Karen was careful. As Artur’s wife, she should write nothing that might be misunderstood so she didn’t tell Elisabeth how unkind it was of Artur to dismiss the sweet, hard-working Küchen girl because she had a Jewish grandmother, or that Mr Rosenbaum’s little dog was tied up by the paws and hung outside his shop, almost strangled and painted yellow.
There was another thing she couldn’t tell Elisabeth, and if it could be written down, if Karen could explain why she had done nothing to help, perhaps the memory would begin to fade.
It had been an ordinary day and Karen was shopping for winter boots with Hede. Ahead in the busy street there was a snag in the flow of pedestrians, and people stepped off the kerb to go round an obstruction on the pavement. When they drew closer, Karen saw six or seven Hitlerjugend boys swaggering and guffawing, blocking the way. The boys were big, almost men.
There was a gentleman and a little girl pressed back into a doorway, and the boys were jabbing at the man, who had his arm around the child. She was twelve or thirteen, dark and pretty, and he held her tight against him with his hand shielding her cheek, pressing her face against his coat so she couldn’t see the boys. Perhaps he covered her ears so she couldn’t hear them either. The girl sagged into him. Her mittens and her satchel had fallen on the pavement and the boys were jeering, leaning in at her.
Karen stopped and people barged against her back, but Hede grabbed her sleeve and pulled her on. ‘Juden,’ Hede said.
‘How do you know? You can’t tell. How can you?’
Hede looked at her with disbelief. ‘Open up your eyes. Jude, he is sly like a skinny dog. It is boo-hoo tears pretending fear. It is obvious.’ She spat delicately into the gutter.
The child had her arms wrapped around the man as if she was trying to protect him, and she keened softly with spit and tears dribbling down her chin. The man’s eyes were darting past the boys to the passers-by and he caught sight of Karen. A tall blonde girl with a Nazi brooch on her lapel would not help him.
Then Karen was pushed forward by the people behind, and she was walking past with all the other good Germans who would not interfere. What could she have done? It would have been foolish to intervene. The man wasn’t hurt, she told herself, neither was the child, and the boys were strong and drunk on the power of their uniforms and swastikas.
But the memory wouldn’t fade. She still saw the little girl’s face against the coat, the spot of livid pink on her cheek. How could such a thing have happened and she did nothing to stop it?
The thudding of the furniture-removal men’s boots up and down the stairs put Karen’s nerves on edge. This morning something else had disturbed the blankness which made the days pass smoothly.
On top of the wardrobe in her bedroom, the men had found the picture of Elisabeth painted by Michael Ross and the sight of it stirred a feeling of disquiet. It reminded her of a letter from Elisabeth saying that Michael had been beaten by some men in Munich, and a Jewish doctor and his wife had cared for him until he was well enough to travel home to England.
He must have been hurt soon after they parted at the station and Karen had puzzled over why, in all the months of his recuperation, he had not been in touch.
She could hear the men in Artur’s study along the hall. The files and papers had already all been moved and today the furniture would be cleared. The thudding and grinding of heavy objects being shifted was enough to make the wine shudder in the glass beside her plate, and through the open double doors of the dining room she saw a man go past carrying a leather chair. A bookcase followed and a brass floor lamp, a filing cabinet and a boy leaning backwards carrying some wooden drawers.
Then Hede was standing at the doorway. ‘This is not good, I think.’ She held up a filthy rucksack. ‘I will put it for the mice to eat. But this is very good.’ It was a hunting rifle. ‘I find it in Herr Landau’s cupboard under old flea-bite coat and other rubbish. Is luck we find it or your husband is not happy.’ She dropped the rucksack on the floor and held the rifle across her bosom. There was a decoration of flowers and trailing ribbons on the stock. ‘The weight is good. Ja, I have never held so good in all my life. We ask Herr Landau, why do you not oil this gun and put it with the others?’
Karen felt the cool smooth table beneath her palms and let her mind empty. There was no answer she could give. The rifle belonged to Michael. There was no explanation as to why it might be here, only a question that could not be asked.
Her heart was still. The dust streamed in the sunlight and the men passed back and forth carrying things to the lorry. Hede fidgeted, waiting for instructions. ‘I ask Herr Landau, ja?’
