She liked him immediately. He didn’t take himself too seriously and had an ironic sense of humour, a commodity rarely found in this sad city. It didn’t hurt that he was very good-looking too.
‘I wouldn’t hang around here, dear,’ he said. ‘You never know what you might find.’
‘I’m always prepared to be surprised.’
‘Surprised is one thing, darling. A nice girl like you should be careful.’
‘You’re teasing me. I can look after myself.’
Their relationship quickly blossomed. Anya enjoyed spending time with John and he was a wonderful lover. He made the intolerable drudgery of living in Berlin bearable. He sometimes said, ‘I love you, Anya,’ in the heat of the moment, but she didn’t believe him. Love didn’t come into it, expediency, comfort and intimacy were a pretty good substitute and she was satisfied with that for now. She didn’t expect it to last. Relationships such as theirs rarely had a future and recently she had become well aware that his heart was elsewhere. She had seen the fond way he looked at Isabel Barton. He was not in the least obvious, but she knew the signs, the attentive tenderness and the hidden smiles. John was smitten. She wondered where that was going and for now she took from him what she could, companionship and sex would have to do.
There was another reason to cultivate John’s company, painless though that was. Before he left, Igor had introduced her to a friend of his, a high-ranking Russian intelligence officer, known to her as Pyotr. Igor had confessed Anya’s Russian origins and the officer seemed delighted to meet her.
‘You’ll be living in the British Zone,’ Pyotr said. ‘That’s where your parents’ apartment is, just beyond the Brandenburg Gate.’
Anya confirmed this. They had already been informed of the boundaries of the new zones. The population had begun to resettle and everyone was moving into their preferred zone. Many Germans were fleeing from the East, and Russian oppression, struggling to find somewhere to live in the British or American areas.
‘We think you can help us,’ the officer continued. ‘We need information. Anything you can find out about the British and Americans, however trivial it may seem. We’re prepared to pay for it. I would like you to get close to the British officers; find out what you can about their plans; their aspirations. Of course, if you disagree, you realise we can always have you repatriated – to Russia.’ This lightly-veiled threat was accompanied by a sly smile.
Anya shuddered. She agreed willingly, she didn’t have much choice. It meant extra rations and occasionally, very welcome cash. In return she only had to come up with an interesting titbit of information, sometimes true, sometimes not, but she was careful that her lies could not be checked out and that her truths could do no harm to her friends.
Chapter Fifteen
Hartz Mountains, October 1946
A few weeks after the party at the Moser Bill managed to get a few days leave. Isabel anticipated the break with delight; how wonderful to be away from the depressing sights and smells of Berlin. The dreadfulness of it all had begun to weigh heavily on her spirits.
She leaned idly against the window frame of their room surveying the spectacular view. She couldn’t make up her mind if she liked this scenery or not. Before her lay a panorama of pine trees spread like a thick undulating carpet almost as far as she could see, covering a series of hills growing gradually to mountains in the distance. The dense darkness of the forest was veiled in a sinister pall, reminding Isabel of frightening stories told to her in childhood where children had disappeared into forests, never to be seen again. So these were the Hartz Mountains she had been told about; in the depths of the British zone, a couple of hundred miles from Berlin.
When they arrived Isabel found the hotel styled like many houses familiar from parts of England where Tudor and Elizabethan buildings still existed. But its massive timber-framed walls seemed taller, with many more black beams, turrets and gables than on those she knew. The white painted plaster between the beams gleamed in the sunlight. The place had a distinctly Germanic stamp; not least because of the gothic script in which the hotel’s name, ‘Hotel Schauser’, was inscribed on a heavy wooden board across the front.
The hotel perched high on a hill overlooking and surrounded by the dense pine forests. Their room on the third floor was high enough above the treetops for Isabel to see into the morning sunshine tremulously shimmering over the forest. In the distance she could see the glitter of the river Hartz and a lake about a couple of miles away with fairytale cottages on its banks. But downstairs in the baronial lounges and dining room of the hotel, dark-panelled and chill, the forest close outside cast a gloom over everything; oppressive as the inside of a tomb.
