The Pearl Thief

by Fiona McIntosh

  He poked the potatoes with the tip of a sharp knife. They were coming along perfectly, boiling gently in their salted water, and should be ready to military timing. He flung the tea towel over his shoulder and returned to the window. The kitchen clock told him she should arrive any moment.

  He waited and watched the street corner. He was guessing she would have walked. The day was milder and mercifully dry; he was sure most able Parisians would be stretching their legs after a long winter and the two wet days that had kept people inside.

  He caught a flash of colour. How could anyone miss her? She looked heart-stopping in her mint-green jacket with its low neckline. She wore a narrow, knee-length skirt the colour of faded parchment, and her longline navy gloves, matching bag and shoes were daring and yet elegant. Her hair was hidden behind a low-slung woven cloche hat that was the colour of rich milk. He missed looking at her thick, bouncy hair as much as he had missed her company these last couple of days.

  He hoped she might look up so he could wave. And then he stepped away from the window in case she did; what was wrong with him, appearing so boyishly lovelorn? He chided himself for losing sight of what this mission was about. His buzzer predictably sounded and his two feline companions immediately left their comfy, sun-drenched spots in the main room to tag team at the hallway entrance with matching glares.

  Daniel pressed the button that opened the main door downstairs. ‘Good morning, Katerina,’ he said through the speaker. ‘Ready to run the gauntlet?’

  ‘Ready,’ her voice came up, sounding tinny through the speaker. ‘Wish me luck.’

  He stepped outside to look down the flights of stairs and right enough could hear her indistinctly conversing with his landlady. She extricated herself and he heard the faint click of her heels intensifying as she ascended.

  Katerina finally glided up, not looking out of breath this time. She’d paced herself. ‘Good morning … er, good afternoon,’ she corrected, glancing at her watch.

  ‘You look stunning.’ He couldn’t help himself. ‘What a colour that is – so fresh, so spring.’

  ‘Thank you for noticing. I have a weakness for clothes.’

  ‘Along with sherry and opera cake. I learn more each time we meet.’

  She smiled as she reached the top step and surprised him with a friendly welcome kiss on each cheek. ‘I’ve brought wine and a treat for that sweet tooth of yours.’

  He glanced at the box from the famous confectionery house of Fouquet, one of the oldest sweetshops of Paris. ‘Tell me they’re fruit gels.’

  ‘Only the best.’ She grinned. ‘But don’t expect me to share them. They’re yours. I was torn between those or the spiced croquants.’

  ‘You chose well,’ he assured her. He guided her inside and took the bottle of wine, admiring it and thanking her again. ‘You know I’ll eat the whole box.’

  ‘My intention. Enjoy,’ she said, slipping off her pale wool jacket to reveal a simple low-necked cardigan of a similar milky colour to her cloche. Hat and gloves were peeled off to leave her unadorned. Again, no gold or sparkling gems for Katerina. ‘Ooh, Daniel, something smells unbelievably good and if I’m not mistaken —’

  ‘You’re not,’ he cut in, delighted, hanging up her jacket.

  ‘Gulás?’

  ‘My mother’s Czech goulash recipe. I hope I’ve remembered it correctly; I haven’t made it in an age but today it felt right for us to be sharing a traditional Czech meal.’

  ‘Oh, you spoil me. How wonderful,’ she said, making for the kitchen. He liked that she seemed relaxed and comfortable in his home.

  He followed her to the pot whose lid she lifted with anticipation. ‘Thank you,’ she said, admiring the bubbling casserole. She inhaled. ‘I can smell the marjoram and bay.’

  ‘Two types of paprika, my mother always insists – sweet and the spicier version. Now, don’t be disappointed but I didn’t have a chance to make dumplings, but my potatoes should be ready.’ He leaned over her to press the point of a nearby knife into the vegetables. ‘Perfect. I must tip them into a colander now and let them steam.’

  She let him do what he had to and wandered back into the main room. He could hear her addressing the cats and then laughing at their stern expressions.