Karen stood up, picked up her plate and glass. She was a wife who did not meddle or ask questions. ‘It’s just a gun, Hede. I don’t care.’
Hede shrugged. ‘It is the same to me. So what if fine gun has dust? I shall put it in the lorry, and that is that.’
• • •
ARRIVE FOUR STOP
WILL STAY AT HOTEL STOP KAREN
The words were typed on paper tape and stuck down like a ransom note. Nine words. Karen had changed the plan. Elisabeth stared at the telegram and felt the old humiliation burning. Even after all this time, Karen could lure her into feeling safe, into assuming.
Everything was done, a cake baked and flowers put in the room. Elisabeth had gone up to the attic and brought down, piece by piece, the bed which her father had painted for her when she was five and in Stepney Hospital with the whooping cough. Dadda had painted a picture on the headboard of a farmyard with ducks and hens, and it had been a homecoming surprise.
The bed was for little Stefan and Elisabeth put it in a corner of the guest room where she had thought Karen and her husband would sleep.
She stood at the door where the telegram boy had left her and caught herself turning the telegram over to look at the back, like an animal who looks behind a mirror because it makes no sense.
She sat down on the doorstep in the shelter of the porch. The summer wind rocked the branches of the cedar in the garden, slowly, like a great ship in a swell. Out across the Marsh, blond reeds along the ditches were bending.
She wondered what she would do with all the extra eggs and butter. Her housekeeping money was already stretched and she hadn’t a clue how women managed this for years and years.
Now supper would be just her and George. There was nothing else to do today but wait. She had time to go out to Dungeness to see Michael, but she couldn’t; she hadn’t told him Karen was coming. The reason why he mustn’t know slipped away from her and she didn’t try to catch it. So many feelings flitted in the shadows now, not all cunning and evasive – some were quick and beautiful, like half-seen birds. She let them fly up and disappear.
She sat on the doorstep for a long time, watching the cedar dipping and rising, and listening to the sheep complaining. The happiness and excitement seeped back. Karen was coming. Nothing mattered as much as seeing her again. It had been more than three years.
At half past three, Elisabeth went upstairs to change, brush her hair and put on lipstick. Bending over the dressing-table mirror, she heard a car, doors opening and footsteps on the gravel. She ran too fast down the stairs, swinging on the banister and almost slipping on the flagstones in the hall.
Karen was there standing at the open front door. ‘Oh! Oh!’ they both cried. ‘It’s you! It’s you!’ Karen’s arms around Elisabeth felt bony and her eyes looked feverish, and Elisabeth almost recoiled as if Karen was a gushing stranger, then the feeling disappeared and they were holding hands and smiling. Elisabeth had thought there might be an instant of assessment which Karen could not hide – at the wedding, Ma’s face had given away her disappointment that the marriage to George Mander had not provided Elisabeth with a house or wardrobe to boast about – but Karen showed no sign of noticing anything.
Her husband stood beside the car, waiting for his wife to introduce him.
‘I’m so pleased to meet you at last, Artur,’ said Elisabeth.
It was impossible not to stare. It was clear why Karen had chosen Artur Landau. He was a match for her – a man who would always be noticed and admired. He was indifferent to his handsomeness but certain of it.
‘Karen has told me so much of you,’ he said. His accent was slight and only the preciseness of the consonants and an odd inflection gave him away. He held Elisabeth’s hand a moment longer than he needed and she saw him take in her clothes, her face and body. The little boy was standing close to him and Artur stroked the child’s blond head. Stefan was dressed in a tweed jacket and leather shorts with woollen socks turned over at the knees. The stiff clothes seemed strange on such a tiny child.
‘Stefan darling, say hello,’ said Karen. Stefan gave a little bow. ‘Oh, Stefan.’ Karen laughed. She seemed flustered. ‘There’s no need for that. Give Tante Elisabeth a kiss.’
‘He behaves correctly,’ said Artur. There was a breath of ice Elisabeth might have imagined, then Karen took Artur’s arm and he gazed down at her as if they were still so much in love.
‘Let’s go in and have some tea,’ Elisabeth said. To her surprise, Stefan took her hand.