They had decided to take their break with Penny in the Officers’ Holiday Hotel. A train brought them from Berlin, but it had been a very different experience from that on the train from the Hook of Holland; still remembered with a shudder. Bill, relaxed for a change, entertained Penny with games whilst Isabel dozed between taking in glimpses of the devastatingly beautiful green and undulating countryside, apparently unmarred by signs of warfare. They travelled round hills and through valleys embellished with tiny jewel-like villages nestling in the folds of the foothills, their houses appearing as doll’s houses in the distance and the churches as picturesque as a painting.
‘Look, Bill, can you see that waterfall; down the side of the mountain. That’s incredible!’ The cascade drew a white ribbon down the cliff face. From here its movement was imperceptible, but Isabel could imagine the sight and sound of the crash and spray as the water reached the rocks below.
‘Is that white stuff on the mountains snow, Daddy?’ Penny asked.
‘Yes, there’s snow right at the top. In the winter snow covers everything, right down to the valleys.’
Thank goodness, Isabel thought, they’re beginning to like each other. Bill had been so rarely at home lately that she had begun to despair of them ever becoming friends. Surely every little girl should feel at ease with her father? At least he was making an effort today. She settled down and dozed, shutting out their prattle.
When they arrived, a hotel car picked them up at the station. Herr Schauser welcomed them warmly when they reached the hotel. For him a guest was a guest and he gave the same welcome to the conquering army’s officers as he would have given to any customer before the War. His hotel may have been temporarily taken over for British officers’ use but he knew he would have it back into his ownership eventually, when the occupation finally ended. He liked the English. Before the war many of his best customers had been British hikers exploring the mountain trails. Besides, they tipped well, but not as well as the Americans occasionally using the hotel.
‘Major and Mrs Barton. Willkommen. Come in and get warm. The weather’s getting quite chilly now, isn’t it? Give me your coats. I’ll get one of the girls to show you to your room. Stefan will take up your bags. Can I offer you a little schnapps before you go up? Nein? Perhaps you would like to take the little one to her room first. Don’t worry about leaving her – Hilde will look in on her to make sure she is sleeping.’ He gabbled on at great speed without giving them a chance to reply, whirling around taking hats, coats and luggage.
They decided on a visit to their rooms first and, after settling Penny in for the night, they ventured down to the drawing room. There, great logs blazed in the hearth obliterating the chill of the room. The promised schnapps awaited them on a silver tray. It seemed they were the only guests for the time being, as it was midweek. Resting officers would normally descend at the weekends.
‘Cheers, Mrs B,’ toasted Bill.
‘Cheers, darling,’ Isabel took a sip of the clear liquid. ‘Oh, my goodness! That’s strong.’ She blinked back tears. ‘I’m not sure I can drink this.’
‘It’s an acquired taste. It’ll grow on you,’ laughed Bill.
‘I feel really funny at the back of my neck.’
Herr Schauser came in. ‘Your dinner is ready. As you’re the onl
y guests this evening I am serving you in the breakfast room; it’s more intimate.’ He beamed at them encouragingly and ushered them through.
The generous dinner was much given to dumplings and potatoes served with a little pork. There was still very little meat, even in the country markets. The apfel strudel however, light as air, proved that there was no shortage of butter in this corner of the countryside.
Finally, having finished a bottle of hock and a brandy, they staggered up to bed and, after a brief glance at the slumbering Penny; they collapsed onto the feathery depths of the Teutonic four-poster, its thick drapery shielding them from errant draughts.
They undressed quickly and slipped between the cool sheets. Bill drew her into his arms and made love to her tenderly and urgently, more relaxed and attentive than he had been since Isabel’s arrival in Germany. She responded with joy, returning his caresses with gentle fondness and later, with mounting passion. Maybe at last they had turned a corner and could be happy together again. How wonderful that Bill didn’t have to rush off to work. They had three days together. For the first time in months they lay in each other’s arms, comfortably trusting, able to laugh and murmur softly until tiredness overcame them and they drifted off to sleep.
