Peppi arrived in London just in time to celebrate his seventy-fifth birthday. Despite his advanced age, Peppi adjusted to his new environment in no time. Soon he felt at home both in Hampstead and in Kensington Church Street. With the joint efforts of father and daughter, Theophil’s Antiques continued to flourish. Within two years, they had taken over all the shopping space in the house. To facilitate further expansion, Peppi purchased the building.
Socially, too, Peppi’s move proved successful. To his own surprise, he was elected Treasurer and later on President of Artiquar. He was also elected an officer of the Association of Antique Dealers and became a regular contributor of articles on old master prints and on tapestries. In addition, he frequented important auctions held in the international sales rooms. This regular attendance at leading events contributed to the rapid growth of Theophil’s Antiques. An old customer from Munich, who recognised Peppi at a Christie’s sale, accompanied him back to Kensington Church Street. On his return to Munich, he spread the word about the London shop. Many of Peppi’s old customers made the pilgrimage to Theophil’s Antiques.
Peppi’s substantial income enabled him to donate large sums to causes he considered worthy. He also gave artefacts from his ever-growing collection to museums and art galleries. This service to the public did not go unnoticed. In due course, Peppi was Knighted. Despite his worldly outlook, he savoured the recognition conferred on him in this manner. Lucy, too, was elated. As they walked home after a sumptuous celebration dinner in Peppi’s favourite Viennese restaurant in Chelsea, Lucy said to him smilingly:
“Well, Sir Joseph-Dieter Freiherr von Stölzenfeld – how does it feel to be a nob?”
“I only wish that Helga had lived to see this. She would have been delighted – even if she had snorted!”
“Do you think of her often, Papa?”
“I do,” confided Peppi. He paused for a moment; “Your mother was the caring type, even if she didn’t always let you see it. I was happy with her.”
“I know, Papa. But you seldom mention her name.”
“True,” said Peppi.
“Perhaps your thoughts are too … intimate?”
“I still wonder, Lucy, if she was happy with me,” the words wrenched themselves out of Peppi’s mouth.
“Why do you doubt it?”
“Don’t you recall what Anna said to me?”
“She was way off the mark there. Mother kept praying you’d have a change of heart. But, no, she wouldn’t have wanted you to put on a show for her sake. She hated humbug!”
“Was she happy, Lucy?”
“She was content.”
“What was remiss?”
“When mother and you got married – were you in love with her?” asked Lucy after a pause.
“I respected and appreciated her. I knew she would be a model wife!”
“But were you in love with her?”
“I was about fifty when we married: not the age of passionate love and romance.”
“I suspect she wanted it. Mother was a romantic girl at heart. Her tough shell and sharp tongue were a façade. You were her first love.”
“I showed her as much tenderness as was in me,” said Peppi, apologetic but not on the defensive.
“I know. Anna and I used to watch you creep into the kitchen in the morning to make mother a cup of coffee, how you always came home with a big smile and, more often than not, with a bunch of flowers or some other token for her, and how you always rushed to help her with the dishes and any other chore.”
“Did she understand?”
“Didn’t she ever! Mother used to wake up early, Papa. But she stayed in bed, pretending to be asleep, just because she liked her Peppi to get up first and make her a cup of coffee. She knew you were a good husband; and she was appreciative and contented. But deep down she yearned for the big breakthrough. Still, you mustn’t blame yourself: you gave her everything you could.”
“I did,” said Peppi.
Theophil’s Antiques continued to prosper. Despite the onslaught of old age, Peppi retained his drive and versatility. His success was reflected in the steady growth of the portfolios he maintained with his Swiss bank. Occasionally, when he retired to his study to calculate his financial position, he looked in amazement at the figures that stared up at him. For a kid from one of Vienna’s working class districts he had not done too badly; he had metamorphosed into a gentrified millionaire-autodidact with fine achievements under his belt.
Moreover, his calling was also his hobby – his main passion in his comfortable and robust old age. The only thorn in his flesh was the rift with Anna. In search of solace, Peppi often took his special bottle out of its hiding place and, on experiencing the serenity produced by its elixir, had a lengthy and comforting conversation with his invisible benefactor.
Lucy hoped to reconcile Peppi and Anna. She knew she had to bide her time but she kept her eyes wide open. When, eventually, the opportunity presented itself, she discovered to her dismay that the breach could not be mended. The wound inflicted by Anna had been too deep. Despite his urbane and usually tolerant outlook on life, Peppi had become inflexible on this issue.
