The Poellenberg Inheritance Read Online Free

answered. If she faced her mother and stepfather, they would combine together as they always had, and she would retire from them in defeat.
    They didn’t want to discuss her father. The General, Paul Bronsart, dead and buried in the Russian wastes around Stalingrad; they had laid his ghost and enjoyed their association without any sense of guilt, so long as he and what he represented were effaced from memory. It was such a pity she had been born, Paula thought angrily. That must have made it difficult for her mother to forget that she was the widow of a distinguished German soldier. She had fraternised with the invader within months of his death. They had been living in their old house in the Platzburg outside Munich when the Allied forces entered the city and the company commander billeted himself and six of his officers in their home. Paula had heard the story from her mother in snatches over the years, a sentence here and there and once a sentimental recital of how the Brigadier, then a young major, had discovered the mistress of the mansion living in the freezing attics with a sick little girl. It had all been very touching, and Paula remembered how they had reached across and held hands while they talked about it. Her mother had married him, and fled the ruins of Germany to make a new life for herself, cocooned by the adoration of her English husband. They were inseparable, smug, completely wrapped up in each other. The inference was very plain to Paula. Whatever her father was like, his wife couldn’t have cared for him at all.
    Paula got up and lit a cigarette. She felt tired and angry, trapped in the house at least for that evening, a criminal waiting in the room below while her mother stayed upstairs to be comforted. The clock in the hall outside struck eight o’clock, and at the last chime the door opened and her mother stood there.
    â€˜Aren’t you coming for dinner? We’re waiting.’
    He must have got up and come down to support her.
    Two against one again.
    â€˜I’m not hungry,’ Paula said. ‘I’ve got a headache, I think I’ll just go to bed, if you don’t mind.’
    Mrs. Ridgeway came into the room. Her daughter noticed that she had changed out of her tweeds into a long black skirt and blouse. She looked very pale and handsome.
    â€˜Paula, you’ve been crying! I haven’t seen you cry since you were a child. Do come and have some dinner with us. Do let us forget this stupid quarrel.’ She came and put a hand on Paula’s arm. She looked concerned.
    â€˜I don’t want to quarrel,’ Paula said. ‘I’m sorry I swore at you, Mother.’
    â€˜That’s all right, dear. Just promise me you’ll forget all about that telephone call. Have nothing to do with it. It will be better for all of us.’
    â€˜Why? Can you just answer me that? Why will it be better?’
    â€˜Because there’s nothing to be gained by bringing up the past.’ The look was firm, determined to overcome resistance. She had made her gesture and now she was demanding her price. Surrender. Now do what I want and forget the whole thing.
    Paula shrugged and stubbed out the cigarette. Her stepfather detested anyone smoking during meals. ‘That’s not much of an answer, Mother. But I can see it’s the only one you’re going to give me, so don’t let’s argue. I’ll have dinner and then I will go to bed early.’ She opened the door and her mother went ahead without answering. Paula heard her stepfather coughing in the dining room.
    Nothing was mentioned the next day. Paula slept late, and drove her mother to the village for some shopping. Everything seemed normal and peaceful. The Brigadier had been friendly and in good spirits the night before, but Paula was not deceived. All was not what it appeared. In spite of the people invited to drinks, the determined bonhomie of her stepfather, who was thick and spluttering