  He stood at the doorway between the rooms. ‘Glass of wine?’

  ‘Mmm, why not?’

  Daniel returned with glasses of chilled rosé. ‘Goes well with our meal and yours needs cooling.’

  ‘À la vôtre,’ she said, lifting her glass to him.

  ‘Santé,’ he replied. ‘I don’t want to spoil this lovely mood with talk of your past.’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s all about escape now from occupied Prague. Exciting, dangerous, the stuff of movies,’ she said, widening her eyes with feigned intrigue.

  ‘Come, sit down. I hope you’re hungry, although that’s probably a redundant hope.’

  She laughed. ‘I’m hungry, I promise.’

  He wished deeply he didn’t have his private agenda. Falling in love with Katerina Kassowicz seemed inevitable and he’d never thought love would visit him again; never thought it possible to want to love a woman once more. He swallowed and banished his tumbling thoughts. They ate while Katerina encouraged Daniel to talk about his family and his life growing up in England, and he was happy to do so, carefully curating all that he spoke about, especially when she shifted to his work. He’d had enough practice over the years as a spy so the lies came out effortlessly, he hoped.

  With full bellies and coffee a distant thought, a natural silence descended and he felt the time was right.

  ‘Finish your story?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I can’t imagine what it felt like to wake up in a German stranger’s spare bedroom.’

  My eyes slitted open and then I was wide awake in alarm. I didn’t know where I was and I looked around, wildly trying to make sense of the simple but comfortable bedroom I was in. Daylight seeped through damask curtains the colour of a pink rose at dusk and through the net curtain beneath I could see familiar woodland and hear birds singing their glorious chorus. Visions of lying on my dead family returned to sicken me. I began to cry uselessly and allowed myself a few minutes of pity as I relived their deaths again, but I’d survived and there had to be reason for that. I had to force these crippling memories to a safe but different place in my mind in the same way my father had explained his grief when Petr had left us.

  ‘I only allow myself to think of your brother when I feel particularly strong. Most of the time I deliberately won’t let him into my thoughts. It will take years before I can conjure up Petr and smile, remember him the way we enjoyed him.’

  And that’s what I had to do: avoid allowing them to surface from the grave for a while. I had to get strong, get on with surviving so I could live for them … avenge them.

  Pain throbbed at the back of my head as the doctor had warned and I reached for my forehead where a soft gauze was protecting my wound. As I had been helped into bed last night I had wondered if I would have no memory by morning – if the blow to my head would blur and lose everything – but no, my recollections were intact. This was day one, I told myself, of learning how to compartmentalise yesterday’s events.

  As young as I was, I knew I had to put the events of the previous day into a special space in my mind and lock them away tightly. If I was going to survive, I had to set the trauma aside and focus on hiding. By the time I was fully awake, I had made the decision that I was going defy Hitler by living, but I knew I would need help.

  I tentatively stepped out of the bedroom and tiptoed down the hall barefoot. I found Dr Schäfer sitting by a fire, reading. He looked up immediately and smiled. I can’t forget how safe I felt in that moment; instinct urged me to trust him.

  ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Sore. Is Mrs Biskup …?’

  ‘She’ll be here shortly. Usually arrives at ten. It’s …’ He glanced up at the clock whose grave tick I could hear from abov
e the fireplace. ‘Not quite a quarter to nine.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, nodding, unsure.

  ‘Come and sit by the fire. You must be cold. Let me fetch you something to drink. Do you like coffee?’

  ‘You don’t have to —’

  ‘It’s fresh.’

  ‘Yes, please,’ I said. ‘My parents allowed me … used to allow me to have coffee.’

  ‘Do you take milk?’ he called from the kitchen.

  ‘Er … yes, yes, please.’

  He returned quickly, handing me a tall cup and saucer. ‘I’ve put in some sugar too. You need energy.’

  Not just fresh milk but sugar! What a treat. I thanked him for the third time.

  ‘I needed to see that smile,’ he said kindly.