Artur stretched his long legs towards the hearth and Elisabeth worried about the feathers leaking from the sofa on to his spotless clothes. From time to time, he spoke softly in German to his son, who sat cross-legged on the rug and ate his cake.
Karen sat on a fireside chair, a tea plate on her lap, holding her cup and saucer in her hands. The flames in the fire lit up her skin and her pale hair. Her dress was the black red of roses. ‘How is George?’ she asked. ‘Will we see him today?’
‘He won’t be home until six. He’s so looking forward to meeting you and Artur.’
Karen turned to Artur. ‘Elisabeth’s husband has a factory which makes iron gates and railings and things. Is that right, Elisabeth?’ Karen seemed shy – or cautious. Was she still overwhelmed with love for Artur Landau? There was a time when Elisabeth knew what Karen felt, but the thread between them was fragile now. It used to be too strong, too tiring, but now suddenly it was weak and slack as if they barely knew each other.
‘I am not a businessman. I have no aptitude,’ Artur said to Elisabeth. ‘I am an administrator, I think you would say in England.’
‘Artur is dedicated to his work,’ said Karen. ‘The Party is his life. And mine. How is Toby?’
Stefan looked up from his plate. ‘Cake is good,’ he said.
‘You speak very good English, Stefan,’ said Elisabeth.
‘Karen did not tell me you have a son,’ Artur said. ‘His name is Toby? I am happy for you.’
‘Oh, Toby isn’t ours. He comes to us at weekends. His parents are in New York and I worked for them in London before I married, but they went back after the Crash in ’29. Toby is at school not far from here.’ Elisabeth wondered if she’d said too much.
‘Of course.’ Artur’s voice was neutral. ‘Your home should have a child and a boy should have a proper education whatever the circumstances of his parents. He is fortunate.’
Elisabeth didn’t know if this was approval or not. She offered Artur another cup of tea and he complimented her on the china which had belonged to George’s mother. He questioned her on English attitudes. Did they not envy the transformation of Germany?
She didn’t know. He laughed and said he could forgive her for having no interest in these things, it was as it should be in a wife.
After an hour or so, he said, ‘I’m afraid it is time for us to go to our hotel. It has been very pleasant, Elisabeth. We will meet again before I leave.’
Karen was buttoning Stefan into his jacket. ‘Artur is going home when his business in London is finished,’ she said. ‘He’ll take Stefan with him, so you and I can have some time together.’ She fussed over Stefan’s clothes. ‘I should so love to see Rachel.’ Her hands were shaking and Elisabeth realized that something was wrong and had been all the time. ‘Will we see her?’
‘Yes, of course. If you’d like to.’
At the porch, Artur kissed Elisabeth’s cheek and took Stefan to the car.
Karen pulled her close. ‘Is he here?’ she whispered. For a moment Elisabeth didn’t understand. ‘Is Michael here?’
‘Karen, you mustn’t.’
‘Tell me. Quickly.’ Her hand gripped Elisabeth’s too tightly.
‘Yes.’
Karen turned away, smiling to her husband. She walked across to him and waved to Elisabeth before she got into the car.
• • •
‘They didn’t stay?’ George asked her.
‘They’ve gone to a hotel. It was all arranged. It doesn’t matter.’ Elisabeth took his coat and hung it on the hall stand.
‘You look lovely today,’ George said, as he always did.
‘I’m not lovely at all,’ she said, kissing him. ‘You need your eyes tested.’
Suddenly, she was relieved he hadn’t been here to meet Karen and Artur and their angelic child. George was too good a man to notice but she would have felt for him; grey-haired and ageing with an untidy wife and home – and a boy who wasn’t even his. The truth was she had been ashamed. The flowers from the garden, the sunken cake and all the extra groceries that would go to waste seemed silly now, like the efforts of a schoolgirl.
She hadn’t paid attention to Karen’s letters, she knew that now. Karen had been careful not to say where they would stay and it was Elisabeth’s mistake to assume it would be with her and George. Karen had come to see Michael and that had probably always been her plan.
George picked up the post on the hall table, whistling softly while Elisabeth brushed his hat. She would make herself forget Michael, as she always did when George was home. She would forget Karen too.