After breakfast the next morning Isabel and Penny discovered an old dolls’ house in one of the sitting rooms. It was modelled in the same black and white timber framed style as the hotel. Everything was there in the tiniest detail, beautifully reproduced. Penny marvelled at it, entranced by the tiny furnishings.
‘Look at the china, Mummy! It looks real,’ she enthused.
Delicately hand-painted in blue on fine white porcelain, it resembled the Willow Pattern set that old Mrs Barton had in her Kensington eyrie. Penny turned it over in her hands. ‘I love it, Mummy, can I have a dolls’ house at home?’
‘Maybe, one day, when we have a house back in England. I don’t think we could get one here. We may be moving a lot and couldn’t carry a dolls’ house all over Germany, could we?’ Isabel knew a posting was inevitable and they would soon have to uproot and go to another town.
Penny’s face fell. Crestfallen, she longingly caressed the dolls’ house furnishings.
Isabel tried to distract her. ‘Isn’t the kitchen lovely? Look, little copper saucepans.’ She loved it all too, fascinated by the skill required to make such detailed miniatures. ‘Look at the knives and forks. They’re so tiny.’
Penny coveted the tiny furnishings and, when her mother wasn’t looking, she slipped a tiny teapot into her pocket, thinking – my dolly will like that. She didn’t feel any guilt at this action as she always shared toys with her cousins at home; she was encouraged to do so.
Isabel and Penny passed the morning by the fire, playing with the dolls’ house and waiting for Bill to return from a mysterious errand.
‘Where’re you off to, Bill?’ Isabel asked at breakfast. ‘I hope you’re not working – you promised this would be a holiday.’
‘It’s all right, darling,’ Bill grinned. ‘You’ll like it, honestly.’ His smile faded slightly. ‘Well, I hope so.’
Two hours passed and Isabel had begun to pace, her patience draining away. Lunchtime, and she was starving after the huge meal last night. Although she’d thought at the time that she’d never be able to eat again; the mountain air had given her an enormous appetite.
‘Daddy’s late. Where on earth is he?’ She looked at the pretty little watch he had brought her from Switzerland. She joined Penny by the fire and, perched on a long embroidered footstool they read stories together, or rather Penny stumbled through the words, but Isabel wasn’t concentrating.
Finally Bill strode in, brushing pine needles from his shoulders, bringing the scent of the forest with him.
‘There you are. Where’ve you been?’ Isabel sprang up.
‘I’ve got a surprise for you. I had to go quite a way to get it. Schauser lent me the car.’
‘Can’t it wait till after lunch? We’re starving.’
‘Come on. It won’t take a minute. It’s outside.’
Isabel and Penny followed him to the covered porch where there stood a large cardboard box with an open top.
‘What is it?’ asked Penny moving forward. ‘Is it for me?’
‘For both of you - all of us,’ said Bill.
They peered into the box.
‘A puppy!’ cried Penny.
‘A puppy?’ Isabel raised a sceptical eyebrow at Bill. ‘Do we want a puppy?’
‘You’ll love him,’ Bill assured her, slipping a hopeful arm around her shoulders.
The puppy opened a sleepy eye and stood up, wagging his tail. The rough blanket he had been sleeping on had tangled around his ankles so they could not see his feet. About 18 inches high, he had fluffy, curly black and tan fur and sturdy straight legs and a short, upright tail that never seemed to stop moving.
‘Cost me two cans of cocoa. He’s a pedigree. His parents were police guard dogs,’
‘What make is he?’ Isabel asked, regarding the dog dubiously.
‘He’s an Airedale – a terrier. They’re very bright.’
‘But they grow to be huge. I bet he’s got enormous feet.’
‘Not that huge. Besides, he’ll make a great guard dog.’
‘I’m not sure I want a guard dog, any dog. They’re a lot of work, you know,’ Isabel said doubtfully. ‘I’ll bet he’s not housetrained.’
