‘I’m afraid so. You were sleeping so soundly it felt almost cruel to wake you, my dear,’ her train companion admitted. ‘I knew the train guards would do it for me with all their noise.’
She returned the kind smile and gathered up her belongings, pulling on her coat quickly. ‘I would offer to help you down with your luggage but I see you have none. Good day to you.’
‘Good day,’ she echoed and followed him out of the carriage a minute later.
Milena Biskup was away in Durham; convenient, actually, as Katerina hadn’t wanted to work through a detailed explanation for the surprise trip north beyond the excuse she’d given over the phone that she had to see a special piece for the museum. She had a key to the house and it wasn’t much more than a five-minute taxi ride to the little home she’d helped set up for the woman she’d always viewed as her step-in mother. She spent the day quietly preparing, not just putting together her plan but mostly in preparation for the next day – for the confrontation she was torn between dread and excitement about. Katerina had insisted that a telephone be installed in Mrs Biskup’s house, and was grateful for that now as it saved her a walk to the garage.
‘The car we have for hire is a Morris Minor, miss.’
‘That’s fine. Is it available tomorrow?’
‘It is.’
‘Excellent. May I pick it up at ten?’
‘Yes. We’ll have her ready for you. Are you touring, miss? It’s just, those roads through the moors can be quite narrow and twisty.’
‘I’m headed towards Whitby,’ she said, deliberately vague. ‘Not sightseeing. I’m working, so I won’t be going down any minor roads,’ she lied.
‘I can give you a map if you need the most direct route.’
‘I know I sound foreign, Mr Williams, but I lived up here for several years. I know my way around these parts.’ She made sure it came across as cheerful and not prickly.
‘Oh, that’s good, then. Sorry, I just wanted to be sure. Some tourists underestimate the geography.’
‘Thank you. I shall be fine. And the weather looks clear for the next day or two. I’m in luck, I think.’
‘Yes, no rain forecast. Not that it means there won’t be any.’ He chuckled.
She gave a soft laugh for his benefit. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr Williams.’
All she needed now was to dig out some appropriate clothes, and she supposed she had better think about food. She could see some pea soup was left over in the fridge but after last night she was sure her mood would turn it sour in her mouth. No. There was bread, some eggs, a slice or two of bacon. That would do. And there were coffee beans. She lifted the tin’s lid to inhale their toasted, sweet aroma and smiled; she could always count on Milena Biskup to have good coffee ready to grind.
The ritual to brew her coffee began. It would soothe her for what she faced. She was in no hurry. The person she was to meet had a long journey to make.
Edward was finding it hard to concentrate. He had no briefs for today and no appearances in court. Perhaps he could take some files and work more productively at home. The low headache he’d developed might have been the lack of breakfast but he suspected it was more likely that an unfamiliar anxiety had descended. It took Miss Bailey by surprise but he didn’t give her much of a chance to protest during his rapid instructions. He was in a taxi back to Lancaster Gate within fifteen minutes of making his snap decision.
He was just sighing into the chair behind his home desk when the phone rang.
‘Hello again,’ Edward said, snatching up the receiver.
‘Right,’ Marco said with no introduction. He’d obviously been redirected by Miss Bailey to Edward’s home number. ‘It seems this Körbel and Associates has been swallowed up by a bigger firm – a Swiss-French law firm. I called one of the partners and promised him a bottle of malt whisky from your cellar, Edward, for calling so early.’
‘You Swiss rise rather late.’
‘It’s not the rising, my friend. Some of us have families and lives to attend to.’ Edward heard him sip something and sigh. ‘Anyway, Pierre says there are archives and he’ll have his team look into it straight away for you. I’ll need a name.’
‘Thank you. Tell him he’s hunting the last wills and testaments of Samuel and Olga Kassowicz.’ He spelled the names for Marco. ‘He was a reputable glass manufacturer in Prague. Died October 1941, but I gather their final wills were written in 1939.’
‘All right. We should have an answer later today.’
