by Mary Wood
‘That is fine. I have no Russian, so all in all English will be the best language. I am listening, my dear.’
Relating her story a few minutes later, whilst drinking the delicious wine that Marianne had offered them and nibbling at the little pastries she produced, Elka noticed tears streaming down Marianne’s face. This woman must love Edith very much and it was hurting her, but Elka had to keep going – she had to tell it all.
Marianne didn’t interrupt her with questions, but at the end she said, ‘Oh, that wicked woman. And my poor darling Edith. How she must have suffered, and still is suffering, as she has never been the same girl she was before she disappeared. I understand it all now. Why didn’t she come to me? I would have helped her. I would have made sure you were taken care of, without any scandal ever getting out. Edith could have been with you all this time. Oh, Edith. And what happened to you, my dear, and your sister, is terrible, just terrible.’
Marianne rose from the beautiful chair she had been sitting on. With its carved gold-leaf arms and legs, and its pale-blue upholstery decorated with a diamond pattern of little pink rosebuds, Elka thought it, and everything about this elegant apartment, suited this lovely lady.
As Marianne came towards her she resembled a gliding porcelain doll. And although she had her arms open, Elka thought better than to rise too, or the tiny Marianne would be dwarfed by her. Instead she held her own arms out and accepted the cuddle that Marianne gave her. With a gentle hand stroking the curls off her forehead and a lovely voice telling her about her mother, Elka knew she had done the right thing in coming, and wished Ania had come with her.
After telling Elka about her mother’s background, Marianne said, ‘Life hasn’t been easy for Edith since the war ended. During the time that she was lost to us – the time when you were born – she met the love of her life.’
Elka listened as Marianne told her about her mother’s husband, Laurent.
‘Laurent was badly injured and disfigured during a particularly bloody campaign. It was a miracle that he survived, but Edith’s love brought him through. They were married soon after the war, but have never had children. I’m not even sure that the marriage has been consummated.’
Elka’s cheeks flushed. Marianne had said this so matter-of-factly, but she remembered hearing that the French were very open about what they discussed. Taking a sidelong look at Jhona, who hadn’t spoken other than to greet Marianne, Elka saw a smile curl on his lips. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her own embarrassment or because of what Marianne had said, but she smiled back.
Marianne didn’t miss this. ‘I see you have a ring on your finger, but not a wedding ring. Oh, it is so different for you young people. Travelling together without chaperones – that would never do in my day!’
This seemed so different from what Elka had been thinking about the French, and left her confused as to how to answer. But Jhona saved the day. ‘Please don’t worry about Elka’s honour, for it is safe with me. I love and respect her too much to expect anything from her before we are married. And my religious beliefs about the sanctity of marriage prevent me from even thinking of taking advantage of our travelling alone together.’
‘Of course. I wasn’t passing judgement, just regretting that the lack of freedom shackled me. I have no wish to put those shackles on you. I see, by your clothes and hair, that you are a Jew. Jhona, I am afraid for your people. Anti-Semitism is rife. I am glad you are out of Poland, but what of Ania? Elka, were you and she bought up as Jews? Why didn’t she come, too? Surely she will be in grave danger?’
After Elka had explained, Marianne nodded her understanding. ‘It is how it is: love has its own shackles, I’m afraid. So, what now? I take it you want to contact your mother?’
‘I do – more than anything in the world.’
‘Well, it all has to be handled with care. You can stay with me for as long as it takes, but I have to warn you: I have a less-than-conventional life. I have a lover. We have been together many, many years, and although we have separate apartments, we often stay over together – more so since we got older. Her name is Georgette, but she likes to be known as George.’ Pausing a moment, Marianne looked from one to the other. Elka tried not to look shocked. She had heard of such things, but had never openly discussed them. Looking at Jhona, she could see that he was perplexed. Elka said, ‘Your private life is your own. We are not judging you, but maybe we will feel more comfortable in a nearby hotel.’
