She has guarded against these thoughts but now that they’ve taken flight she’s weightless and can do nothing to tether herself again, although it’s hard to silence the voice that keeps intruding. Is this love or jealousy? Why did she not leave George when Michael first came back? She has not thought of it in all the time he’s lived at Dungeness, and she has organized her feelings so nothing is disrupted. George is her life and Michael is her soul and so, she tells herself, there is no need to make a choice. She is loyal to them both.
She has fooled herself that Michael will stay with nothing to sustain him. She brings him food, that’s all, morsels of the life she has with George. The taste must always turn bitter when she leaves.
Then Karen comes and proves how easily Michael can be taken. Elisabeth should be grateful because now there is no doubt.
This morning she is sick with sleeplessness and the truth of what it means to go is crushing her. She loves Toby as if he is her own. George, she respects more than anyone she’s ever known and she loves him, although she thought she never would – but the truth is she could be apart from him and bear it. It would not be a death inside her.
She sits listening to the rain, puts up her hair with her hands on her head, leans back and looks at the ceiling. A tap drips in the sink. The heat is increasing. Her nightdress sticks to her stomach and she finds a cool place on the flagstones for her feet.
Then something makes her sit up and turn around, scrabbling for her dressing gown, which has fallen on the floor. Two men stand at the open door in the shadow of the porch, their silhouettes against the opaque curtain of rain.
They do not come in yet, they wait in the porch and watch her bend down to pick up her dressing gown, put it on, tie the cord, before they walk through the hall and into the kitchen. One is Artur Landau. The other man is younger, his hair is plastered down and he is soaking as if he’s been standing in the rain. Artur is almost dry and Elisabeth notices how odd it looks, one man dripping and the other immaculate. Her mind is flickering and she can’t fix on anything for long enough to speak, but part of her is simply astonished that this is happening. Artur smiles over her head. ‘What is your opinion of my sister-in-law, eh, Kurt? Is she to your taste?’
The man, Kurt, doesn’t answer. He moves behind her and she feels his nearness at her back.
Artur’s expression is cheerful. This chills her more than what he’s said. Then she knows the reason he isn’t soaked is because he has been waiting in a car somewhere along the lane, out of sight, while the other man stood in the rain and watched George and Toby leaving. She knows this in a flash and she sees that Artur knows she’s worked it out and understood that he has come for her.
‘I would like to know where I can find Michael Ross,’ he says. ‘I asked Karen, of course, and I believe she doesn’t know.’
There is a long moment when Elisabeth feels the emptiness around her and she’s flying through the silent house, across the garden and the miles of deserted fields to find the only people who can help her, but they are walking away and will hear only the rain.
Artur looks her up and down. ‘Not skinny like her sister, a healthy figure, firm. A pleasing mouth would you say, Kurt? Unfortunately, another little English whore.’
He can’t have said it. She hasn’t heard correctly. Her face is fixed and so are her limbs. Kurt says something in German and Artur laughs. She can almost believe that this is nothing, she has misunderstood it all. But her instinct tells her there is no doubt and soon he will touch her.
Artur regards her, frowns a little. ‘She receives us in her nightdress, Kurt. Perhaps she knows where we might find her friend but would rather we do not leave just yet. She teases us, keeps it to herself.’
There is nothing in his eyes, as if he doesn’t see her any more. He reaches out and strokes along her jaw, under her chin and down to the opening of her dressing gown.
Then something changes so swiftly that the movement is invisible, like sleight of hand. Now Artur is not close and the man, Kurt, leans casually against the dresser. They’re both looking towards the door to the garden, but when she tries to turn around, her legs give way and she sits down in a chair.
George and Toby and Eddie Saunders are dripping in their oilskins and gumboots, hunting satchels, guns, game sacks tied around their chests. George’s deep sociable voice is filling up the kitchen and they are all shaking hands, introducing themselves. There’s so much noise and movement she can’t follow what they’re saying. Toby comes to stand beside her chair and absently puts his wet hand on her arm.
Artur lies smoothly. He is showing Kurt the English coast, they were passing when they noticed the front door was open and, knowing that country people everywhere rise early, he decided to call on his English family.
‘It’s fortunate we came back. I should have been sorry to miss you a second time,’ George says, and the tension that was pulsing in the air is rolled away by his voice. He does nothing to indicate he’s noticed anything is wrong, but Elisabeth knows he has because he doesn’t look at her, and he didn’t kiss her as he always does when he comes home; all the time he stands facing Artur Landau, talking amiably. ‘The rain is too heavy to take a shot,’ George says. ‘So here we are. We won’t be going out again.’
