‘What did the anonymous blackmailer demand?’
‘That's just it, he didn't ask for anything. He was just giving away intimate secrets. And it is not known whether it was “he” or “she”. Examination established that the handwriting, rather, female. Suspicion fell on my older sister Charlotte, but she herself received many of these offensive anonymous letters. Can you imagine how mad our brother was?’
‘I'm sure the Kaiser ordered an immediate investigation to find the culprit!’
‘What's the use? Letters have been coming for years. Imagine, for years! And in each letter were juicy details from the personal life of someone from the Imperial family. The secret police arrested anyone who might have had anything to do with it. Many people were arrested and released. Everyone quarreled with each other. Several duels were fatal. Ah, the authority of the monarchy is undermined! Ah, the Emperor and his court live by a double morality! Still the echoes of this scandal can be heard…’
‘So they found the scoundrel?’
‘Found. My sister Charlotte once lost her diary, and in it she wrote down everything-all the secrets and even her own fantasies. This diary fell into the hands of the blackmailer. Wilhelm banished him from the country.’
Sophie at parting embraced Kerr.
‘Archie, dear Archie, never keep diaries; they have a fatal tendency to be read by other people! Will you find your way back?’
The next morning they met before Breakfast in the rainsoaked garden. Sophie was not alone; her older sister, Charlotte, was sitting beside her. Sophie seemed to be telling her something funny, for her sister laughed incessantly, opening her mouth ugly.
A few hours later Sophie left for Athens. They parted good friends.
When Kerr returned home, he wanted to write down in his diary his thoughts on the events of the last hours. He felt guilty for some reason. The whole thing looked very strange. It was a horrible mixture of delight and disappointment, joy and emptiness at the same time. He had no other words. He remembered the hot whisper of the Princess: “Never keep a diary!” And he laid down his pen.
A few days later he wrote in a treasured notebook: “Berlin demolishes all the masculinity of a person and makes him a kind of asexual medusa. I’m imbued with an unspeakable hatred of Berlin.”
To Princess Sophie this hatred did not apply. He still thought of her with warmth and tenderness. They would meet again in 1914. The last summer before the war Kerr will spend on a cruise in the Mediterranean, and in Athens he will pay a friendly visit to the house of the King of Greece, or rather his wife.
Queen Sophie was heartily glad to see him and held out her hand. They sat for a while on a soft Sofa in the shade of an old Fig tree. Then, as she had six years before, she led him by the hand into the Palace. In the ornate hall she showed a novelty – a portable gramophone. Smiling affectionately, she put on a record.
‘That's Tine Rossi – a charming voice, is not it? Remember our tango in Berlin?’
‘Of course I do,’ Kerr said. ‘I have a professional memory.’
Chapter 4
What can you do make for victory?
Before Easter 1910, Archibald Kerr finally said goodbye to Berlin. A decade later, he sadly wrote in his diary: “I think that I did not pay enough attention to official Affairs, I spent too much time on different meetings, and I should have been more serious in Berlin. It’s clear that today I cannot change anything…”
However, the Ministry of foreign Affairs officially stated that Kerr was the most conscientious and hardworking employee while working in Germany. In any case, over the years he has accumulated experience, increased self-esteem and confidence in the right choice of profession, as well as the ability to apply diplomatic charm to the envy of friends and enemies.
His new assignment in Buenos Aires was very short. Kerr didn't even have time to look around and understand his responsibilities. He had come to the endlessly bustling, manyvoiced city, noisily celebrating the centenary of freedom, and at the first opportunity had gone to the shores of La Plata to take a break from the constant noise. He did not succeed. Early in the morning he was awakened by the neighing of a horse and shouts near the tent.
‘Mr. Kerr! I'm looking for Mr. Archibald Kerr!’
He had to get dressed and leave the tent.
‘There's an urgent telegram for you!’
The postman, still on his horse, handed him the yellow paper.
‘Please accept my condolences!’
He put two fingers to the peak of his uniform cap and rode away.
The message from Sydney was short: “Father died on the twenty-second. Please come. The funeral will take place on the twenty-seventh.”
It was a heavy blow. Archie hadn't seen his father in ten years, but he felt his father's concern and pride in his diplomat son. And now his father was gone. Father's gone forever now, and there's nothing you can do.
The Ministry sincerely sympathized and gave additional leave, so that Kerr could remain in Australia until the spring. During this time he tried to calm his mother and did another important thing. A difficult relationship with Australian relatives forced him to change his surname. Since 1911, he officially became known by another name – Archibald John Kerr. With small correction: the first its name of Archibald he always liked much more second. So it goes from the beginning of our story.
In March, Archie Kerr returned to duty. However it was not Argentina. He was assigned to the British mission in Washington. At the time, there were only nine diplomats under the liberal James Bryce, a completely unique personality.
Bryce was in his seventies. He was Scottish, too. And he, too, after the community colleges raised their education in the German and French universities. He and Kerr had a lot in common. And the difference is one – in age.
‘I could adopt you, Archie,’ Bryce said, smiling. ‘But I see my task in having time to convey to you, such an ambitious and talented person, the accumulated knowledge and understanding of life.’
Bryce was an expert in everything. His student works on the history of the Roman Empire received first places at the University. He was a brilliant jurist. By the time he was Kerr's age, He was head of the civil law Department at Oxford. He knew several languages. He traveled a lot, was engaged in mountaineering. He conquered many mountain peaks. And when he came down from Ararat, he claimed to have seen the remains of Noah's ark. No one believed him then, but in vain – it was there, in a completely inaccessible place, a century later the nose of an ancient ship will be seen from an airplane…
‘Would you like to travel with me to Russia, young man? Are you tempted to ride on the Trans-Siberian railway through this huge and mysterious country?’
Archibald didn't know what to say.
‘Maybe some other time.’
‘I hope you'll have the opportunity later. Don't miss it!’
In the eyes of the young diplomat, Bryce was not a boss, he was a real hero. Kerr admired his intelligence and eccentricity, especially his habit of beginning every morning with a dictionary of the country in which he was or where he was going.
‘A diplomat must know foreign languages. Read ten or twenty pages of someone else's dictionary every morning,’ the old Professor advised. ‘Let you remember nothing – but when it is necessary, the brain itself will pull out the right words from the subconscious. To understand someone else's speech is very important for a diplomat.’
One year has passed. James Bryce went to the Far East. Without such a teacher, Kerr was suddenly lonely. Other friends in this small collective at it and did not appear. Everyone now had to work almost for days. Fortunately,