The olive branch from Bremen came in the form a letter, announcing the birth of Gregory Erwin. Anna confided that they had been trying for a child unsuccessfully for a few years but, at long last, their prayers had been answered. She hoped that Lucy and Peppi would come over for the baptism. It was to take place in Otto’s church.
“Well, Papa: so I’m going to be Auntie Lucy and you are a grandfather. Shall I book seats on Lufthansa for tomorrow?” asked Lucy.
“Just one seat,” said Peppi.
“Papa!”
“No, Lucy – I’m not going. But you must, of course, go.”
“But why aren’t you coming with me?”
“I have no stomach for a Christening! And I think it’s wrong to baptise babies.”
“Since when have you become so doctrinaire, Papa? Why not treat it as a reconciliation – a family reunion? And don’t you want to see your grandson?”
“Not in the circumstances!”
“What’s wrong with ‘the circumstances’?”
“You better tell me what is wrong with ‘Joseph’ or, if that’s too common a name, with ‘Dieter’?”
“So that’s the real reason! I never thought you – of all men – would be so petty! Why can’t you accept Anna’s explanation? The baby is named ‘Gregory’ after ‘Gregory the Great’, whom her Otto admires, and ‘Erwin’ is the name of Otto’s father. Don’t you think you are being too sensitive?”
“No, I am not! Anna has excommunicated me. For years she has given me the leper treatment. She even failed to invite me to her wedding. Frequently, I asked her what the matter was. But she just kept that stubborn silence of hers. Does she think I have no feelings? I may be an old man, Lucy, but I’m not ready to crawl!”
“But she’s offering you an olive branch.”
“Coupled with a barb! No, Lucy, don’t argue with me! Anna can call her baby whatever she wants. But I’m not coming; and that’s that!”
“Why don’t you sleep on it, Papa,” implored Lucy. “I’m not suggesting Anna has done the right thing by you. But there is give and take in life. You used to tell me this in the old days, when I flew off the handle. Do you really want to close the door once and for all?”
“Anna closed the door on me. And I’m not taking an opening on her terms. But, alright, I’ll think it over. I don’t want to act hastily.”
Peppi’s painful meditations during that long, dark and sleepless night failed to produce a change of heart. Nor did a conversation which he had early next morning with Theophil. Initially, Theophil refused to become involved. The matter concerned Peppi’s relationship with Anna. To resolve it, Peppi had to make his own decision.
“Is it a crucial decision?” asked Peppi.
“It is rather,” replied his friend. “If you fly over, you accept a reconciliation on her terms. If you turn her down, you may pass the point of no return.”
“Shall I simply send a gift, plus a cheque, accompanied by a letter explaining that my travelling days are over?”
“I see no need for the cheque. She might see in it an attempt to patronise her. Better send a valuable gift.”
Lucy flew to Bremen unaccompanied. Her hand luggage, though, was heavy. In addition to her own generous gifts, she carried Peppi’s gift: a silver goblet produced during the days of Gregory the Great. In the accompanying letter Peppi congratulated his second daughter warmly and wished all of them well. He went on to explain that his travelling days were over. Still, he hoped to see them ‘one bright day over here in London’.
Lucy returned after three days. Peppi gauged that she liked Otto, was delighted to see Anna once again and had been charmed by little Gregory Erwin.
“He is so cute, and he has such a lovely smile. But you know what is so very funny?”
“Well?”
“Otto is quite a bit like you!”
“Oh?”
“He is a big warm hearted sort of a fellow. He is not the aggressive type of clergyman you hate so much.”
“That’s a comfort,” mumbled Peppi, unconvinced.
“And, somehow, I don’t think it was his idea to shut you out of their wedding. He asked a lot about you. I think he would like to meet you.”
“The flight from Bremen to London takes exactly the same time as the flight from London to Bremen,” grumbled Peppi.
“But I’m not sure Anna is keen on the trip. You turned her down. That didn’t help.”
“I have resigned myself to not seeing her again,” said Peppi sombrely. “But I do wish I knew what went wrong. Lucy – do you know?”
“Anna told me – just after it happened. But she made me promise not to tell. And she reminded me of my vow of silence again and again.”
“So, of course, you can’t tell me. But perhaps you can tell me this much – is it something I did or said? What on earth can it be?”
“It’s something that went through her mind. You mustn’t blame yourself, Papa. I tried to talk her out of it but it was no good.”
“Then my only course of action is to dismiss it from my mind.”