Fraser's Line

by Monica Carly

  ‘Can you remember Joanna’s exact words when she talked about it?’

  ‘Well, she simply said that she’d been receiving money from her mother – I can’t think of anything else she said – and at that point I got mad and spoke loudly – I was asking her why on earth Edie would give her money – and that’s when she told me to be quiet. She said “Hush”.’

  There was a pause – then they both said together, ‘Hush money!’

  ‘This gets worse,’ said Fraser. ‘I simply can’t imagine why Edie should have to pay Joanna to keep quiet – whatever can she have had to hide? And how could Joanna possibly do that to her mother?’

  ‘I’ll look in the other drawers,’ Angela said, feeling it was time they moved on. She looked in the drawer with official papers. She could see no sign of a will among the papers, but there were a number of certificates. Edie had taken classes at Adult Learning Centres, and had gained Certificates for completing courses on various subjects, mostly to do with Art, including one on Dutch artists, and there was also a cookery certificate. Surprisingly, one certificate showed she had taken a course on the history of the Second World War. In a separate brown envelope there was the marriage certificate, and in yet another brown envelope, which was carefully sealed, and was inside the first one, there was Edie’s birth certificate. Angela frowned.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Fraser.

  ‘I’ve just come across the birth certificate. You said Edie was originally Dutch?’

  ‘Yes, born in Rotterdam.’

  ‘Not according to this certificate. She was born in Berlin, her name was Edit, and the surname was Baecker. Her mother was Gertrude, and her father, Karl, was in the German military organisation.’

  ‘That’s not possible!’ Fraser could not believe what he was hearing. ‘She often mentioned her Dutch origins, and always showed interest in anything Dutch.’

  ‘It seems,’ said Angela slowly, ‘that her mother thought it was better to use that story, and that was what she told the people at Dr Barnado’s. After all, being German, just after the war, wouldn’t exactly make you flavour of the month, and could well have put paid to the child’s chances of adoption.’

  ‘Then when would Edie have learned the truth?’

  ‘How can we know, but she certainly did know it, because she has carefully concealed the facts. It begins to make sense of one side of her personality.’

  ‘I think you’ll have to explain.’

  ‘If you think about it, Edie grew up with the knowledge that she had a guilty secret she must never divulge – a secret which, if people knew, would make her detestable in their eyes, simply because of the past horrors that Germany had inflicted during the war. Of course you could say that all this was the responsibility of the military commanders – one in particular – and that probably the majority of the German people were as innocent as the British civilians – but in people’s minds, immediately after the war, all Germans were associated with what happened.

  ‘Can you imagine what it does to a person to believe that if people knew the truth about them they would be hated? Edie grew up knowing this, and yet it wasn’t her fault. Perhaps you can see why she was forever looking for approval, and trying to prove, both to herself and to others, what a great success she was – and how easily she could win approbation wherever she went. When her confidence was high she was as you have described her – happy, bright, sparkling. But if, for some reason, no matter how imaginary, she felt her stock to be low, or she thought she had failed in some way, she immediately believed she was disliked and her self esteem plummeted. She must have longed to be accepted for what she really was – but as she could never tell people the truth that could not be. So she spent her life looking for an approval which could never satisfy her as it was built on a false premise. Subconsciously she would have loathed herself, removing the need for other people to do so. Am I making sense?’

  ‘I suppose so, and I wonder at my inability to see any of this for myself. But then I did not know of her German origin. You’d better go on.’

  ‘Fraser we may uncover more difficult facts – are you sure you can manage it today? Would you like to have a break from it?’

  ‘No, I want to get it all over with. I think I have some idea now what we may find, and I’ve no desire to put it off and then have to come back to it another day.’

  ‘Right. You’re a brave man. Well, if you’re sitting comfortably, I’ll get on with it.’ She opened the next drawer.

  Chapter 17

  ‘I must get on,’ Sarah said to herself. ‘I need to be finished here in less than an hour.’ The children would be coming out of school and today it was her responsibility to pick them up. She knew all too well that she must not be behind schedule with that. But there were still a lot of loose ends to tie up in the office.

  Trying to act as quickly as she could she sent four emails, put some brochures into envelopes and addressed them, and made three telephone calls. There was one more call to make but only five minutes left, and the number wasn’t in her usual file, as it was a new client, and for some reason hadn’t been added. She got flustered as she tried to think where it had gone, and started turning over memos and other notes in a panic. With three minutes to go she found it. She rang the number and waited. Eventually there was an answer, but Mrs Williams, the client she was trying to reach, was out. It was her son who had picked up the telephone, and he was clearly not too worried whether his mother got the message or not.

  ‘Please,’ Sarah begged, ‘please write this down and make sure it gets passed on to your mother. I have made an appointment for her next week, on Monday, at 2 pm. If she will ring in I will give her all the details.’

  ‘Okey dokey,’ said the boy. ‘Message received and understood. Over and out.’

  Very funny, thought Sarah, who was in no mood for frivolity. Now she was three minutes late. She gathered up her coat and bags and ran to her car.

