‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Frieda ignored her, stubbed out her cigarette, picked up her handbag and made for the door.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To Walter and to hell, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Ena jumped up. ‘I’m coming with you.’
Frieda laughed. ‘You are so easy to tease, Ena. I am going to the bathroom, if that’s all right with you?’
The blush of embarrassment coloured Ena’s cheeks and she sat down. ‘Of course, it is. First on the right.’
Frieda pulled open the sitting room door and let it swing shut behind her.
Ena waited for ten minutes and when Frieda hadn’t returned, went into the hall. Frieda’s coat had gone. She grabbed her own coat and put it on. ‘Damn you, Frieda, where have you gone?’ Ena deliberated for no longer than a second. ‘Walter!’
CHAPTER FORTY
Ena caught a glimpse of Frieda on the Northern Line going south, and again exiting the train at Brixton underground station. She followed her, though she knew where she was going. In the churchyard of St. Leonard’s, Ena saw Frieda fall to her knees on her brother Walter’s grave. She picked a flower from the metal vase beneath his headstone and began pulling off its petals. Ena hid behind a large conifer tree, too far away to hear what Frieda was saying as she talked animatedly, flicked petals in the air and laughed. Suddenly she rocked back on her heels and got to her feet. It had started to rain. Waving her arms in the air Frieda looked up and cursed the heavens. Then, repeating his name over and over, she blew Walter a kiss.
From behind the conifer, Ena caught the words, you and soon. She looked out from her hiding place again. Frieda had gone. Ena scanned the area. A shaft of light coming from the arched porch of the church caught her attention. Frieda had opened the door and was about to disappear into the building. Ena waited a few seconds before following her into the nave. She looked from the font at the back of the church to the altar beneath the east window. Frieda was nowhere to be seen.
Ena walked down the aisle scanning the pews, the choir stalls, and the Lady Chapel. Frieda must have known Ena had followed her and slipped out of the side door when Ena came in.
Opening the door to leave, Ena heard a door on the other side of the church close. Opening one door had created a draft, causing another door to shut. Ena ran across the back of the church. There was a door set back in an alcove with Bell Tower written on it. Ena opened it and climbed the steep narrow stone stairway to the roof.
‘Frieda, don’t!’
‘How did you know I was here?’ Frieda said, leaning over the parapet of the bell tower.
‘When I asked you where you were going and you said, to Walter and hell, I guessed you’d come to his grave. But never mind about that. Come away from the edge, will you?’
Frieda leaned over the parapet again. ‘I can see mine and Walter’s grave from up here. Look, the moon is shining on it.’ She stood up and turned to Ena. ‘A slip, a step in the wrong direction,’ she taunted. ‘It would be so easy.’
‘Stop it, Frieda!’
‘Why? I’d be better off dead. I’m in so deep with the Russians, MI5, the Americans, and God knows who else.’ Frieda reached out to Ena. ‘Don’t you see. Dead is the only way I’ll ever be free of them.’ She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the wet leads. With her legs stretched out in front of her, she buried her head in her hands. ‘I want to be with Walter,’ she cried.
Ena went over and sat down beside her. She edged closer and laid her hand on Frieda’s arm.
‘Walter and I were a team. We were no good on our own. We needed each other and we loved each other.’
‘I know how fond you were on your brother–’
‘But you don’t. You can’t know. No one does.’ Frieda looked at Ena with contempt. ‘I wasn’t fond of Walter, I was in love with him. And he was in love with me.’
Ena’s hand slipped from Frieda’s arm and she slumped against the cold stone of the parapet in shock. ‘But you were brother and sister…’
‘No. We weren’t. Walter wasn’t my real brother. There were no blood ties. We were both adopted. When Walter wanted to join Hitler Youth, he needed to prove he was racially pure. A true Aryan. Father, or the man we called father, was away on business and Mother was out hob-nobbing, raising money for one or other of Hitler’s causes, so Walter searched the house. Hidden behind a pile of Father’s private papers in a drawer at the back of his bureau, he found two birth certificates. One, a boy, born on the same day as Walter, the other a girl, born on my birthday.’
‘What did Walter do? Did he confront your father?’
