Lizzie’s Daughters

by Rosie Clarke

  ‘Gretchen, my dear,’ Sebastian said when the girl stood up nervously to greet him, ‘I trust you are feeling better – and your mother?’

  ‘She is very good,’ the girl replied in a thick guttural voice, her English obviously poor, but her answer correct. ‘You are well, Father?’

  ‘Better for seeing you,’ he replied and meant it. He would be glad to get her home to her mother Marianne, and see an end to this business – and this was definitely the last time he would be drawn into one of these missions. ‘We should leave quickly. I have to be back in London and it’s not safe here for any of us…’ He turned his gaze on Eric Schiller, keeping up the pretence. ‘Herr Schiller, I have a warrant for your arrest. Do you come willingly or must I handcuff you, sir?’

  ‘I think you should handcuff me, Inspector,’ Eric Schiller replied in a far smoother and more educated voice than Gretchen’s, although still heavily German. ‘But give me the key when we get in the car – just in case…’

  Sebastian inclined his head, slipping the handcuffs on and locking them with a snap. As they were about to leave, he caught sight of the bartender reaching for the telephone and felt coldness at his nape. It was all going too smoothly for Sebastian’s liking and there was something wrong – something had always been wrong with this, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He just had a sense that he was being lied to by everyone.

  He led the way outside to the car, which he’d left down a side alley. Sebastian and Gretchen got into the front, and Eric took a back seat. Sebastian leant over and gave his back seat passenger the key to the handcuffs.

  ‘I’m not sure what is going on here,’ he said. ‘I came for Gretchen but was told to bring you out as well – but I shan’t hesitate to sacrifice you if it means our safety. Do you understand?’

  Eric Schiller grinned and looked vastly more human and attractive. ‘I understand perfectly, old boy,’ he said in a cut-glass English accent. ‘I wouldn’t dream of asking you to do anything else.’

  ‘Eric…’ Gretchen looked at him, a strange expression in her eyes. ‘Please don’t do anything foolish…’

  Suddenly, as the other man’s eyes softened, Sebastian wondered if he’d been wrong about these two. Perhaps they were lovers, though their demeanour hadn’t suggested it in the bar.

  ‘The bartender was watching us,’ he said. ‘As we left he made a telephone call. I think they will be waiting for us if we try to cross over the border here as I was instructed. We’ll just wait for a moment and see what happens.’

  ‘It might be better to take the scenic route home rather than to try crossing over into the West section at any point they might look for us,’ Eric said in his upper-class English voice. ‘Do you happen to know your way to Austria and then to Switzerland – or would you prefer me to drive?’

  ‘I know the way,’ Sebastian said grimly. It would mean a detour through quiet country roads, avoiding all the usual crossings and checkpoints, to slip across borders illegally, and a long delay on his return to France. He could only hope that Betty had taken the money he’d left for her and gone home. ‘If I need directions at any time I’ll let you know – in the meantime, pray to whatever god you choose, because I think you were never meant to leave here alive, Mr Schiller.’

  ‘Just call me Eric,’ he said and sat back with a little smile on his face. ‘I’m certain you’re right, Mr Winters – and I do thank God they sent you, instead of some official policeman who always follows his orders.’

  ‘You’ll find a gun in the shoe box on the seat next to you,’ Sebastian said. ‘Please don’t use it unless you absolutely have to…’

  ‘What a resourceful man you are,’ Eric said as they saw a large black car draw up outside the inn and then two men, in dark coats and trilby hats that were pulled down over their brows, jumped out and rushed inside. They were clearly looking for Eric and probably members of the Russian secret police. Had they found him, he could well have disappeared forever.

  Sebastian waited in the shadows until the men came out a few seconds later, got into their car and raced off with a squeal of brakes in the direction he had been intended to take. He reversed gently and drove two blocks down the road, parked the car, got out and led the way to a small and rather dirty-looking van.

  Unlocking the door, he got in and allowed Gretchen to sit beside him. Eric was obliged to climb in the back amongst the boxes stacked there. He investigated and discovered pair after pair of beautiful shoes.

