in an environment he knew well and I could see too that it was an exciting place to be now that the fall of the Berlin Wall was generating talk of German reunification. Realising how keen he was to sample the Deutsch-buzz and acknowledging how frazzled I felt after the divorce-mess, I decided I was more than willing to postpone my dream of a long-haul flight to the Seychelles, and anyway I was so pleased to be Mrs. Betz at last that I found the last thing I wanted to be picky about was the location of the honeymoon.
Fortunately Germany turned out to be fun. What a difference it makes to travel in a foreign country with someone who can speak the language! We visited Cologne, so that Kim could show me his parents’ city, and then we withdrew for Christmas to a very grand castle which had been converted into a hotel. It seemed strange not to be trekking north to Newcastle and Glasgow for the annual pulse-check, but I was secretly relieved to delay exhibiting Kim to my family.
“Will they be upset?” Kim had asked in concern when we had been planning the honeymoon, but I had assured him my parents would understand.
In fact it was not until I reached Germany that I wrote to my parents to inform them I was married. After revealing my husband’s name I wrote to my mother: “Don’t be cross at missing the wedding—it only lasted a couple of minutes, certainly not long enough to justify a trip south, and hardly anyone was present except a few people we’ve known for years. I’ll send you some copies of the honeymoon photos so that you can see how nice-looking he is. He’s a forty-nine-year-old lawyer with a top job at an investment bank—” I paused to debate whether I should mention that he was of German descent, but decided this fact was best omitted. I then wondered whether to mention that he was half-Jewish, but decided this fact was best omitted too. Provincial people could be so insular. Finally I concluded: “—and he came to England from America many years ago. He was educated at a famous school and at Oxford, so he’s got class as well as brass—all right, I know he’s not exactly ‘the boy next door,’ but I was never going to marry one of those, was I? Love, KATIE.”
This letter took me a long time to write and my labours had to be aided by two large glasses of German champagne. But afterwards I dashed off a note which read: “Hi Dad—sorry no Xmas viz this yr— honeymooning in Krautland—Kim’s a bank lawyer, surname BETZ, Yankish accent, naturalised Brit, earns megabucks, drives a Mercedes, wears Savile Row suits (like James Bond) and
even has handmade shoes
. Everything totally brill. Love, KITTY. PS. Get the pic? £££ are his business. So don’t be dumb enough to dream of fleecing him.”
I mailed both these letters with relief.
Then at last I was entirely free to luxuriate in marital bliss.
VI
I noticed that every German we met assumed Kim was a German citizen living only temporarily in London, and Kim never made any attempt to disillusion them. He certainly never mentioned South America, but on the other hand, as I said to myself, why go looking for trouble? Everyone knew South America had been a favourite destination after the war for those Nazis who feared they would have a date with the prosecutors at Nuremberg, and it would have been tedious for Kim to keep explaining that his Jewish father had left Germany in the 1930s. I thought it was very sensible that whenever he was asked where he came from he simply said: “Köln.” No one ever expressed any surprise, and it made me realise that his German, unlike his English, was unmarred by any trace of a foreign accent. I had studied German at school so I could speak the language in a limited fashion and understand more than I spoke, but I could not hear the different accents. I only knew Kim was never questioned about his.
“I simply speak as my parents spoke,” he said easily when I raised the subject, “and we always spoke
Fortunately Germany turned out to be fun. What a difference it makes to travel in a foreign country with someone who can speak the language! We visited Cologne, so that Kim could show me his parents’ city, and then we withdrew for Christmas to a very grand castle which had been converted into a hotel. It seemed strange not to be trekking north to Newcastle and Glasgow for the annual pulse-check, but I was secretly relieved to delay exhibiting Kim to my family.
“Will they be upset?” Kim had asked in concern when we had been planning the honeymoon, but I had assured him my parents would understand.
In fact it was not until I reached Germany that I wrote to my parents to inform them I was married. After revealing my husband’s name I wrote to my mother: “Don’t be cross at missing the wedding—it only lasted a couple of minutes, certainly not long enough to justify a trip south, and hardly anyone was present except a few people we’ve known for years. I’ll send you some copies of the honeymoon photos so that you can see how nice-looking he is. He’s a forty-nine-year-old lawyer with a top job at an investment bank—” I paused to debate whether I should mention that he was of German descent, but decided this fact was best omitted. I then wondered whether to mention that he was half-Jewish, but decided this fact was best omitted too. Provincial people could be so insular. Finally I concluded: “—and he came to England from America many years ago. He was educated at a famous school and at Oxford, so he’s got class as well as brass—all right, I know he’s not exactly ‘the boy next door,’ but I was never going to marry one of those, was I? Love, KATIE.”
This letter took me a long time to write and my labours had to be aided by two large glasses of German champagne. But afterwards I dashed off a note which read: “Hi Dad—sorry no Xmas viz this yr— honeymooning in Krautland—Kim’s a bank lawyer, surname BETZ, Yankish accent, naturalised Brit, earns megabucks, drives a Mercedes, wears Savile Row suits (like James Bond) and
even has handmade shoes
. Everything totally brill. Love, KITTY. PS. Get the pic? £££ are his business. So don’t be dumb enough to dream of fleecing him.”
I mailed both these letters with relief.
Then at last I was entirely free to luxuriate in marital bliss.
VI
I noticed that every German we met assumed Kim was a German citizen living only temporarily in London, and Kim never made any attempt to disillusion them. He certainly never mentioned South America, but on the other hand, as I said to myself, why go looking for trouble? Everyone knew South America had been a favourite destination after the war for those Nazis who feared they would have a date with the prosecutors at Nuremberg, and it would have been tedious for Kim to keep explaining that his Jewish father had left Germany in the 1930s. I thought it was very sensible that whenever he was asked where he came from he simply said: “Köln.” No one ever expressed any surprise, and it made me realise that his German, unlike his English, was unmarred by any trace of a foreign accent. I had studied German at school so I could speak the language in a limited fashion and understand more than I spoke, but I could not hear the different accents. I only knew Kim was never questioned about his.
“I simply speak as my parents spoke,” he said easily when I raised the subject, “and we always spoke
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