Frieda took a long breath. ‘He wouldn’t have dared. No, he put them back where he found them and waited until Father came home at the weekend. As we knew he would, Father produced Walter’s false birth certificate immediately and told him he was proud of him. A year later, Father gave me my birth certificate so I could join BDM.’ Frieda laughed. ‘The irony was, neither of our real birth certificates proved we were German, let alone Aryan.’
Frieda leaned her head back and rested it on the embrasure of the parapet. ‘Walter was the only man for me, and I was the only woman for him. There was never anyone else for either of us. What we felt for each other was real love,’ she said, her voice hoarse with emotion.
Out of the corner of her eye, Ena saw a movement in the doorway to the bell tower. Someone was listening to her and Frieda’s conversation. Her heart began to race. She glanced at Frieda. Her eyes were bright and piercing, as they penetrated the darkness of the bell chamber.
‘Is that you, Henry?’ Scrambling to her feet on the slippery leads, Frieda took a small pistol from her pocket and pointed it into the darkness beyond the door. ‘Ena and I are having a chat. Why don’t you join us?’
‘No, Henry,’ Ena shouted, getting to her feet, ‘Frieda has a gun trained on the door. Get out of there. Go down and wait for me in the church.’
With his hands above his head, Henry appeared out of the darkness and stepped over the sill of the narrow door. He slowly walked across the leads. ‘I’m not leaving you up here, Ena,’ he said, before turning to Frieda.
‘Well, I’m here. What shall we talk about?’ He took several steps backwards until he was so close to Ena he was shielding her completely. ‘Shoot me, if you’re going to, Frieda,’ Henry shouted, opening his arms wide. He turned away for a second and looked over the parapet. Beneath it, the church clock; below that, a sheer drop to the ground.
Henry swung round to face Frieda and something bumped against Ena’s wrist. There was something heavy in his pocket. Whatever it was, her husband was trying to draw her attention to it. She touched his shoulder and he backed closer to her.
‘Come on, Frieda, shoot me or put the damn gun away,’ Henry said. ‘Let’s go down. It’s bloody dangerous up here.’
It had rained on and off all day, now it was raining heavily. A sudden gust of wind blew sheeting rain across the leads, soaking Frieda. She shouted something that was lost in the wind, lifted the hand with the gun in it and wiped the sleeve of her coat across her face.
‘Give it up, Frieda!’ Henry shouted. ‘Give me the gun. We need to get out of this damn rain.’
‘To hell with you, Henry Green!’ Frieda shouted and aimed the gun at him with an unsteady arm.
Behind Henry, Ena slid her hand into his overcoat pocket. Her fingers, numb and wet, quickly made contact with the cold steel of his gun. Her heart was pounding as she lifted the weapon from his pocket and slipped it into her own. That done, she tapped Henry on the shoulder again. He stepped to the side. Ena took the gun from her pocket and pointed it at Frieda in one smooth movement. She had a clear shot. But she didn’t take it.
‘Do as Henry says, Frieda. Please,’ Ena shouted.
‘No!’ Frieda put the back of her hand up to her forehead and pushed stiff stands of dripping wet bleached hair from her face. ‘Why are you making Ena do this, Henry?’ she screamed.
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‘Henry isn’t making me do it, Frieda. It is you who is making me do it; making me hold a gun on you. You’re threatening to shoot my husband. I can’t let you do that.’
‘I don’t want to hurt you, Ena.’
Ena took a step closer to Frieda. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, either. So, please, let the three of us go down and talk about what to do for the best; the best for you.’
Frieda looked to the heavens and began to shake her head wildly. She rocked back and forth on her heels screaming, ‘No, no, no!’
‘Frieda? Listen to me,’ Henry shouted. ‘I want to help you.’
Frieda froze and looked at Henry, her eyes black with hatred. ‘You? You want to help me?’
‘Yes. I’ll get you to a safe house.’
‘A safe house?’ she repeated.
‘Yes. And from there I’ll arrange for you to go home.’
Shaking from the bitterly cold wind and soaked to the skin with rain, Frieda looked up at the sky and screamed, ‘For me there is no going home.’ She thrashed from side to side, howling like an animal caught in a trap. Henry leapt forward and made a grab for her gun, but Frieda was too quick for him. She kicked out and caught the back of his hand. Henry halted for a second. It was long enough. Frieda raised her gun.