  ‘How did you set this up?’ he asked.

  ‘Before I left England, I asked a close friend of mine, who sells shoes for me all over Europe, to drive his van here and leave it for me. He returned to France by train and gave me the keys, and is now safely back in England with his family.’

  ‘So you were suspicious even before you came. How resourceful of you, Mr Winters. What is your alibi now?’

  ‘I am myself, Gretchen is still my daughter – and your name is Jack Havers, a member of my staff. You work as a travelling salesman for me selling hand-stitched English shoes. We have outlets in West Germany, Austria, France and Switzerland and we’re trying for markets in the Eastern zone of Germany and Poland…’

  ‘How quickly one goes up in the world,’ Eric said and smiled oddly. ‘Next time I find myself in a sticky situation, I shall certainly ask them to send you.’

  ‘Don’t bother, I shan’t come – and we’re not out of this one yet,’ Sebastian said but smiled to himself.

  Something was definitely not as it seemed here, but he’d been sent in to do a job and he would do it – even if the result wasn’t quite what their masters had planned…

  Chapter 15

  ‘I’ve got something to show you,’ Francie said, looking at her sister shyly when they’d left their mother, Beth and Romany to talk shop and had gone up to Betty’s old bedroom. ‘I did it for you, Betty – because I wanted you to know I understand…’

  ‘In your studio?’ Betty smiled and followed her sister back down the stairs. They’d left Romany and Beth talking to their mother about various aspects of the millinery business after they’d all had tea together.

  Earlier, Romany had promised to help Betty find work with a friend of hers. ‘He was asking if I knew any promising girls,’ she’d said. ‘Have you got anything you’ve made I could wear to his party?’

  ‘I could make you an evening dress if you like,’ Betty said, her gaze moving over the tall well-built woman who had been such a friend to them all since she joined the workshop team. ‘I do have an idea I think would please you…’

  ‘Can you do it in a week?’

  ‘Yes, if I can use Mum’s machine?’ She hesitated. ‘Will you be using it to make clothes for the baby? Perhaps I could help with that too?’

  ‘Of course you can, my love. I’ve bought some linen and a few bits of lace and voile for the cot, but I think we need mostly knitted things for a start – and we’ve got the christening robe I had for Francie. Unfortunately, you had a second-hand one, because it was in the war, but Francie’s is like new…’ Lizzie said. ‘Where will you buy the material for your dress, Romany?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve got some material I love but I’ve never done anything with. I’ll drop it over early in the morning – if that’s all right?’ Romany asked.

  ‘Yes, please.’ Betty was thrilled with the idea. ‘I’ll take your measurements then, though I think I know them from that suit you had made for Jenny’s wedding. I went with you to buy the material…’

  ‘I hadn’t forgotten.’ Romany smiled at her. ‘It’s good to have you back, Betty.’

  *

  Betty’s bedroom was just as she’d left it, except that the things she’d smashed before she ran away had been removed and everything was immaculate. Francie hovered over Betty as she unpacked the few things she’d brought home with her. She’d left one suitcase at Aunt Miriam’s because in her own mind she was still set on going to live there – but of course she would need to break it gently to her mother.


  ‘This is lovely,’ Francie said, fingering some delicate underwear edged with lace. ‘Did you buy it in France?’

  ‘No, I made it, but I copied some things I saw in a wonderful shop there… they were so expensive, Francie, and I made these for a fraction of the price.’ Betty smiled and took a small package wrapped in tissue from her case. ‘These are for your birthday, Francie. I would’ve sent them but then I decided to come home…’

  ‘Thank you,’ Francie hugged her and then tore the tissue off to reveal a delicate cream silk vest and two pairs of exquisite French knickers edged with coffee-coloured lace. ‘Oh, I love them. Your birthday presents are over there on the chest of drawers, Betty. We all bought you a gift, even though you weren’t here…’

  ‘I’ll open them later,’ Betty said and hugged her. ‘I do love you, Francie – and I missed you…’

