Chapter 2
In the summer of nineteen hundred and two, Oskar’s parents and siblings sailed across the English Channel, then made their way north to Scotland to visit the couple.
His wealthy father paid for them all to stay at The Gairloch Arms inn for a week, and the German family delighted in getting to know Rachel, as she did them.
One evening, the conversation eventually turned to that of the status of Oskar’s marriage.
“I have some news for you,” his sister Lotte told the couple as they all sat at one of the dining room’s huge, solid oak tables over dinner. “You remember, Oskar, that I used to be friends with Ingrid in our youth?”
“Of course I remember,” he said. “I first met her when you brought her to our house. You were both about what, sixteen?”
“Yes, sixteen. Well, you also probably know that throughout our lives, she and I have moved in the same social circles, so I hear all the gossip.”
“Please tell me she’s dead, then I can remarry,” he joked, squeezing Rachel’s hand.
“Oskar!” Lotte exclaimed. “What a terrible thing to say! No, she’s not dead, but she married. In May.”
Oskar stared at her. “What?” he asked then. “In Germany? How could she marry when she’s still married to me?”
“Well, she did somehow, and yes, in Germany,” Lotte confirmed. “I heard she assumed a new identity, and claimed to be a widow.”
Oskar gave a low whistle. “So I was right, she did go to Germany,” he said. “The solicitor told me in the spring that she had absconded. And she’s committed bigamy! And she’s said I’m dead?” he asked, shocked.
“I suppose she did. And not only that, guess who she married!” Lotte went on.
“I’ve no idea,” Oskar admitted. “Some poor unsuspecting sod.”
“A Scot!” Lotte continued. “Apparently, he was her bank manager.”
Oskar was momentarily speechless with disbelief.
“What? Henderson? He was also my bank manager!” he finally managed to exclaim.
“And he couldn’t give me a straight answer as to how my savings were hardly growing.
I heard that he’d left the bank. Strangely, after that, the interest on my balance returned to normal.
Now I’m inclined to think he’d been syphoning it off to fund her. ”
“And you also have income from renting your flat?” his father questioned then.
“I do,” Oskar confirmed. “That’s what’s keeping us afloat. Do you know where they’re living now?” he asked Lotte.
“Yes, back in Bremen, would you believe!” she exclaimed.
In their room at the inn that night, Oskar fumed. “I need to do something about my wife!” he stated angrily, pacing the floor. “When my family leaves, I’m going to accompany them as far as Glasgow. I’m going to see Kincaid and tell him everything. There must be something I can do!”
The solicitor’s office in Glasgow had not changed: narrow, dimly lit, and lined with shelves that bowed under the weight of paper and time. Robert Kincaid rose as Oskar was shown in.
“Mister Bauer,” he said, extending a hand. “It’s been almost a year.”
Oskar shook Kincaid’s hand briefly. “It has.”
They took their seats, and the clerk withdrew, closing the door with a soft, careful click that sealed the room against interruption. For a moment, neither spoke. Then Oskar reached into his coat and laid a folded document on the desk – a page filled with notes of his sister’s declarations.
“This concerns my marital status, and hopefully, my divorce,” Oskar began.
“My wife is in Germany, alive, and living with a Scottish man who was once my bank manager here in Glasgow. And - ” he paused, resisting the thought, “they’re married.
Or rather my sister, living in the same town, says they are. ”
Kincaid stared at Oskar for a long moment before adjusting his spectacles and drawing the paper towards him. He read in silence, his expression growing more intent as he went. At length, he looked up. “Well,” he said quietly, “that’s something.”
“Something?” Oskar queried, leaning forward. “It’s everything. You told me yourself, last year, that I could not proceed because she could not be found. Now, she’s found. Now there’s proof - of desertion, of adultery, and now, it seems, of bigamy. If this isn’t sufficient, what is?”
Kincaid held up a cautioning hand. “Mister Bauer, I do not dispute the strength of what you’ve brought. On the contrary - these seem strong, substantial grounds,” he said, tapping the papers lightly.
“Then we proceed,” Oskar said, his hope swiftly rising. “At once.”
Kincaid did not answer immediately, but leaned back in his chair, studying Oskar over the rim of his spectacles. “It’s not quite as simple as that.”