The minutes move on and Elisabeth can’t formulate the words to interrupt and tell George what happened, because nothing did. She understands that Artur will leave soon, but before he does he’ll try again to get the information he came for. She takes Toby’s hand and whispers to him, ‘Let’s find some dry clothes for you,’ and for once he doesn’t question her. She must get away and take Toby with her because there’s nothing else she can do. They walk towards the door and George continues talking. She notices that Eddie has not put down his gun and stands against the wall.
‘We should trouble you no longer,’ Artur says. ‘Kurt and I, we hope to find an English friend. He lives near here but we’re not sure of the address. Do you know him by any chance? His name is Michael Ross.’
‘I can’t help you, I’m afraid.’ George does not miss a beat. He looks across at Eddie. Eddie shakes his head.
She has to walk near Artur and if she did not have hold of Toby’s hand she wouldn’t have the courage, even now.
‘It is a pity if we do not find him. Perhaps a postal office? Is there one nearby?’
‘Hythe,’ George says, ‘but it’s Sunday. They’ll be closed.’
‘So this name means nothing?’ Artur looks at Eddie now. ‘Michael Ross?’
Then Elisabeth feels Toby’s hand in hers tighten and in that second she knows he will speak and she can do nothing to stop him. They are at the door, almost through, but Toby turns and says, ‘Michael lives at Dungeness.’
Elisabeth closes the door behind them and, standing in the hall with Toby, she hears George say, ‘You’ll have breakfast before you go, Artur? Kurt? The English never let their visitors go away hungry.’
Now the fear begins to flood her and she feels so weak her legs are nearly giving way again, but she pulls Toby into George’s study and shuts the door.
‘What is it?’ Toby asks. He looks frightened so she makes herself smile and says she wants to ask him something, that’s all.
‘Why didn’t you tell him where Michael lives?’ Toby isn’t listening because her fear has entered into him. ‘You wanted them to go away, didn’t you?’ She should reassure him but desperation is almost overwhelming her and she struggles to be patient.
‘It doesn’t matter, Toby.’ They both know she hasn’t given him an answer. ‘Will you do something important for me?’ There’s a flicker of interest in his eyes. She finds paper and a pen, scribbles a note, puts it in an envelope and seals it. ‘I’d like you to take this to Michael.’
‘Why?’ asks Toby.
She must make up something quickly and she must make him hurry. ‘Michael was expecting me to visit this morning, but we have visitors. It would be best if you ride Little Bear and go the quickest way
you know.’
Toby looks at her and she sees him sifting through to find the lies, to understand the truth of what she’s asking him to do. ‘Why?’ he says.
‘Because they … because Michael …’ She has pushed the envelope into Toby’s hand and fights away the panic at the wasted time.
‘But my coat is in the kitchen,’ he says reasonably. She dashes to the boot room, hears the men still talking in the kitchen and finds a coat of her own for him. They go out through the front door and into the downpour, her dressing gown is soaked in seconds and she watches Toby put a bridle on the pony and ride off across the fields.
Then she sits down in the mud. After a while, there are footsteps on the gravel on the other side of the house and a car in the lane starts up and drives away. She can’t think – not even clearly enough to get out of the rain.
Sometime later, George finds her and he carries her into the house, undresses her and wraps her in a blanket, puts her to bed. He gives her brandy, holding the glass to her lips because she’s shivering. ‘Eddie has gone to Dungeness,’ he tells her. ‘I told Landau to take the New Romney road through Lydd. They won’t get there for an hour or so. Eddie has time.’
She is crying and can’t stop, and she has no idea how George has understood but somehow he has. He sits with her, holding her and stroking her hair, and he asks where Toby is. When she tells him, it’s the first time he has ever looked at her with anger.
‘He is a child, Elisabeth. How could you send him?’
He stands up and leaves her. She never knew before how much she needs him and how safe he makes her feel. She hears him go downstairs and soon after there is the sound of the Daimler’s engine starting up.
He will take the big old car along flooded farm tracks direct to Dungeness, Eddie is striding as he does, knowing the land so well he will not waste a second, Artur Landau is driving on fast metalled roads but goes the long way through Lydd, Toby and Little Bear are trotting across the fields in the rain.
