‘That’s because he was a very wise man.’
Tayte nodded, and slowly his smile faded. He’d first met Jean on a visit to London to see Marcus, unaware that his friend had set them both up on a blind date. He recalled the day with startling clarity—the day Marcus was murdered.
‘I still miss him.’
‘Of course you do. So do I. I can picture him smiling down at us, feeling very pleased with the way things are going between us. And he’d be over the moon to know that his research has brought you closer to finding your family.’
‘I owe him so much,’ Tayte said. ‘Did you know he used to teach family history back home in DC? This is going way back. It’s how we met.’
‘Yes, he mentioned it when he first told me about you.’
‘Of course he did.’ Tayte thought back to those times and smiled to himself. ‘I’m sure he was just as keen to find my family as I was. It hurts to know I can never repay him.’
‘Find your family,’ Jean said. ‘For yourself and for Marcus. That’s how you can repay him. I can’t imagine anything would have made him happier.’
Tayte reached over and put his hand on the back of Jean’s. He’d never been one to show his emotions too readily, and he was finding it hard to tell Jean exactly how he felt about her now. But he sensed Jean understood that about him. They exchanged smiles, and in that moment he knew his message had been received and understood. Then the voice on the sat-nav interrupted the moment to let them know that they had arrived at their destination.
‘There it is,’ Tayte said, gazing through the windscreen at the wide, neo-classical structure with its high, pillared portico.
Apart from the grand entrance, it was little more than a dressed-up blot of concrete and windows—a lot of windows. Tayte thought the building looked even more oppressive in reality than it did in the newspaper clipping Marcus had left him, despite the obvious effort to enhance the surrounding space with trees and shrubs, and what appeared to be a picnic area with wooden bench tables. The building’s fa?ade was in shade, which didn’t help. Tayte drove into the car park at the front of the building, which he supposed was once a Hitler Youth parade ground, and found a space with ease.
‘It’s not very busy,’ Jean said, reading his thoughts. ‘I suppose it gets busier at weekends.’
They got out of the car and strode up to the entrance. Tayte’s eyes immediately fixed on the two stone lions at the top of the steps to either side of the main doors. He pictured his mother standing between them a little over fifty years ago and his eyes wandered up to the restored words above the entrance: ‘Blut und Ehre’. Tayte climbed the steps and put his hands on one of the lions, feeling the cool stone against his palms. He wondered whether his mother had perhaps touched that very spot, and for a moment he felt so close to her that a shiver ran through him.
As he followed Jean into the building, he felt as if he had just stepped back in time to the 1930s. He heard faint but rousing classical music that crackled as though being played through an old gramophone or Bakelite radio set. It was disconcerting at first to see Nazi Party flags being displayed so flagrantly in the hall they had just entered, but he supposed it was all part of the experience, and he had to admit that it was working. He thought it was going a bit too far though when he saw the young attendant waiting to sell them their tickets. He was kitted out in a Hitler Youth costume, replete with achievement badges, and he even wore a short blonde wig to complete the stereotypical Aryan look, although it was poorly fitted and curled at the edges.
‘Zwei, bitte,’ Jean said, while Tayte was still staring at the young man in disbelief.
They followed the guide book they had been given to their left, into a room full of cabinets displaying items from the period. One wall showed a line of boy-sized mannequins dressed in the various iterations of the Hitler Youth uniform through the years.
‘I don’t know about you,’ Tayte said once he thought the attendant was out of earshot, ‘but I found that more than a little unsettling.’