‘Frieda?’ Ena shouted. Frieda turned and Ena lifted Henry’s gun. ‘Don’t do it!’
For a second Frieda closed her eyes. Leaning against the wall of the church spire, the symbol of pious medieval man reaching for the heavens, Frieda cried, ‘Why are you making Ena do this, Henry?’
Ena was shaking, not from the wind and icy rain but from fear. She took a breath to calm herself. It didn’t work. ‘Henry isn’t making me do anything, Frieda, you are. I told you, if I have to shoot you to save my husband, I will. I will shoot you in a heartbeat, make no mistake.’
‘All right!’ Frieda wiped the rain from her eyes. ‘Don’t shoot me, Ena… Killing me, taking my life, will eat away at you like a cancer. Every time I close my eyes, I see the faces of the people I have killed. They haunt me now, and they will haunt me till I die. Do you want that?’
Remembering the two years of nightmares when she thought she had killed a man, Ena began to tremble. ‘No, Frieda, I don’t.’
‘Then, I won’t let you shoot me.’ Smiling at Ena, Frieda put her gun down on the wet leads.
Ena smiled back at her old friend and laid Henry’s gun next to it. A second later Frieda stepped back and disappeared.
‘No!’ Ena ran to the edge of the parapet screaming Frieda’s name.
Henry caught her by the arm and pulled her to safety. ‘It’s too late, Ena. She’s gone.’ Holding Ena, his arms around her in a vicelike grip, Henry rocked her until she stopped sobbing.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Ena fell to her knees. Blinded by the rain and wind, she reached up to Henry. He took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. It was sodden and heavy. ‘Come on, love, let’s get you out of this rain.’ Two policemen appeared in the doorway of the bell tower. Henry beckoned to one of them to help him. Together they lifted Ena to her feet.
With his arms around her, Henry walked Ena into the belfry, across the wooden floor to the arched doorway and out to the stone staircase. He nodded to the police officer to descend the steep steps in front of Ena, while he stayed behind her to make sure she didn’t go back to the roof.
They were met at the bottom of the flight of steps by a uniformed policeman who directed them to a row of pews where two middle-aged men in civvies sat talking.
As Ena and Henry approached, the men got to their feet. One man left, the other turned and greeted them. ‘Mr and Mrs Green?’ the man remaining said, ‘Detective Inspector Burke, Brixton CID.’
‘Detective Inspector, my wife has had a terrible shock and she’s soaked to the skin, I would like to take her home.’
‘I appreciate that, sir, but a woman has just fallen to her death.’
Ena let out a heart-rending sob. ‘I want to see her,’ she cried, her teeth chattering from being cold for so long. ‘I want to tell her I’m sorry.’
‘You can’t see her, Ena.’ Henry held her tightly. He looked at Burke. ‘Couldn’t this wait until tomorrow, Inspector?’
‘Mr Green, it is imperative that I find out who this woman is. The sooner I ask your wife a couple of questions, the sooner you can take her home.’ Henry nodded half-heartedly and the inspector turned his attention to Ena, ‘Mrs Green did you know the woman who– The woman?’
‘Yes,’ Ena whispered.
‘Could you tell me the woman’s name?’
‘Frieda. Her name is Frieda Voight.’
‘And how did you know, Frieda Voight?’
Henry started to interrupt.
Without looking at him, DI Burke showed Henry the palm of his hand. ‘Mrs Green?’
‘We worked together in the war. She was my friend.’ Tears fell from Ena’s eyes and her legs buckled beneath her. Henry caught her and she leaned on him.
‘I am sorry to have to ask you this, but did Miss Voight fall, or did she jump from the church roof?’
Henry again opened his mouth. This time it was to save Ena from having to say the words.
Again the inspector put up his hand.
‘Mrs Green?’
‘She jumped,’ Ena whispered,’ because she didn’t–’
‘Enough!’ Henry shouted. ‘You’ve had your couple of questions, Inspector. If you wish to speak to my wife further, you can do it tomorrow at our home.’ Henry thrust his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and took out a small white card. It was sopping wet and the address unreadable. ‘Our address is number seven, St. Michaels Square, Stockwell. Now if you’ll excuse us, my wife is soaked to the skin and shivering with cold. If I don’t get her home soon she’ll catch pneumonia.’
