by Diana Finley
Later that day, Sam looks at Anna in disbelief. He shakes his head.
‘For Christ’s sake, Anna! What the hell do we care about a few wretched cigarettes?’
‘It’s not the cigarettes … it’s about trust. It felt like … a betrayal of trust. Oh God. Oh God, Sam. What have I done?’
‘I guarantee, you could trust Maggi with Ben’s life.’
‘I did begin by offering her five extra cigarettes a day …’
Sam draws her to him. ‘Well, that’s more like you. Let’s see what we can do to make sure she gets a few more bloody cigarettes. You know the story of her life. You know what the woman has been through, don’t you?’
* * *
Helga Baumann was born near Frankfurt in 1881 into a family of great wealth and privilege. The cherished only child of Ernst and Lilli Baumann, she grew up adored and indulged. Her father was the owner and managing director of Reischaft, a successful engineering firm. At the age of thirty-seven, Helga’s mother became gravely ill. Ernst engaged the most renowned and most expensive doctor he could find. When the learned man diagnosed leukaemia, Ernst dismissed him and turned to another physician. The diagnosis was the same.
Ernst’s great wealth could do nothing to halt the relentless progression of the disease. He was by nature a warm and generous man. Financial success meant little to him if not shared with those he loved. He had always enjoyed spoiling his wife, whom he adored. Emotionally inarticulate, he expressed the romantic leanings of his heart by showering extravagant presents on Lilli. It was as though he believed he could hold her fate at bay by concentrating on life’s pleasures. Lilli desperately wanted to talk to Ernst about a future she knew did not include her. In particular, she wanted to discuss the future of their daughter Helga, aged fourteen – a vulnerable age, Lilli felt. But Ernst refused all mention of what he called ‘gloomy thoughts’.
‘Hush, hush, mein Liebling,’ he would croon, caressing the increasingly fragile bones of Lilli’s shoulders and fastening another sparkling jewel around her neck.
‘Look how pretty you are. We will all be happy again, when you are better, just as always.’
Lilli did manage to speak to Helga, explaining the inevitable, and stroking her hair as she held the sobbing child gently to her chest.
‘You and Papa will have to take good care of each other, Schätzel,’ she told Helga.
Lilli died surrounded by delicate silk dresses and shawls, boxes of jewellery and soft fur stoles. All this unworn finery passed to Helga, who treasured it only for its connection with her mother. Over the coming years, Ernst occupied himself with his business and with the welfare of his daughter. He never remarried. Helga became the sole focus of his affection. Despite her father’s generosity, Helga was modest by nature. She inherited good taste from her mother, and wore the finest designs and materials. Her slender frame showed them off to good effect. Helga was admired for her bland, blonde beauty and quiet charm. Her father’s riches added to her attractions and, by the time she was twenty, Helga had her pick of suitors.
One of them was Klaus Stammel. A handsome, clever young man with a confident manner and an eye for good business opportunities, Klaus came from very different stock to Helga. His father had been head gamekeeper on the estates of Baron von Rubenhof. When the gamekeeper was killed by the Baron’s eldest son in a hunting accident, the old man felt great sorrow at the loss of one of his most loyal employees. It pained him particularly that his own son’s carelessness had caused the death.
He assuaged his conscience by supporting the grieving widow, and paying for young Klaus to benefit from the best education. Growing up in his mother’s modest cottage, yet surrounded by affluence, stimulated an intense longing in the growing boy, a longing for a lifestyle that always seemed just out of reach. Rather than feeling any sense of gratitude to his benefactor, Klaus seethed with bitter resentment. He was determined to make his own way in the world, whatever the cost.
Klaus began his career as a junior accountant at Reischaft, where his sharp brain and business acumen soon came to the attention of senior staff. He rose rapidly to become a senior accountant, and then junior director by the age of thirty. Ernst Baumann also noticed the ascent of the promising and ambitious young man. He admired his energy and drive, perhaps seeing in him something of his younger self. He invited Klaus to dinner on St Martin’s Feast, together with three other directors and their wives. Ernst observed that Klaus looked steadily at his daughter throughout dinner, and that she smiled back at him, a flush rising in her pale cheeks.