‘That’s excellent. Thanks, old chap. I’ll have a bottle sent over for him. And one for you.’
Marco chuckled from afar. ‘You’re welcome, Ed. I meant what I said. Come visit.’
Edward replaced the receiver, scribbled a note to himself not to forget to organise the liquor for Switzerland and decided he should call Lilian Jeffers while his mind was preoccupied with all things Kassowicz. He dug out the number he’d carefully placed in his wallet and waited while the connection was made. He let it ring for a long time, imagining that the woman would now have to be in her seventies. It was finally answered. She sounded out of breath.
He introduced himself. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Jeffers?’
‘Yes, yes. I ran in from the garden, actually. I thought my husband was indoors but I think I can hear him clumping around in the attic.’
‘Ah. I’m sorry to have made you hurry. I wonder, could you give me a moment or two of your time, please?’
‘A London solicitor, you said? I can’t imagine how I can help but yes, you’ve got me indoors now, the rest of the leaves on the lawn can wait for my husband to rake them up.’
He chuckled. ‘Thank you. I’m actually looking for some advice connected with the Kindertransports of 1939.’
‘Good grief. How on earth have you tracked me down?’
‘It was Jim Leyton, actually. Do you recall him?’
‘Yes, of course. It’s been a while and we never actually worked together.’
‘Well, it seems your reputation lives large in his mind.’
She laughed, and he could hear her breath coming more easily. She sighed. ‘Here, let me sit. All right, now. How might I help?’
‘It’s an odd request, I realise, but I’ve come into contact with a lovely woman originally from Prague who miraculously survived the occupation, the round-ups, the camps. I gather she was on the receiving end of generous help from some good people – a German included – who got her out of Czechoslovakia when she was in her mid-teens. Unfortunately, the rest of her family – three sisters and both parents – were not as lucky. They all perished. Her infant brother died of a fever coincidentally around the time of the last rescue trains.’
He listened to her pained silence. Finally, she sighed. ‘Her family’s plight is not unusual, but her story of survival is.’
‘It’s a wonder, for sure. Her father was desperate to get his children, especially the son, out. But Katerina said her mother refused for any of the children to be separated and then the boy passed away and it all went badly from there on.’
‘Pity.’
‘Indeed. Anyway, the reason I contacted Jim and he put me on to you was the slim hope that you might have some recollection of children around Katerina’s age who might have been sent to families in and around London.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘Well, she’s incredibly alone in her pain still, and I was thinking that perhaps if she could be put into contact with other Prague Jew survivors of a similar age that she might just form some helpful friendships.’
‘She’s a client?’
‘No. But I met her recently through working for one of my clients and her plight just struck a chord. Don’t get me wrong, Katerina is neither helpless nor self-pitying. Frankly, I think she would be irritated to know I was meddling, but I also don’t think she would resist being able to talk to some folks – even one person – who know her city of birth, remember the times that she recalls … I just think it could help. It’s
up to her, of course.’
‘Well, let me think now. So she’s in her mid-thirties by now?’
‘That’s right. She’s actually based in Paris but she works in London from time to time.’
‘She sounds accomplished.’
‘She is.’ Edward noticed he’d been doodling Katerina’s name repeatedly on his pad and blinked in annoyance with himself. ‘She’s a curator of antiquities – she has a specialisation in jewellery but she’s been seconded to the British Museum recently to help with some of their items. You know, checking the authenticity with regards to stolen Jewish jewellery and reliquaries.’
‘I still have my old files in the attic. I’m happy to dig them out and see if anyone might suit. Did you particularly want names of women?’
‘Not necessarily. I think anyone in their thirties would be great; it’s just they would have grown up in a similar timeframe so the memories would dovetail. Talking over even simple things like their favourite haunts of times past might bring some cheer.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t agree more. I do recall a sister and brother who might have been around the early to mid-teens when they left Prague, but I just can’t remember where they were sent. I have a feeling it was to Sussex, but let me check. I think they might suit your Katerina very well as they were both from a well-known family from the city. I think their father was a manufacturer of sorts – can’t remember what he produced.’