‘Yes, I think that may be sensible. Now, as for contacting Edith, I think I should send a letter to her. There is no worry about anyone else opening it. Your grandparents are both dead. Otherwise I would be very worried, because your grandmother thought nothing of opening mail that wasn’t for her. And Laurent is typically French and has no desire to rule his wife or curtail her freedom, which is just as well, because Edith is headstrong and would rebel against such restrictions; so he won’t open her mail, either.’
‘You take after her in that too, then, Elka.’
Even though it was true, Elka felt annoyed at Jhona for pointing this out.
Marianne laughed. ‘Ha, you do – I can see that. That is exactly the kind of look to which Laurent is often subjected.’
This mollified Elka, as she rather liked the comparisons made between herself and her mother. But the thought of having to wait for a return letter made her impatient. What if her mother rejected her? No, she loved Elka, she wouldn’t do that. But why not? A lot of time had passed. She might not have told her husband about her twin daughters. ‘I think I would rather have my mother’s address and travel to England to see her.’
‘No! Ma chérie, no. You cannot. You must let me handle this, for it is very delicate.’
‘Very well, but please, could you send a telegram?’
‘No! That’s impossible. The local post-office staff in England would know everything then. A letter is the only way I am willing to contact Edith. It is the kindest way, and the safest. She deserves our discretion, and deserves to be given the chance to handle you coming back into her life in the way she thinks best. In her society, this will cause a great scandal. I am sure Edith would rather put up with that than not see you, but she will want to consider her family.’
‘Very well, but may I be permitted to write a letter, too?’
‘Of course. As Edith didn’t want ever to be parted from you, she will be nothing but pleased to hear from you, I am sure. That’s settled then. Fait accompli!’
If only it was, Elka thought. There were still so many questions hanging in the air. All held doubt and fear, but she had to hang on to the fact that her mother had loved her and Ania and hadn’t wanted to give them away.
7
Edith
London, September 1939 – The Three Prongs of Happiness
‘Britain is at war with Germany.’ Goosebumps rose on Edith’s arms. Neither she nor Laurent spoke. The arm of Laurent’s wheelchair dug into her as he tightened his grip on her.
The silence between them gave some space for Edith’s thoughts and fears. There was a jumble of them, and a jumble of faces. Faces dear to her: Jennifer and Mark, friends who were her colleagues in the tent hospital on the Somme; now a happy family unit with three boys, one of whom was old enough to be called up for war. Dear God, why, oh why, do we have to go through this all again? Wasn’t it enough that my generation fought for world peace? Why do our children have to do so, too?
Connie and Nancy came into her mind – two lovely nurses from that time. Connie was still single, and still a nurse. Would she return to war? Nancy was married, with two girls. Like their mother before them, Edith was sure they would want to volunteer for war work. And what of Brendan, who was now an officer attached to the War Office. Would he be called upon to do active service? Dear God, how would we face that? How would Ada face it? Something told Edith they might not have to, as it was becoming increasingly obvious that Brendan was doing important work in the War Office and wouldn’t become a fighting soldie
r.
Then there was her brother, Douglas. Would his sons have to go? Oh, I can’t bear it! My nephews, Thomas and Henry! But even as she thought this, she knew she would have to face it, just as her own parents had had to bear Douglas, Christian and herself going to the last war.
‘You won’t go, will you, darling?’
Laurent’s voice roused her from her thoughts. ‘No, I couldn’t leave you, my dear. Besides, this war will be fought as much on home soil as abroad. The ability the Germans now have to fly bombers long-range means that they will be all over us. I think I will be needed here. But it is our nephews we should be worrying about; and Eloise’s girls and all of our friends’ children, and your pupils from the university and . . .’ She couldn’t say it. To give voice to her fears for her long-lost twins would be like admitting the dread that lay inside her. Hitler has invaded Poland. My girls are in Poland – I’m sure of it! What if Petra has brought them up as Jews? Hitler’s regime hates the Jews. There are reports of horrific reprisals! ‘Oh, Laurent, I have prayed and prayed.’