‘Probably not,’ said Bill. ‘But he’ll soon learn.’
‘What’s his name?’ asked Penny kneeling beside the box and stroking the puppy’s head whilst he licked her hand enthusiastically.
‘Cyd von Falkenstein,’ replied Bill. ‘I thought we could call him Prince.’
‘Prince! Prince!’ Penny helped the puppy out of the box. ‘Come, follow me.’
‘So Prince it is then,’ said Isabel, sensing a fait accompli. ‘What on earth are we going to feed him on?’
‘Some of that awful meat you’re always complaining about, I expect. And I’m sure there are dog biscuits at the NAAFI.’
The child and dog raced into the hallway and skidded around the polished floor, the puppy wriggling in paroxysms of joy at this enchanting game. He lollopped about, letting out small sharp yaps of delight.
‘Put him back in the box, Penny. It’s lunchtime. We’ll take him for a walk later.’
Bill was looking at Isabel questioningly. ‘Well?’
‘Oh, all right, you win. He is rather sweet and he’ll make a great companion for Penny.’ Isabel glanced back at the puppy; now in the box again. He looked at her with a question in his clever brown eyes. He angled his head to one side, his ears pricked up intelligently, one a little higher than the other. He seemed to be asking a question. Isabel smiled at him. ‘All right, I give in. Hello, Prince. Welcome to the family.’
Prince sank down into the box with a sigh and went to sleep. A long, close friendship had begun.
Chapter Sixteen
Berlin, November 1946
‘No! Not now, I haven’t got time for this.’
Isabel opened the back door onto the frost-spangled garden to thrust the reluctant puppy outside. He gazed up at her with abject apology written in his eyes and his tail between his legs.
‘No. Don’t look at me like that. You’re a bad dog!’ She slammed the door firmly behind him and returned to the hall just as Irma was showing Zelda in. The American handed her coat to the maid and whirled forward with her usual energy.
‘Darling, I’ve had a wonderful idea!’ She stopped dead just before stepping in the little accident Prince had deposited in the middle of the gleaming parquet; the subject of his dispute with Isabel.
‘Let me get this cleaned up, Zelda. I won’t be a minute.’
‘You should get the maid to do it. I’ll wait in the drawing room.’ Zelda stepped fastidiously around the mess, put her hat and gloves on the hall table and strode into the lounge.
When she had finished cleaning up Isabel joined her friend; dropp
ing into one of the sagging armchairs with a sigh.
‘OK, so what’s your wonderful idea?’
Zelda got straight to the point.
‘Dancing lessons, ballet! What do you think? You’ve certainly got the space for it,’ Zelda said, waving vaguely at the salon’s undoubtedly ample proportions, ‘and I know you’re qualified. Loads of the mothers would love their little darlings to have ballet lessons. And think, you could actually charge them money for it!’ She paused for breath and regarded Isabel hopefully.
Isabel considered for a moment, and then smiled and answered Zelda solemnly. ‘You know, I think you may be on to something. I’d have to put up a barre and it would have to be warm enough. Maybe the hall would be better – where the stove is.’ She stood up and walked over to regard the hall with speculative eyes.
‘Perfect. You like the idea. I’ve already mentioned it to one or two people and they loved it. There’s so little to keep children occupied.’
‘Oh, Zelda, you could have at least waited until you’d asked me.’
‘I know, darling, but strike while the iron is hot and all that. Besides I knew that if I already had pupils lined up, you’d be more likely to take them on.’ Zelda made a vain attempt to look contrite.
Doubts beset Isabel. There were several reasons why this might not work. She would have to ask Bill, and Dennis might not like an unruly troupe of small girls gallivanting around in the shared hallway. There would be music. Little girls could be very over-excitable. Would she be able to control them? She hadn’t done much teaching before, only a term, to the Elementary School kids when Penny was a baby. It was fun, but it ended when the school was bombed, on a weekend fortunately, so no one was hurt.
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