After dinner the guests assembled outside in the drive, while a procession of villagers tramped past bearing lanterns. Helga had a basket of sweets and fruits, which she threw to the children as they passed. They caught them with shrieks of laughter, and waved their thanks to Helga. Klaus made his way to her side. Her face glowed in the light of the flickering candles.
‘Isn’t it wonderful!’ she exclaimed, looking up at him and shuddering slightly.
‘It is indeed wonderful, Fräulein Helga,’ said Klaus, ‘but I see that you are cold.’
He took off his jacket and wrapped it around Helga’s shoulders, gently pulling her hair out from under the collar. Throughout the coming months of courtship, Klaus was respectful of Ernst as his employer and as the father of his beloved. Within a year, in 1906, Klaus and Helga were married.
Ernst Baumann readily took his new son-in-law into his family, into his business, and into his heart. He rejoiced in his daughter’s union with Klaus, and at the prospect of grandchildren. The thought of how pleased Lilli would have been gave Ernst great comfort.
Helga was blissfully happy. She was wildly in love with Klaus, and he was attentive to her in every way.
Klaus too was happy with the direction his life was taking. Now at last he was able to live the life of the rich he always envied and aspired to: a fine house with servants, exotic holidays, balls and parties, handmade clothes, and the latest motor cars.
Knowing how much pleasure her husband took in the material things in life, Helga was content to allow herself to enjoy the trappings of prosperity too. After all, such wealth was a great good fortune and privilege, which surely ought to be appreciated, celebrated even. Helga loved to go shopping, even if an underlying sense of excessive frivolity caused her some unease. Just as an artist is skilled in applying colour and line, and a musician has a talent for tone and melody, so Helga acknowledged her natural instinct for style and good taste, whether for clothes and shoes, or furnishing and decorating their fine home. She felt it would be wrong not to use such a gift to good effect.
The top stores and dressmaking salons in Frankfurt vied for Frau Stammel’s business. She pored over drawings of the latest Paris fashions, always judging which would suit her figure and complexion but, above all, which would please Klaus most.
Helga was not by nature sociable, but she took great trouble in arranging dinners and soirées for the most wealthy, influential and respected of their neighbours. Klaus took a close interest in the proposed guest lists and often made some suggestions or alterations.
‘Why bother with old Doctor and Mrs Weltlieb? He’ll be retiring soon anyway.’
‘Yes, but they’ve been such good friends to Papa all these years, Liebling, so supportive to him when Mamma died.’
‘Perhaps another time then. I think we should ask Wilhelm Klüger and his new wife. His bank has growing international connections which could be very useful to us.’
‘Very important then – and maybe his wife is pretty?’ Helga smiled coyly at Klaus.
‘You will outshine her, as always.’
These evenings were always something of an ordeal for Helga, although she was regarded as the most charming of hostesses. Her greatest pleasure was really to stay alone with Klaus at their beautiful house in the Harz Mountains, where life was so simple. In the early days of their marriage they would slip away frequently for a long weekend or a few romantic days together. In the summer they woul
d sometimes spend a week, or even two, relaxing there together. Helga loved the peace and solitude, just the two of them together, with only a local woman and a country girl coming in to cook and clean for a few hours each day. They were free to walk in the hills, bathe in freezing streams, sit in front of a log fire, and luxuriate in making love late into the morning in their rumpled feather bed, laughing wickedly as they contemplated the possibility of the cook appearing early and walking in on them.
Truly, their lives seemed perfect. Ernst enjoyed the company of his son-in-law, with whom he could discuss a wide range of issues, especially those related to business. Helga, in expectation of becoming a mother before long, concerned herself with supervising the running of domestic aspects of the house and estate, in particular with the employment of servants, whom she regarded almost as part of the family, in contrast to Klaus’s more pragmatic approach.