  ‘I missed you, too.’ Francie held the underwear up against herself in front of the dressing mirror. ‘I wish I had your talents, Betty. These are lovely and so are the clothes you’re wearing… they’re simple and just you, but I love them.’ She hesitated, then, ‘I’ve bought some knitted things for the baby, but I haven’t told Mum yet. She’s a bit nervous of getting things too soon… just in case…’

  ‘I know, but I shall make a few things in secret and keep them until he or she is born. I hope mum gets a boy this time, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t mind as long as they’re both all right…’ she looked wistfully at Betty’s clothes. ‘I wish I could make things like this…’

  ‘You can buy nice things from the shop, Francie – but your talent is so much more. I wish I could paint the way you do…’

  ‘Tell me about France,’ her sister said. ‘Did you have a lover – was he wonderful?’

  ‘No, I didn’t have a wonderful lover,’ Betty said, because Pierre had been evil and she could never tell her innocent sister about him or what he’d done to her. ‘I had friends and we went to the cafés and drank cheap wine and listened to the music, but I had to work hard to earn a living. I tried to sell some of my designs but they weren’t interested – though I know one of them stole three of my ideas for evening dresses…’

  ‘How wicked! Why didn’t you go to the police?’

  ‘I had no proof – why would anyone believe me over her?’

  ‘I would,’ Francie said and hugged her.

  ‘You’re my sister.’ Betty smiled and put an arm about her waist. ‘When am I going to see this picture of yours?’

  ‘Now, if you want,’ Francie was nervous as she led the way to her studio, which was an annexe built on specially for her with lots of windows and skylights so that she always had good light for her work. ‘I’d like to know what you think…’

  She took the cover from the easel, revealing the painting of a girl standing in their garden on a misty morning. She was wearing a long skirt rather like one Francie was always borrowing from Betty and a loose flimsy top that showed a hint of her breasts; her red straight hair flowed onto her shoulders and her face was in shadow. There was an air of mystery about the girl in the picture but also of sadness… an inner loneliness that Francie had sensed in her sister so many times.

  Betty stood staring at it for ages and Francie’s nerves were stretched as she waited for a response. Would Betty hate it or would she realise it was her and yet not her – would she see that it had been done out of love, because Francie wanted her to understand that she knew?

  At last Betty turned to her and there were tears on her cheeks. ‘It’s me, isn’t it?’ she said and it wasn’t truly a question. ‘You know – you’ve always known…’

  ‘I don’t understand why,’ Francie said moving towards her. ‘We all love you – I would hate it if you were hurting inside and didn’t know how much we care… I care…’

  ‘I know you do.’ Betty put her arms about her, holding her tightly as their tears mingled. ‘I know Mum loves me, and Sebastian has been a good father to me. He spoils me but he isn’t my father, Francie, and no amount of wishing can change that… Perhaps it’s just something in me… something I can’t help. Insecurity or restlessness, a need to be loved… I think my real father may have been like that…’

  ‘Dad does love you,’ Francie said. ‘I’ve seen him look at you and smile and I know he really thinks of you as his daughter. You’re one of us and we all want and love you – and I wish you could believe that, Betty.’

  ‘I suppose I do in a way. I was always a little jealous when we were younger, but I’ve grown up now and I realise how much I had…’ Betty said as she hugged her sister. ‘I missed you so much when I was in Paris, but I couldn’t write and tell you, because I didn’t want anyone to know where I was. Something happened and… it wasn’t glamorous or exciting, Francie. I’ve regretted it so much and I have felt alone sometimes, just as I look in your painting, but I’m never really alone because I’ve got you, Francie, and I don’t ever intend to lose you again – and I think that painting is wonderful.’

  ‘I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever done,’ Francie said and smiled at her. ‘I need it for my exams, but afterwards it’s yours. I did it for you because I love you. I kept wondering why you didn’t write or phone, but I thought you were just busy and I was too…’

  ‘I know and that painting is brilliant,’ Betty said. ‘Being in Paris has changed me, Francie. I need to be more independent and once Mum is feeling better and I have a decent job I’m going to get my own place – but I’ll always want you to come and stay. Promise you will?’