‘I know, darling. I can only say what I have said many times: try to hang on to the hope that your girls are not in Poland.’
There was no point in doing anything other than nodding her head. She avoided everything that might cause conflict between them. They hadn’t got back to an easy relationship since that day Laurent had told her about going for counselling. Even their love-making – or at least what they had, in place of full marital relations – had almost ceased. The one time she had approached Laurent he’d pretended that he was tired, something he’d never done in the past. He’d always responded to her need. Now she felt afraid to show him when she felt a yearning for his caresses. Instead she had taken to having a longer-than-usual bath at those times and to finding relief by herself. She was always left feeling guilty, as if she had done something sinful.
‘Darling, don’t reject me. I’m here for you. We’re going to need each other.’
‘Me – reject you! Laurent, sometimes you take the biscuit.’
‘I’m doing my best, Edith. I’m sorry. I know I am not the same towards you. I don’t want to be like that, but . . . Well, it is revisiting everything. Oh, I don’t know.’
He sounded so dejected that her heart went out to him. ‘Do you think the counselling is helping you? You seem to have withdrawn into yourself. You never talk to me. Tell me, Laurent – tell me how you feel, and what is going on inside your head.’
‘Guilt, mainly. Guilt because of those who died while I lived. Guilt because I have never been a proper husband to you. Guilt because I didn’t seek help, in the beginning. Though, as I said before, that was partly your fault . . . No. Don’t go. Now we have begun to talk, please let us see it through.’
‘I can’t take all this blame, Laurent. I have told you why I never suggested that you seek help. My motives were not selfish as your doctor chooses to make you believe. They were because I didn’t want to hurt you.’
‘Isn’t that shifting your responsibility?’
This was unbearable. They couldn’t discuss it; it was impossible. That beast of a doctor had carried his loathing of women medics to the point of souring her beloved Laurent’s mind against her. Feeling lost, all she could do was run, and get out of the space that held Laurent’s accusations.
Once out of the room, she tore down the stairs. Reaching the bottom step gave her sight of a letter on the hall table, which stood outside the door leading to Christian’s apartment. If only he was the Christian of old, she would have run to him and sought her brother’s counsel. But that person was lost in a body that wouldn’t move – a hell imposed on him by war, and now they faced it all happening again.
Picking up the letter, she recognized Marianne’s writing. For a moment she wished she was with the uncomplicated Marianne. She was probably the only person in the world to whom Edith could pour out her heart.
Sighing, she walked towards the back of the hall, through the small sitting room that used to be her mother’s and was now the only room open to her and Laurent on the ground floor. She went through the French doors into the garden.
The sun was scorching, and the birds that she loved to listen to carried on as if nothing had changed. Oh, how she longed to be as free as them. But did she really? Could she ever be apart from her darling Laurent? Because, despite the state of his mental health, she loved him with an all-consuming love.
Had she been selfish? Not intentionally, but maybe she had. It was just that he’d always been unpredictable and, where their love-life was concerned, she preferred to tread on eggshells, praising his efforts in making sure that she reached a climax, and reassuring him that it was enough for her. Telling Laurent that dealing with his problems might free him from his impotence could have tipped him over the edge.
What else could she have done? Despite the leaps and bounds made in the last twenty years to give women greater liberty, they were still thought not to have sexual longings. Oh, women could be passionate when being made love to, but if they approached a man for sex, they would be thought of as nothing but sluts. That was a man’s domain, like so many other things.
There was still a long way to go. Would anyone ever be brave enough to fight for women’s rights? Get them equal pay when they did the same job? Even now, after all this time, her male colleagues did not consider Edith to be as good as they were at their job. She’d even had a male patient refuse to let her operate on him.