‘Really, Liebling, don’t you think it is time to replace Hohenbaum with someone younger? He can scarcely bend, let alone dig, and he walks at the pace of a tortoise.’
‘Oh, but dear old Herr Hohenbaum has been here for as long as I can remember. He loves the garden. Let’s just get a lad from the village to help him with the heavy work.’
Klaus shook his head and smiled indulgently at her as if to say, only you, my love, could be so soft-hearted, and so impractical.
The years went by and, to Helga’s great sorrow, no child appeared. Every month raised new hopes, only to end in disappointment. Klaus was aware of Helga’s longing, but did not himself appear greatly distressed by the absence of children and never reproached her. In time she noticed that he spent more and more time at the factory or on business trips. She worried about him; he worked so hard, it couldn’t be good for him. Visits to the mountains had become ever rarer – Klaus could spare hardly even a day or two to leave his responsibilities behind.
One autumn evening Klaus told her he needed to be in Berlin for two days to negotiate a deal with one of their partner firms.
‘Must you go, Liebling? I thought we might spend a few days in the mountain house together. We haven’t been for ages. You’ve been working so hard lately. Why does it always have to be you who goes? Why not send Stapelfeldt?’
‘Ah, if only I could – but you know I can’t trust anyone else with these important contracts.’ Klaus stroked her hair, and kissed the nape of her neck. ‘We will make a trip to the house together next month, I promise.’
Helga experienced a sense of emptiness when Klaus was away, a darkness and foreboding which threatened to overwhelm her. She forced herself to fight against it. How ridiculous, she told herself, when there was so much she could be doing and, after all, it was only for a couple of days. Perhaps a new dress would raise her spirits. She didn’t really need it, but it might please Klaus. There was little else she needed, but some shopping might distract her from melancholy thoughts. So, on the spur of the moment, she asked the driver to take her into Frankfurt. Helga spent most of the day searching out small trinkets and luxuries to wrap for the staff at Christmas time. It delighted her to think of their pleasure in opening their small gifts.
Having completed her purchases, she strolled near the River Main in the late afternoon sunshine. How pleasant it was to feel the warmth on her face. How fortunate it was that she had decided to come to the city. There was so much to enjoy in life. It didn’t do to brood and become downhearted.
A row of old steep-roofed houses overlooked the river. As she stood smoking a cigarette and watching the barges pass by, Helga heard a woman’s laughter from across the street. She turned absently to look in the direction of the voice. A tall man emerged from a doorway, with a young woman on his arm. Deeply shocked, she realised the man was Klaus.
Gasping for breath, her heart pounding, Helga retreated into the shadow of a tree. No, it couldn’t be Klaus; she must be mistaken.
But it was Klaus. He helped the girl into a car and they drove off together. Helga hurried to her meeting place with the driver and returned home. She debated with herself whether to mention this sighting to Klaus, and decided she must. What was he doing in Frankfurt instead of Berlin? There must be a logical explanation. It would be dishonest to keep such anxieties to herself. Yet, her earlier lighter mood had been replaced by one of great foreboding. She could not eat, she could not settle. She paced the floor restlessly and then retreated to her bedroom. The sound of Klaus returning caused her heart to pound uncontrollably and she was almost overcome by nausea. He, on the other hand, appeared in high spirits and greeted her affectionately.
‘You seem rather pale tonight, my sweetheart, and so quiet. Are you unwell?’
‘No, no. Perhaps a slight headache, that’s all.’
She heard him singing to himself as he showered. She sat frozen at her dressing table. As he returned to the bedroom, Helga drew a deep breath.
‘Klaus, I thought you said you were in Berlin these last two days?’
She brushed her hair with a trembling hand, watching her husband’s startled look in the mirror.
‘Yes, and so?’ he said gruffly.
‘I saw you in Frankfurt today.’
His face, turning grey, reflected a succession of thoughts, like the shadows of clouds passing over a field. He paced the floor for a moment.
‘Ah, so now my wife finds it necessary to spy on me!’
‘No, no, of course not, my dearest. I decided to go shopping. I just happened to see you there.’ Helga paused. ‘You were with a young lady.’