  It would take twenty minutes to reach the school, providing there were no hold-ups. It was all within a 30 mph zone, and there were cameras, and plenty of warning signs. Sarah already had six points on her licence, and was anxious not to pick up any more. On the other hand, if she didn’t push it, she would be late. Her speed crept up above the limit, and she hoped she would get away with it. Then her mobile phone rang. She did not intend to answer it while driving, but she did need to know who it was, in case it was an emergency. She scrabbled in her handbag with one hand, and fished the phone out. Then she waited until the traffic was fairly clear ahead, and glanced at the display. It was another client – who would have to wait. She put the phone down, raising her focus to the road ahead, and realised that she was bearing down on a pedestrian crossing, in the middle of which stood a mother, holding her child’s hand, transfixed by the sight of this car hurtling towards them. Horrified, Sarah stamped on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt, two feet short of the crossing. The mother’s face was white with fear. She shook her fist at Sarah and shouted something. Sarah dropped her head in shame. Her heart beat rapidly. How could she have been so careless? Suppose she had hit the child? She thought of her own children, and felt dreadful. She continued on her way, but now with extreme care, and arrived at the school, heart in mouth, five minutes late.

  She ran in to fetch her children, and was the last parent to arrive. She mumbled apologies to the teacher, who said nothing – she didn’t need to – her annoyed expression said it all.

  In the car Kate said, ‘We were the last. Mrs Wilson said she wondered where you were.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Kate,’ said Sarah. ‘I got caught up in traffic.’ The lie made her feel worse than ever.

  ‘Can we go to the park playground on the way home?’ asked George. ‘Dominic says it’s really, really good. His Mummy takes him there every single day after school.’

  ‘I’m sorry, George. We do need to get home. There’s a lo
t to do, and I have to get tea ready.’

  ‘It’s not fair!’ said George, expressing his disappointment. ‘Why can’t I go? Dominic goes….’

  ‘I know,’ Sarah interrupted, ‘every single day. Well perhaps his mother isn’t trying to run a business. I’ve explained to you that none of us can have things exactly as we want. We need the money my business brings in to keep you both at that nice school.’

  ‘It’s not fair,’ George mumbled, under his breath, knowing it wasn’t worth his while to say it out loud.

  ‘Really, George,’ said Kate, ‘you must learn to accept what Mummy says.’

  ‘That’ll do, Kate. I think I can deal with George without your intervention.’

  ‘What’s an “intervention”?’ asked George.

  ‘Oh, never, mind. Make sure you don’t leave anything in the car. Remember what trouble we had trying to find your lunch box last week. Look, George – if Daddy gets home early we’ll see if he can take you to the park.’

  ‘Oh, great!’ Perhaps all was not lost, after all. ‘The playground is really, really good – Dominic says so.’

  But Daddy did not return early. In fact, he did not come back until the children had eaten, had their baths, and were tucked up in bed.

  Sarah sat down to relax for the first time that day. It hadn’t been too bad a day, in the end – she had got through all the main tasks she had set herself – and nothing untoward had actually happened, thank goodness, and now the children were settled for the night. Perhaps she’d use the last bit of time to finish the ironing, as Michael still wasn’t back. Then she really would be on top of everything. Yes, overall, she was pleased with her day.

  In the darkness of his bedroom upstairs George punched his pillow angrily with his fist, and then announced to his one-eyed teddy, ‘It’s not fair. Dominic goes to the playground every single day, and I can’t go at all. It’s not fair.’

  From her corner of the bedroom Kate stirred. ‘Be quiet, George,’ she murmured. ‘It’s time you went to sleep.’

  But George, deaf to his sister’s instructions, was sobbing into his pillow.

  Chapter 18

  They walked along beside the river once again. Fraser had not said a word since they had left the house. Angela could feel him almost physically reeling from the shock he had received when that photo had come to light.

  He had already found it painful to come to terms with the realisation that Edie had spent large sums of money from the Savings Account he had provided for her over the years, without so much as a word to him. He had always had such perfect trust in her, and now this was gone, puncturing the illusion he had cherished for over thirty years of his idyllic marriage. Then there had been the discovery of his wife’s true origins, and he had been forced to acknowledge that, for whatever reason, Edie had been living a lie all her life, and had felt the need to reinforce it from time to time. But there had been worse to come.

  The next drawer had contained an assortment of photographs. Angela had gone through these, and found both family photos and holiday pictures. The holiday photos had lead to deep and troubled waters.

  There had been a few shots of Paris, and at first Fraser had brightened up, remembering the romantic break he and Edie had enjoyed there before the children were born – but then they saw one which included Edie – looking happy and relaxed – and much as she had done just before she died. It hurt Fraser to the core to think that she had recently gone there with someone else. There were views of other places Fraser could not identify – certainly not holiday destinations which he and Edie had visited. As a final thrust, there were photos taken on cruise liners. Edie had occasionally suggested, once the children were older, that they should try a cruise but Fraser was not keen. He wanted Edie to himself on holiday – and he knew his wife well enough to know how she would spend all her time socialising, and going to the dances. He had had no intention of sharing her with a boat load of people, so he had held out. Now it seemed she had got her way in the end, on several occasions.