Oskar’s patience, already strained, thinned further. “You just said yourself - ”
“I said the grounds seem strong,” the solicitor replied calmly, interrupting. “I didn’t say the process would be straightforward.”
“Then please explain.”
There was a pause. “Very well,” Kincaid said.
“Previously, the matter failed because your wife disappeared to goodness knows where, and could not be served. That obstacle, as you rightly observe, may now be overcome. If her whereabouts are known, we may attempt service in Germany, or, failing that, apply for substituted service.”
“Then there’s no impediment.”
“There are always impediments in a case like this,” the solicitor countered.
“Foreign service is not a matter of simply posting a letter. There are formalities - channels to be observed, proofs to be established. It takes time. And even then, the court must be satisfied that every proper effort has been made.”
“I’ve waited this long,” Oskar said. “I can wait a few months more.”
“Quite.” Kincaid hesitated, then went on. “There is also the matter of presentation,” he said carefully.
“Presentation?”
“The court will require the case to be set out with precision,” the solicitor said.
“The evidence marshalled properly, the legal arguments framed with due regard to precedent and procedure. It’s not merely a question of having the right on one’s side – it’s a question of how that right is brought before the court.
When dealing with a foreign country in a divorce case, the matter is extremely complex. ”
“And you cannot do this?”
“I can do it,” Kincaid replied. “The question is, whether I can do it to the fullest advantage.”
Silence fell as Oskar stared at him. “You’re telling me there are others who could do it better?”
The solicitor clasped his hands on the desk.
“I’m telling you,” he said, “that in a case such as this - complex, protracted, involving foreign elements and a history of failed proceedings - it may be advisable to place it in the hands of someone with greater influence, who would have both the experience and the standing to ensure the case is advanced with the necessary weight.”
“And you do not,” Oskar said.
The solicitor met the bluntness without flinching. “I do not,” he conceded.
Another silence followed. Outside, faint through the window, came the distant rumble of the city, carts on cobbles, voices, the ordinary movement of life continuing without regard for what passed within that room.
Oskar leaned back, the force of his frustration contained.
“For sixteen years,” he said slowly, “I’ve been bound to a woman who’s now absconded.
She’s living another life abroad, bigamously, under another man’s name.
And now - now that there’s proof of it - you tell me I must begin again, and perhaps fail again, unless I place the matter in other hands. ”
“I tell you that you have, at last, a case that may succeed. Proof of all this” – he tapped the document again – “will need to be shown. But it will not succeed of its own accord.”
Oskar exhaled, harsh and quiet. “And if I proceed with you?”
“I’d do everything that lies within my power,” Kincaid said. “But I would not be serving you well if I did not say that there are those better placed to carry it through.”
“You give me hope,” Oskar said, “and take it away in the same breath.”
The solicitor regarded him steadily. “I give you hope, and tell you the cost of securing it.”
At length, Oskar stood, holding out his hand for the document. Kincaid slid it across the desk, and Oskar picked it up, folding it with care.
Kincaid rose also. “If you wish, I can make introductions.”
Oskar shook his head. “I’ll consider it.” He turned towards the door, then paused, his hand on the handle.
“For what it’s worth,” Kincaid said quietly, “you’re nearer to freedom now than you’ve ever been.”
“Nearness is not the same as having it,” Oskar replied, turning to him. “Good day.” Then he opened the door and went out, leaving hope in the room behind him.
“He’s not experienced enough to take our case!” an exasperated Oskar told Rachel when he arrived back at the cottage. He paced the floor, venting.
“What?” Rachel asked, disappointed. “So, we’re no further forward!”
“Exactly that. He doesn’t think he can succeed if I use him. ‘Foreign service’, ‘substituted service’, ‘proofs’, ‘formalities’- those were all words he spouted, and he seems to think they’re all beyond him. The case should be ‘in the hands of someone with greater influence,’” he said.
“Yes, there are indeed degrees of solicitors,” Rachel conceded.
“If my father had not condemned us, I know that he could’ve done it,” she added with a sigh.
“Never in a million years will he. And neither will any of his Writer to the Signet cronies. He’s very senior; he’ll have told them all about us, and none will agree. ”
“Then that’s the end of it,” Oskar concluded angrily. He stopped pacing and stood before her, taking her gently by the shoulders. “To all intents and purposes, in absolutely every respect, you are my wife,” he told her then. “Piece of paper or no piece of paper deeming us married!”