‘Take Mr and Mrs Green out through the vestry, Constable. Give Mr Green’s address to my sergeant and tell him to drive them home.’ He turned to Henry. ‘Until tomorrow, Mr Green. Mrs Green.’
The constable led the way down the aisle to the vestry door. They walked in on a conversation between several policemen speculating on whether the dead woman had jumped, fallen, or been pushed. As each one became aware of Ena and Henry they fell silent.
‘Is DI Burke’s driver here?’
‘Yes.’ A sergeant stepped from among a cluster of blue uniforms.
The DI said to take Mr and Mrs Green home, Sarge.’
The sergeant gave a tired smile. ‘Follow me.’
As they left the church, Ena said again that she wanted to see Frieda, and again Henry said she couldn’t.
Beyond the church gates was a row of police cars. ‘Over here, madam, sir.’ The sergeant unlocked the doors of an unmarked car and Henry helped Ena into the back.
The drive from Brixton to Stockwell didn’t take long. As soon as they were home, Henry hung up their coats, went into the bathroom and turned on the hot water in the bath. He then helped Ena out of her wet clothes and wrapped his old dressing gown around her.
While Ena bathed Henry threw off his wet clothes, put on dry ones, and lit a fire in the sitting room. In the armchair at the side of the fire, he made mental notes of what they could and could not tell Detective Inspector Burke the following day. The real reason, the historical reason, why Frieda jumped off the roof of St. Leonard’s Church must remain secret.
Everything to do with Frieda Voight was classified. No one could know about her past or Ena and Henry’s part in it. A thought came into Henry’s mind that he wished hadn’t. If the investigation into Sid Parfitt’s death led to Frieda, both his and Ena’s covers would be blown and the already fragile security service he worked for would again be under the microscope.
Henry wondered how much Ena knew about his involvement with Frieda. He hadn’t told her Frieda was a double agent working for the British and Russian governments, nor that she was suspected of killing several British government personnel. Henry sucked in a sharp breath.
‘Oh my God,’ he said aloud. Ena didn’t know he’d been Frieda’s handler. He was in for an ear-blasting when she finds out. But then, Ena couldn’t tell Burke about her job, or that she was investigating Frieda after exposing her and her brother as enemy agents in the war. For the time being he decided to keep quiet.
Henry got up, went over to the table and grabbed the bottle of brandy and a glass. Sitting down again he poured a double, took a swig, and as the smooth liquid slipped down his throat he wondered how he was going to satisfy Inspector Burke about Frieda’s death and, at the same time, keep his and Ena’s jobs secret. He leaned back in the chair deep in thought.
‘Henry?’ Ena came into the room. She was wearing her pyjamas and her own dressing gown. Her face was shiny and clean, her hair combed but still damp from washing. She sat at his feet in front of the fire, laid her head on his knee and yawned.
‘You ought to be in bed, Ena.’
‘I don’t want to go to bed, I want to stay here in the warm with you.’
‘In that case.’ Henry gently lifted Ena’s head from his knee and eased himself out of the chair. He moved the coffee table out of the way and pulled the settee forward. ‘Lie on here.’ Already half asleep, Ena held onto the arms of the chair and hauled herself up. She flopped onto the settee, brought her knees up to her chin, and was asleep in seconds.
Henry went to the bedroom and returned with a pillow that he slipped under Ena’s head, and a blanket that he laid over her. Switching off the overhead light he returned to the armchair. By the light of the fire he watched Ena sleep.
After a night of shallow and fitful sleep, Ena was aware that someone was stroking her hair. She jerked her head and shrugged her shoulders, but they didn’t stop.
‘Ena?’ Henry whispered, ‘the police are here. They want to speak to you.’
Ena stirred when she heard the familiar voice say, ‘Do you have to talk to my wife this morning. Couldn’t you come back this afternoon?’
Ena opened her eyes. ‘Inspector?’ She pushed herself up into a sitting position.
There Is No Going Home Page 22