But the spirit she had felt in her to fight all of this had gone. It had been drowned in everyday living, coping with her work at the hospital and at Jimmy’s Hope House. And Laurent’s ever-changing moods made everything more difficult. Thank God she had Ada. And Ginny too, now. What a surprise that had been, but a wonderful one; and Ginny was proving a godsend at Jimmy’s Hope House. She’d taken to midwifery as if she’d been doing it all her life. Besides looking like Ada, Ginny had many of Ada’s qualities; something that would stand the girl in good stead.
There was her cousin, Lady Eloise, too. She was a great comfort. And although it was difficult to, because of his hearing problems, she loved to chat to Eloise’s husband, Jay, and their girls were a delight – but none of them came anywhere near the relationship she had with Ada. Ada was her confidante: the keeper of all her secrets, her fears and her emotional distress, besides being the king pin of Jimmy’s Hope House. Oh, how I thank God every day for having Ada in my life!
Climbing the step of the raised platform they had built, not long after they married, Edith sat down on the bench they had placed there. From here she could see over the wall and into the park, a favourite view of hers.
Though her mood would prevent her from enjoying the letter fully, she would read it and hope that it lifted her spirits. But nothing had prepared her for its contents:
My dear Edith,
I am hesitant as I write this letter, because I do not know how you will receive the news. How I wish that I could bring it to you, but I am not such a good traveller now, and time is of the essence. None of us know what will happen in the near future – there is so much that is unsettled, and unsettling.
I have no way of skirting around this, so I will be direct.
A girl, called Elka . . .
Edith drew in a breath that caught in her lungs, as if it would never release itself again. That name threw her into a turmoil of fresh emotions that she didn’t know if she could cope with. Her hands shook as she lifted the letter and read on. By the end, her own cries were assaulting her ears. They came from deep within her; they were a release, and yet an accumulation of all the pain she’d kept knotted inside her. A voice – anxious and almost alien – cut through her anguish.
‘Darling, darling, what is it? Come down, please come down. I’m sorry . . . Oh, my darling Edith, forgive me.’
Unable to move, or to stop the deluge of salty tears that streamed down her face, she stared down at Laurent. Locked in his wheelchair without his prosthesis, he couldn’t get to her. B
ut she didn’t care. Not at this moment. This moment belonged to her. It was time for everything to pour out of her. In doing so, it scorched her very soul, and the thought came to her: No more! Somehow she shouted the words, ‘N-NO MORE!’
It was over. She didn’t care what everyone thought or said. She was going to be reunited with her babies. They wanted and needed her. Oh, thank God!
‘Please, Edith, you will be ill. I – I didn’t mean to cause this, I was angry.’
‘You were angry!’ The words rasped in her throat. ‘I don’t care. I just don’t care.’ Once more her words merged with her tears. The desolation that had been locked inside her had unfurled. The floodgates were open and she wondered if they would ever close again. ‘Leave me alone, Laurent. Go – go away. I don’t want to look at you. Just leave me alone.’
As she relaxed in the bath an hour later, Edith’s body still heaved, but there were no more tears. They had been washed out of her. She hadn’t seen Laurent since, and wondered if he’d done as she’d suggested and gone out. But she wasn’t going to devote any of her emotions to him at this time. Her anguish had subsided, and now she was filled with joy.
She was going to see one of her children and she knew the meeting would go well. The letter from Elka that had been enclosed with Marianne’s had been full of love, and told her how much Elka had been hurt, on discovering the truth. It also said how she had loved her other mother and was still grieving for her. This hadn’t hurt; it had only shown what a wonderful young woman Elka was, as had the way she had spoken of her sister with caring and love.
Edith felt determined. She would leave for France as soon as she could arrange it. She wouldn’t let the worry for her second child, deep as it was, spoil the elation she now felt. This was a beginning.
The door opened slowly and Laurent manoeuvred his wheelchair into the bathroom. Through the steamy haze she saw that he had a rose in his mouth. A smile she didn’t think she would ever again give him touched her lips. ‘What are you doing? Oh, Laurent!’ He was completely naked. ‘Laurent, what are you doing?’