‘Mmm, sounds promising. Katerina’s father was a reputable manufacturer too – glass, I’m told – quite senior in the Jewish community and well known too as a businessman.’
‘Well, glass from Bohemia is the best, isn’t it?’ she remarked.
‘I think the Irish may disagree with you there, Mrs Jeffers.’
She giggled. ‘Maybe not. You know it was a Czech immigrant who effectively got the Waterford glassworks operational again, using crystal specialists from Europe.’
‘I didn’t know that!’
‘I collect glass, so I know a little about its history.’
‘Good for you. Well, I think Mademoiselle Kassowicz will be happy to know —’
‘Kassowicz?’ She paused, as if pondering the name. ‘As in Samuel Kassowicz?’
He sat forward in his chair, knocking his knee on the leg of his desk. He felt stunned at her mention of Katerina’s father and he barely noticed the grimace of pain. ‘Er … yes, indeed, that’s her father’s name.’
‘Oh, good heavens! His daughter?’
Edward frowned; he couldn’t make the leap she needed. ‘What am I missing, Mrs Jeffers?’
‘Nothing. It’s just that I met him.’
‘Really?’
‘Several times, actually. He was one of the familiar faces at the railway station during those traumatic days; he came to see each of our trains off and I saw him comfort many a weeping Jewish family as they handed over their most precious people.’
‘I can’t imagine that sort of despair.’
‘No, you can’t. The heartbreak was devastating for everyone. Even for us, knowing we were keeping their children safe from potential harm, it was hard to wrangle our emotions. We had to look grave – I’m sure they were angered by our blank expressions, seemingly lacking in sympathy, but it was the only way to cope with the feelings of physically separating mothers from babies, fathers from daughters, only sons from families. I have to say I think Mr Kassowicz was the most composed of all the fathers when we took his son.’
Edward had been nodding, already beginning to tune out from the conversation, which he thought had been winding down to a polite close of small talk, but his gaze snapped open again. The headache that he’d thought had been receding splintered back into sharp focus. He swallowed. ‘Just a minute, Mrs Jeffers. No son of Samuel Kassowicz boarded one of the Kindertransports. Katerina said her infant brother died.’
‘Then this was probably another brother.’
‘One she’d forgotten?’ He hadn’t meant to be sarcastic. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound like an accusation. I was thinking aloud at how preposterous it would be that she’d overlook this. No, I’m certain, Mrs Jeffers. She is still incredibly attached to the family she lost and only speaks of three sisters younger than her and a single brother, still an infant when she was a teenager.’
‘How odd. Well, I must assure you that I certainly took a child out of Samuel Kassowicz’s arms. A little boy. I can still see his face as plainly as I can see the leaves on my lawn, Mr Summerbee.’
Edward felt the headache fizz into a full throb. ‘Forgive me for how this sounds, but could you be mistaken? I mean, could Kassowicz have been helping another family with their child’s handover?’
‘I’m not mistaken – this particular child listing remains vivid in my memory because the Kassowicz boy was a replacement for another boy whose mother simply refused to part with him at the moment of handover. It was all very last minute and highly dramatic, to tell the truth. I felt extremely uncomfortable about it at the time because the replacement boy’s mother was not present, and while Samuel Kassowicz said she’d understand, I never believed she would.’
‘Bloody hell! Oh, forgive me.’
‘No, that’s all right.’ She told him everything else she recalled. ‘You see, there was no time to produce fresh paperwork. The Germans were sticklers and we needed nothing to hold up that rescue train.’
‘So his was a spur-of-the-moment decision, you’re saying.’