Klaus strode over to her and put his arms around her, smiling at her in the mirror.
‘Yes, Liebling, of course, of course. I didn’t think I needed to tell you. It’s not very interesting. There was a change of plan at the last minute – I had to sort things out at the Frankfurt branch instead of Berlin. Yes, a tricky job – but so tedious! Took me all of the two days, I can tell you. You must have seen the typist I had just engaged to take minutes – a pretty girl, don’t you think?’
Klaus tilted his head to one side boyishly and grinned his special charming grin at her. How handsome he was still. Helga smiled back at him and nuzzled her head against his chest. She did not ask why he had to trouble himself with such a lowly task as hiring a typist. Nor did she ask why he did not return home for two nights, when Frankfurt was only an hour and a half away.
* * *
Over time, Helga developed her own interests, which Klaus did not share. It hurt her that sometimes he appeared to scorn her activities. Helga fulfilled her yearning for children to some degree through charitable work. With her own generous inheritance, she set up a trust endowing two schools in nearby poor areas. The children received not only education and books, but also a substantial midday meal. Klaus regarded his wife’s benevolence as pointless and wasteful. It was not as if the beneficiaries were even employees of the firm – there were no advantages to the business.
For years Klaus had neglected his elderly and now retired mother, ashamed of her humble background, her coarse clothes and crude speech. It was Helga who re-established contact with her mother-in-law. Despite her husband’s protests that his mother was perfectly content in her tiny cottage, Helga found her a small, comfortable house near their own home, and engaged a housekeeper to care for her.
The years passed and Ernst Baumann became too old and frail to continue at Reischaft. He was comforted by the knowledge that his son-in-law was there to take control of the business. He was confident that Klaus would continue to run the firm efficiently, with the welfare of its staff – and of course, that of his adored daughter – in mind too. In 1931 Ernst died, leaving everything to Klaus. He felt no anxiety for Helga; Klaus would continue to care for her. He went to his grave, and to his beloved Lilli, with a contented and untroubled heart.
Always flirtatious and still attractive, Klaus no longer bothered to hide his adventures. He had a series of younger mistresses. Helga was aware of these liaisons and they distressed her greatly, but she was afraid that overt objections
might cause Klaus to leave her altogether. Without her father’s protection, her position was becoming increasingly vulnerable. She began to smoke more heavily, and frequently sought comfort in solitary drinking. Klaus was disgusted by these habits. Over the years Helga aged less well than Klaus. Her slim body had become thin and angular; her fine pale skin lined and papery. More and more, their lives diverged.
Under Klaus’s direction, Reischaft grew and expanded. During the 1930s, as Hitler’s government built up its military forces, the firm flourished. Klaus expressed himself in favour of the regime under which he was prospering. He joined the Nazi Party. In public he praised their firm government and definite policies. In private he sneered at what he regarded as an unreliable and ill-educated bunch.
Helga was less careful about openly expressing her antipathy to the Nazi Party. She detested Hitler, whom she regarded as a mannerless boor and a nonentity. The growth of anti-Semitism appalled her. While Klaus was quite prepared to drop their Jewish friends and acquaintances, Helga remained stoically loyal. She agonised over how to help them: those who were trying to leave Germany, and those who chose to or were obliged to remain behind. She grieved particularly over the Jewish children, many of whom she had got to know in her schools. First it was decreed that they were to be refused admission. Then they were forced to leave – who knew where to? – together with their families. Helga thought of their pinched faces and dark eyes as they clung to their parents, clutching pathetic bags of belongings or favourite toys. She despaired of her own impotence to help.
* * *
One morning in 1943, when he was sixty-six, Klaus came into Helga’s day room, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. He would not sit down. Even before he spoke, Helga’s hands flew up to her face, as if to protect herself from a blow.
‘My dear Helga,’ he said, ‘I will come straight to the point. This may come as a shock to you, but I have come to tell you that I want a divorce.’
‘A divorce! But why? Why now?’ She gasped, afraid she would faint.