few days she’d be leaving and would never see him again. He’d be a pleasant memory. If only she could resolve her confusion as to whether sex meant love or just sex.
Dathan became gradually aware she was staring at a plate of strudel with a gleaming golden honey glaze. It was surrounded by elaborate chocolate and cream confections, sachertorte and fruit tartlets. The display was compelling, an artwork in pastry and sugar drawing the eye from one delicacy to the next. In the shop she dithered between choices thinking of Rudi’s sweet tooth. She asked the woman serving what to buy feeling certain he’d never pass by without spending a few marks and was taken aback by the expression of distaste on the shopkeeper’s face.
Thoughtfully, Dathan left the shop, found Rudi’s home and was ushered into his studio by the Stein’s housekeeper. It was a large airy room with windows filling three walls. A colourful muddle of artists’ materials, arranged sets and clutter spilled across the room in riotous confusion. Rudi sat at an easel, charcoal in hand.
“Welcome,” he grinned, “come in and have a drink.”
“What?” Dathan asked handing him the cake box then removing her Robin Hood style scarlet hat and matching kid gloves.
“Beer or hock,” he answered looking at her gift, “you’ve been to Königs. They stopped serving me a couple of weeks ago and I’ve really missed their baking.”
“Christ! You must have been one of their best customers,” Dathan said surprised.
“I was, but they’re National Socialists.”
“Now I know they’re all crazy, putting politics before profit. I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she said looking towards his easel. She scrutinised the sketch for a moment or two then drank from the uncapped bottle of beer. “It’s good, who is it?”
“Doesn’t he have a marvellous face?”
“Ageless!”
“Nature’s deception, he’s got terminal cancer. I’ve spent a lot of time with him and watched his body weaken and his will to live grow stronger and burn in his face.”
“Your delineation is perfect.”
“It’s wonderful to be appreciated again, I’m so glad you came.” He waved his hand toward the far end of the room. A large number of canvasses lay against each other in no apparent order, “All my work for the past fifteen years,” he indicated, bottle in hand.
“You kept everything?” Dathan was astonished.
“Not exactly. My father said if I insisted on being a painter I’d better have the right tools for the job. No matter how bad they were they’d be accomplished with real paint. I’ve painted over most of the early stuff,” he said, “look, I’ll show you what I was talking about last night.” He pulled out four or five canvasses.
“Pissaro isn’t it? ‘Ille Lacrois,” she looked at it with professional interest.
“Yes. What a mess I’ve made of it” He shook his head, “I have the patience but maybe I don’t have the intellect for this style.” He showed her another canvas, “A miserable excursion into cubism.”
Dathan had to agree, “It’s not your best Rudi, but every artist goes through a period like this. Maybe it’s because you don’t care about the subjects, I mean like you do for the man with cancer.”
“It’s such a waste of time,” Rudi was exasperated with himself.
“Does that matter?” she asked gently, “is it that important?”
“Yes, if I’m going to earn a living. I won’t have the financial support of my parents once I move away.”