  ‘You’re my sister,’ Francie said and covered the painting. ‘Don’t leave Mum too soon, though I’m not going back to college until Dad gets home. Mum won’t say where he’s gone, but I know she’s worried about him, just like she was over you.’

  ‘Yes, I think she’s right,’ Betty agreed. ‘What do you think he does when he goes away? He always says it’s business but… you don’t think he has someone else?’

  ‘He wouldn’t!’ Francie cried. ‘Oh, Betty, you can’t think he would do that to Mum? He was so worried when he knew she was having the baby…’

  ‘I always believed he loved her…’ Betty nodded. ‘Well, it’s a bit of a mystery, isn’t it? He asked me to meet him at his hotel, but when I got there he’d checked out in a hurry – why would he do that? It can’t just be business, Francie…’

  ‘I know he’s upset about something else,’ Francie said. ‘I saw him looking through some accounts… and I heard him talking to someone on the phone and he sounded annoyed. I think the business may be in trouble – his business, not Mum’s. She’s still doing well… even though lots of women only wear hats for church, or weddings and funerals nowadays…’

  ‘I love those little bits of fluff and feathers Mum designs to wear on the side of your head,’ Betty said.

  ‘Oh those, but they’re different, hardly hats at all,’ Francie said and then laughed. ‘They cost an awful lot of money in the shops though…’

  ‘We ought to go window shopping together as soon as Dad gets back,’ Betty said, slipping into the old familiar way of calling Sebastian her father, because it was impossible not to when she was with Francie. ‘Go in and try lots of things on like we did when you were on holiday last year – but first of all I’ve got to make Romany’s dress and you can help me when you’re not working…’

  ‘Yes please! Show me some of your designs,’ Francie begged and they went back to the bedroom together, arms about each other’s waist and the best of friends…

  Chapter 16

  ‘Stop the van here,’ Eric said suddenly as they approached the border with Switzerland. ‘If we’re right, my enemies have probably worked out where we’re heading by now. You should take Gretchen through yourself – and I’ll make my own way through the woods.’

  Sebastian stopped the van and turned to look at him in the back. ‘I’ve been thinking much the same thing,’ he said. ‘Do you want to meet up the other side of the border and travel bac
k to England with us?’

  ‘No, I think I’ll carry on alone; I can’t be sure what sort of a reception is planned for me and I prefer to work as a loner,’ Eric said and leaned forward, offering his hand. ‘Thank you for saving my life – I shan’t forget it…’

  ‘I did my duty as a decent fellow human being,’ Sebastian said. ‘Take the gun – have you got money and the papers I gave you?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Eric said. ‘I’ll be in touch when you are settled in England, Gretchen…’

  Tears ran down her cheeks. ‘Please don’t leave me. I can’t face it without you…’

  Eric leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. ‘It will be better where you’re going, Gretchen, and you can trust Sebastian. He’ll see you safe…’

  ‘I don’t want you to leave us… you might be killed…’

  ‘It’s best for all of us,’ Eric insisted and put her firmly from him. ‘You have to forget what they did to you, Gretchen. You have a new life ahead now. You don’t need me or the past…’

  She gave a little sob as Eric got out of the van taking his haversack, which was all he’d brought with him and the gun in his pocket. The handcuffs had been removed long ago as they travelled, buying food on the way.

  ‘He’ll get through,’ Sebastian tried to reassure the sobbing girl, but she threw him a look of dislike and ignored him.

  As they approached the barriers between the two countries, Sebastian sensed the tension in her. She shot a scared glance at him as the guard came forward and looked into the window.

  ‘Is there anyone else with you, sir?’

  ‘No, it’s just me and my daughter,’ Sebastian said to him in his own language. ‘She came to Germany to visit her mother who was ill, and is now returning to her home in England with me.’

  ‘Why do you wish to visit Switzerland?’

  ‘I wanted to share the beauty of the mountains with my daughter. It’s November and we may go skiing for a couple of days if the slopes are ready…’