  All those trips she had professed to make to Beryl – to help with an ailing husband – Fraser had been forced to realise were fictitious. No wonder she had banned him from telephoning her there – on the grounds of not wanting to disturb Gordon. She had always said she would do the telephoning, and she had made a few calls while she was away, but not many.

  Then they had come across that photo. There was Edie, captured on film one evening, when it was dark, dressed up and looking glamorous, smiling happily, the rails of a ship behind her. She was leaning back comfortably against a man. He had his arms round her, and was leaning forward, with his head turned to the side, so that his cheek rested on her head. She was nestling back against his chest. Because the man’s head was turned down it had not been easy to see his facial features. But, for Fraser, there was something very familiar about his build, the way he stood, and his head.

  ‘It’s John!’ Fraser had gasped. ‘My business partner, John Stanton!’ Suddenly into his mind there flashed that image of John standing awkwardly in front of him, wringing his hands in obvious distress just after Edie had died, and saying ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else I can say – I’m so very, very sorry.’ Fraser, misinterpreting the words as being intended to console him, had been puzzled at the time as to why John had been so emotional, but once he had seen that photo all had become clear. Other memories followed – John and Edie walking ahead down the road, turning to each other and laughing while he and Sadie silently brought up the rear. And Sadie, looking so sad, while John was ‘away on business’. How clever John had been, Fraser had thought – he had somehow managed to carry out all his commitments to the business and still steal some times away with Edie.

  At that point Angela had suggested they stop the investigations and go out for a walk. She had already seen the bottom drawer full of travel brochures, and had also noticed various bundles of letters tied up with different coloured ribbons. She had felt Fraser had already reached breaking point and didn’t want him to have to endure any more pain. They had locked the bureau up, and gone out.

  At last Fraser broke the silence. ‘I feel such a fool,’ he said bitterly. ‘I must be a laughing stock. I’ve been going on about this wonderful wife of mine, and feeling sorry for other husbands because they didn’t have a marriage like mine – and all the time I’m the one to be pitied!’

  ‘You really had no inkling?’ asked Angela.

  ‘None whatsoever. Obviously I’ve been walking around with my eyes shut all these years, while my wife has been happily deceiving me. I was always ready to accept whatever she told me, and to humour her whenever possible – I suppose you’ll say that’s me taking the line of least resistance again. Well, yes, I did, and look where it’s got me!’

  ‘I think you never really understood what made Edie tick,’ said Angela thoughtfully. ‘And that was hardly surprising, as she took good care to make sure you didn’t. I think if you can come round to understanding that she really was wrestling with a terrible feeling of disloyalty to all those who were kind to her, but especially to you, because of the way she rewrote history, and her various deceits, you might, perhaps, begin to see that she was in the grip of feelings she couldn’t control. Her prime motive was not to hurt you – it was actually herself she was punishing, because she always had to live with the fear of disclosure. It was as if she was saying, “As you will never find out the truth about my birth and parentage, I’ll give you something else that will make you realise how bad I am – and then you’ll really hate me!” And all the time she must have been experiencing a dreadful internal conflict – since on one level she certainly did not want you to know.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Fraser mumbled, ‘I must have made things a hundred times worse by telling her how wonderful she was all the time, and refusing to listen when she tried to tell me about her defects. And she did try to do that – she tried very hard.’r />
  ‘I think she was longing to be accepted and loved for what she really was – not as this perfect image you were bent on believing in. But then, we must remember, you had also been scarred as a small child, by a tragedy too big for you to be able to handle. And you had dealt with it by suppressing the bad news, refusing to refer to it, and trying to push the reality of it away. And this is what you have carried with you all your life. Edie wanted you to know that she was a blemished human being like everyone else, and that although she may have loved it up on your pedestal initially, the high position soon became uncomfortable and she longed to get off. She continually suffered from a gnawing sense of inadequacy that tormented her and gave her no peace.’

  ‘But what was so terrible about being born a German? Alright, I can understand that immediately after the war it might have made life difficult for her, when it was all fresh in people’s minds, but that’s water under the bridge now. It wouldn’t have made the slightest difference to how I felt about her.’

  ‘Perhaps there was more to it than you will ever know. And you must remember that, as a child she had been indoctrinated into the vital necessity of claiming to be Dutch, that her true roots were a disgrace, and that she must never let them come to light. I don’t know if you know, but whatever we are taught, or whatever messages we receive subconsciously in the first seven years of our life stay with us for ever. And when Edie became an adult, and perhaps had the ability to think logically for herself, well, I think she probably had her reasons for keeping quiet.’

  ‘I can see, now,’ admitted Fraser, that not everything was Edie’s fault. She must have found me at times both stifling and intensely frustrating. I’ve never understood this before. Is that because I’m a mere man, or am I exceptionally thick?’