  I told him of my decision, not only to force the vivid memory of the slaughter in the woods to a corner in my mind I couldn’t easily access, but to be strong in order to punish their killer.

  ‘That’s very brave of you. You’ll find a way to avenge them but for now it’s important that we protect your life. I’ve been giving it some thought and the first thing we have to do is bury Katerina Kassowicz.’ At the way I started, his expression softened further. ‘Forgive me, that was a poor choice of words, but this Mayek fellow has to believe you’re still there where he left you.’

  In that moment I felt I could forgive the good doctor anything. ‘What if he’s checked or sent someone back?’

  ‘Then he will be scared but he’s certainly not going to look for you in the house of a German doctor. Nevertheless, I know someone who owes me a deep debt and they can help me in changing your identity.’

  I looked back at him aghast. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You have to become someone else. You speak German very well but you’re not registered anywhere as German so let’s not risk that because our records are reliable. Do you speak French, by any chance?’

  I nodded. ‘I’m fluent.’

  He shook his head in gentle admiration. ‘You do impress me. All right, so let’s make you French, but you were in Czechoslovakia visiting Jewish friends and they’ve been … removed.’

  I noticed him struggle to say that final word.

  ‘You can’t return to France because of the wartime restrictions so you contacted me in Prague … I’m an old family friend and I’ve brought you here while I was taking a short break in the country.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Good. So, is there a name you like that you might respond to easily?’

  ‘I used to have a pen friend in France called Severine. I always thought her name very beautiful.’

  ‘Severine it is. Can you live with the surname of Kassel? It’s German enough to please, but Norman enough to be French.’

  I actually smiled properly, hard though it was to believe, but there was much to like about this man and I needed to show him I trusted him.

  ‘Originally from the word “castle”, and given your bravery, I think it suits you.’

  ‘It’s also close enough to my own,’ I said.

  ‘I’m glad you approve. You need to leave Katerina Kassowicz behind from today – from this moment. Can you do that? I’m going to call you Severine from here on and so will everyone else. We’re going to change your hair, get you some clothes that belie your age so we can reinvent you as a late teenage French national trapped in Czechoslovakia, but under the protection of a German. You’re also training as a nurse.’

  ‘I am?’ I said with surprise.

  ‘You’ll have to be a quick study. We’ll say your training was interrupted, but I promise you this will not be a problem, not if I keep you close.’

  ‘And will you?’ I sipped my coffee. It was strong, sweet and uplifting.

  ‘I will keep you close, Severine – and safe. I give you my word, and this is my apology to you on behalf of the German people who don’t think like Hitler; there are plenty of us.’ He stood and moved over to where his case was kept; he retrieved something from it and returned to where I sat. ‘Take these. It will ease the pain but it won’t ease the itch, and you are not to touch that wound.’

  I obediently swallowed the tablets with the remains of my coffee. ‘How long before the stitches come out?’

  ‘We’ll leave them in for a week. Then we need the wound to fully heal. It will be a fortnight or more before we can put our plan into action but we can practise your nursing skills in the meantime and we can plan. We have the whole winter. Once you get snowed in, few people will be coming up here, so we can keep you safe.’ He chanced a crooked grin at sounding so conspiratorial; it was what I needed, though – more than anything, a friend to trust. ‘I can hear Mrs Biskup arriving. She’s early! We’re going to need her help as I have to return to work in a week or so, but you will remain here, hidden, under her care. Is that all right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You can’t be seen by anyone,’ he reinforced. ‘Not even an old friend. Only the three of us will know. We must keep it that way all winter, do you understand? No returning to the woods to lay flowers, or prayers over your family. I’m sorry to be so harsh but we’re trying to save your life and we have to be suspicious and desperately careful of every move now.’ He sounded so earnest. He waited, eyeing me gravely. ‘Tell me you understand.’

  ‘I will not break the rules. I do understand, Dr Schäfer.’

  ‘I want you to call me Otto.’