George stood watching her with the letters in his hand and Elisabeth turned away. The disappointment of the day was still inside her and he would know something had gone wrong. It was hard to have her every mood and smallest upset noticed. ‘Supper will be a while. Shall I make some tea?’ she said.
‘I’ll get more coal. It will be cold this evening.’
She watched him change his shoes. She was sorry she was grieving over Karen and sorry that the longing for Michael still took hold of her sometimes. George was part of her in a way that Karen had ceased to be and he loved her in a way that Michael never would.
The evening would be peaceful. George would read the newspaper, write letters for his secretary to type the next day, and Elisabeth would knit or do some mending, listening to the wireless.
And later, in the high old bed, he would kiss her softly and say it didn’t matter. When he was asleep, she would lean into him in the warm hollow in the mattress – the dip he made was too deep to roll out of even if she’d wanted to – and she could believe that, after all, this was where she should be and in time, at last, it could be right.
• • •
It was a sunny morning and a sea wind blew in over the fields. Karen arrived alone at ten o’clock. ‘Where’s Stefan?’ asked Elisabeth.
‘Hede’s taking him to the beach.’
‘Hede?’
‘Our Kindermädchen. I’ve forgotten the word. Oh, yes, our nanny. Stefan loves her.’
‘I know who Hede is, but he could have come with us,’ said Elisabeth. ‘I want to see him while he’s here.’
‘We can just be ourselves,’ said Karen. ‘Do anything.’
‘We could have been ourselves with Stefan.’
‘Where is Rachel working?’ Karen asked. ‘Let’s surprise her.’
‘Folkestone, and we’ll have to get the bus,’ said Elisabeth. ‘Do you mind?’ At one time it would not have occurred to her to ask.
On the bus, Karen talked happily about her new house, which was bigger than the one in Munich and had a view of mountains.
The Kentish lanes were narrow and the hedgerows scratched along the windows of the bus, from time to time showing glimpses of the chalk downs rising up on one side and the Channel on the other. Elisabeth wondered when a q
uestion about Michael would come but if Karen was thinking of anything other than her life in Germany she didn’t show it.
They found the dress shop where Rachel worked. ‘Guten Morgen, meine Damen,’ said Karen. The women in the shop looked flustered.
‘Look at you!’ said Rachel, hugging her. ‘You’ve scrubbed up nice.’
‘I’m going to take us out for lunch,’ said Karen. ‘And while we’re here I want to buy Elisabeth a dress. No, two.’
‘Karen, thank you. I couldn’t let you.’
But that was how the morning went. Karen chose a dozen dresses from the rails for Elisabeth to try; plain creams and pale blues and yellows, and all impractical. At first Elisabeth felt shy standing in her underwear in the fitting room with Karen and Rachel going in and out, tweaking at the cloth, arranging her and standing back, hands on hips. If she looked good enough, they’d send her out to show the other assistants and after a while it was a game of dressing up and Elisabeth began to enjoy parading in the shop and having everyone give their verdict.
‘The place looks like a jumble sale,’ said Rachel. ‘You’d better buy something, Karen, or I’m throwing you out, lunch or no lunch.’
Karen draped some dresses over her arm. ‘We’ll have this and this. And I want Elisabeth to have this one too.’
‘No, Karen,’ Elisabeth said. ‘They’re lovely but I wouldn’t wear any of them except maybe the cotton one.’
Karen ignored her. ‘You don’t know when you might go up to London or out for dinner with George. Wear this one now, today, for me.’ Elisabeth put on a sky-blue crêpe suit. The material fitted softly, close to her body. ‘George will love you in it,’ Karen told her.
He loves me anyway, Elisabeth wanted to say.
They walked along the Leas and a promenade photographer took their picture. ‘Cuddle up, you lovely ladies,’ he bellowed from under the black cloth. They giggled and put their arms around each other. Karen wrote the name of her hotel on a card and gave it to him. ‘Bring a set for each of us – if they’re any good. And you’ll have to be quick, I’m not staying in England long.’ The man nodded, waiting. ‘My husband will pay you,’ Karen said.
The German Boy Page 23