‘As I recall, yes. It was a damned-either-way moment, to tell the truth. There was a panic – lots of families suddenly offering up their children – and my colleague was desperately trying to explain that it had to be specifically an infant boy under two who could travel on the other child’s papers. If we deviated, that’s all the excuse the Germans would have needed to disrupt our train – we might never have got those carriages away if we’d presented a three-year-old girl, or even a boy who didn’t fit the profile of those papers. There were even photos, and luckily all babies rugged up tend to look the same so it was my colleague who suggested to Mr Kassowicz that we take his son.’
‘Mrs Jeffers, this revelation has enormous consequences. Katerina, to my knowledge, has no idea that this occurred. And either there is a secret brother that she never knew about, or …’ He could not bear to say it.
Mrs Jeffers did. ‘Or the parents lied to their daughters about their brother, letting them believe he died.’
‘Appalling either way, although we can’t walk in their shoes. There would have been a good reason in their minds, presumably.’
‘No doubt.’ She paused. ‘Hmm. Let me just think.’ Edward waited, unsure of where Mrs Jeffers’s mind was tracking, but he was still shocked enough at the discovery to value the quiet moments. ‘I’m trying to recall the name of the child that her brother travelled under. It’s … eluding me. All right, can you sit tight, Mr Summerbee?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I want to catch Bob before he clambers down from the attic.’
He smiled. ‘Let’s not waste time exchanging my number. I’ll call you back this evening, around eight. Is that sufficient time?’
‘Perfect. Talk soon.’
Edward put the receiver down, filled with a double rush of dismay and excitement, like parallel rivers coursing around him. He’d need irrefutable proof, of course, but it was surely thrilling that he might shortly have the pleasure of delivering the most joyous of news to Katerina that not all of her family had perished during the war. Of course, then there was the revelation that her parents had lied about her baby brother. They might never learn the motivations for the lie but he would ensure she remained focused on the momentousness of being reunited with Petr.
He tapped upright fists on his desk in a brief show of triumph. He could demonstrate to her that even with his hands tied legally regarding the Pearls, he didn’t lack empathy and was prepared to help her in other ways; the notion made him feel jittery with anticipation. Her final scathing look at him had
lost none of its intensity overnight and he needed to see her smile again – just for him. And out of this sleuthing he would seek her forgiveness, but also be able to deliver her a victory from the tragic mess of her early life. Edward knew he mustn’t get too far ahead of himself; Petr was yet to be found and there was the question of how, if he could be easily located, he would feel about discovering an adult sister and learning that everyone else in his family was dead. It would be horribly disruptive for a person who had presumably grown up in ignorance, given he’d been an infant when he was handed over to foster parents …
It all felt suddenly big and overwrought. Edward wasn’t used to cases that involved so much emotion. He deliberately forced himself to get lost in other work, refusing himself a break for lunch. Instead he remained productive at his desk, switching on his lamp by three, and by four realising that the housekeeper was calling her farewell with reminders that the range was on and his dinner was in the oven. He heard the front door close and her footsteps receding. As shadows stole across his room, the radiators began to fill the house with a reliable warmth, and once again he was reminded that central heating was the new catchphrase … another project for another year. He closed the files on his desk, glad he’d cut through a lot of the legwork on the Thornton-Dray case; he could brief the QC with confidence now and was certain the judge would find in favour of his client. Edward stood and took a long stretch to straighten his spine, realising he was parched; he’d ignored the pot of tea his housekeeper had tiptoed in with earlier in the day, and his belly was rumbling.
He would change first. Edward let the dogs out for a sniff around the garden and took the time to nip upstairs and swap his day clothes for comfy pyjamas. At the bite of a cool night that rode in on the draught as he let the grateful dogs back inside, he was glad that the housekeeper had taken Violet and Pansy to the park earlier in the day.
He moved into the parlour, recalling with a prick of regret the pleasure of having Katerina Kassowicz share a bowl of soup with him here only yesterday.
‘I wish I could change how it ended,’ he said to Pansy, who paid serious attention to his words. ‘I wish I could kiss her again, actually, and assure her that I could make everything all right.’ Pansy frowned deeper, then stood and wagged her tail.
The Pearl Thief Page 32