  ‘Then you must call me Katerina if you ever utter my real name. I never want to be referred to as Katka again; it’s what he called me.’

  Otto nodded with tender comprehension.

  So began my strange new life. Otto returned to work at the Bulovka hospital in Prague, where he worked exclusively with German citizens, and I stayed in the villa for the next month without setting a foot outside and spent the time learning to be a nurse. The most I was allowed to do was open my window and breathe the fresh air. I kept my promise to remain hidden. How could I not – I was as terrified of discovery as my two conspirators.

  Otto had left a raft of information for me to learn and I proved I was the quick study he had hoped. I couldn’t convince a professional if I was under scrutiny but I could get by and was sure that if I wore a nursing uniform I could likely fool patients. My external wounds healed. Mrs Biskup’s Christmas came and went. Neither she nor I felt like celebrating the arrival of 1942; Heydrich had already closed every synagogue and had now ordered the state police to intervene against any Czech nationals befriending or helping Jews.

  I feared constantly for Mrs Biskup but she was adamant that if we never broke the rules of the house, no one would ever know. There was nothing in my room to suggest a woman slept there and we hid the few clothes we’d gathered for me in the cellar – they were always crispy cold when I brought a change of blouse or skirt up from beneath the floor. Plus, we had a plan that I would climb into the loft space should anyone arrive unexpectedly. Although we felt safe that there was no reason for anyone to visit, we practised me being able to get into the loft smoothly, missing the creaky floor-board and moving so quietly no one could hear so much a sigh of timber, and fast. Mrs Biskup timed me from all corners of the house should that fateful knock ever come. I could be secreted in around fifty seconds. There was a telephone at the villa and Otto rang each evening at the same time. He’d give two rings, then hang up and then ring another three times and put the phone down. That was my signal that I could safely pick up the phone on the next ring – it would be him. We spoke briefly, always in French or German; never about his work, always about my health and how I was feeling and about my studies. He would test me over the phone too. I looked forward to hearing his voice but hadn’t realised how much I yearned for his company.

  ‘I shall be at the villa this Friday.’

  I wasn’t surprised by how I thrilled at the news.

  ‘How long for?’

  ‘Just the weekend.’

  ‘Stay longer,’ I groaned.

  I liked hearing his low, albeit brief
, chuckle, coming from Prague.

  And so we continued our strange existence. Through the harsher snowy months of February and March I lived alone with visits from Mrs Biskup only every third or fourth day, depending on the weather. Otto would come perhaps twice a month now as he didn’t want to draw suspicion of returning to his holiday villa too often through the winter. My more reserved nature lent itself to this hermit-like existence and I barely noticed I hadn’t spoken a word for sometimes more than twenty-four hours until I lifted the phone to answer and realised my voice was gritty from lack of use. I snatched at the phone.

  ‘Hello, Otto.’

  ‘Not too lonely?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said. What else was there to say? ‘I’m enjoying reading some of the books you have here. I did use your gramophone a couple of times … on very low volume, of course.’ I didn’t tell him that I’d caught myself dancing and immediately stopped swaying to the music; it didn’t seem right to enjoy it quite so much.

  ‘Stay distracted, Katerina.’ He still preferred that name, it seemed, despite his promise. ‘Whatever it takes, just keep your mind occupied and your body healthy. I’m worried about you being left alone after …’ He didn’t want to say it.

  ‘My mother always said I was a secretive child. This trait got me into hot water a few times because I didn’t offer up information but it meant I was a “reliable vault”, as she called me.’

  He didn’t say anything and I presumed he was waiting for me to explain why I’d mentioned this.

  ‘I … I guess what I’m doing now is keeping a secret from myself. I’ve put the horror in —’

  ‘A box within a box within a box,’ he said, sounding the identical words over mine.

  He couldn’t tell I was smiling.

  ‘Your advice helped.’

  ‘I’m not a doctor of psychiatry but it seems the only wise way to proceed – for now, anyway. Not forgotten but put away so you can survive without it undoing you every moment of the day.’