• • •
The envelope inside Toby’s shirt was sticking to his chest. Perhaps the rain had already soaked the paper and the ink on Elisabeth’s letter would be running. The message would be washed away. He told Little Bear to canter but the ground was too soft and they could only trot.
What had happened this morning was puzzling, and now that he was away from the two men from Germany, Toby couldn’t remember why they had frightened him so much. This letter he was carrying was a puzzle too because Elisabeth hadn’t told the truth.
She had been different since she came home late on Friday, so late they had started making supper. He was buttering bread at the table, George was frying sausages in a pan and it was almost dark outside when she walked in and smiled without really seeing them. She was looking at something else behind them, or through them, as if they were ghosts.
She said she had been washing the eggs with Rachel but that wasn’t right. Rachel never did the eggs on Friday, always Sunday afternoon – Toby knew this because he helped her. Rachel scrubbed the muck off them with a little stiff brush and he dried them with a rag, wrote the date in pencil on the shell, wrapped each egg in straw and put it in the box. The boy from the grocer’s collected the box on Monday.
And why would no one tell the men from Germany where Michael lived? And why did this letter have to be delivered now?
Toby reined in Little Bear in the shelter of a beech tree. The rain beating on the leaves and splashing on the ground was like standing under a huge umbrella with the grey Marsh all around. He took out the envelope and opened it.
Michael, go now. Now.
Artur Landau and another man are on their way to Dungeness.
Find some way of telling Toby where I should meet you tomorrow and please wait for me. You know I will come.
E
So the men were bad but this was no surprise. Toby had known as soon as he came into the kitchen that Elisabeth was frightened. The air around the men was spiteful.
The rest of the message he couldn’t fathom, but it felt thick, knotted up, and perhaps this had stuck the envelope to his chest.
He hated the clammy letter with the private words. He hated Elisabeth, who was suddenly different and strange. He screwed up the paper, threw it out from under the shelter of the tree and watched the shining rain close around it.
He tore up the envelope too and let the pieces fall in the mud, then turned Little Bear’s head towards Dungeness again. He would ride as slowly as he liked. He would tell Michael Ross about the men but that was all.
By the time he was walking Little Bear across the shingle, the rain had stopped and a sideways sun was barging through the clouds. Everything was glistening except the waves, which were the colour of old metal, and dingy with the rain moving out to sea and beating off the sparkle.
Toby did not dismount when he reached the hut because it wouldn’t take long to deliver the message about the men. He had decided he hated Michael too.
‘Hello, Toby,’ said Michael, putting out his hand to Little Bear, who touched his nose to Michael’s palm.
‘Did you know Elisabeth was coming to see you this morning?’ Toby asked, to check if anything she had said was true.
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Well, two men are coming, Elisabeth says to tell you. They’re from Germany. I told them where you live because they asked. You’d probably better not be here when they come and they will any minute, I should think.’
Michael seemed to believe him straight away, but he said he would not go until Little Bear was out of sight so Toby must leave at once.
As Toby rode away, there was the sound of a car a long way off across the shingle, but then the rain began again and that was all he heard.
23
The old flowered curtains were pulled across, and in the half-light the floorboards were dark and glittering like water. Elisabeth was too drowsy to think why she should be in bed with daylight outside and her mind was empty. The wardrobe and the chests made heaped-up shadows and a little silver lozenge in the corner was the dressing-table mirror. Her body was so heavy she couldn’t move.
Then she remembered: Toby’s hand on her arm, the spotted rump of Little Bear disappearing in the rain, mud soaking through her dressing gown.
She sat up. The bedside clock said half past four and she had been sleeping almost all day. She started dressing, fumbling as if she had been ill. A headache from the brandy George had given her was swelling behind her eyes.
Downstairs, the front door was still wide open. She slammed it shut and bolted it although she knew Artur Landau would not come back. The house was empty. George and Eddie and Toby must still be out on the Marsh. She pulled on her boots. Toby had her coat but George’s oilskin was still on the hook on the kitchen door and she reached up and put it on. Then she saw a note on the table:
Elisabeth,
Michael Ross has gone. Eddie and I arrived together as he was leaving. We are looking for Toby. Do not go out. You must be here if he comes home.
Michael was safe, but Toby had been gone since half past eight that morning – eight hours.
Now she knew what she had done. She sent Toby alone to Dungeness, into the path of Artur Landau who was as callous because of jealousy as she was because of love.
It seemed impossible to wait, to do nothing, though after a minute or two a dead weight of exhaustion descended on her. She sat down and put her head on her arms on the kitchen table. Perhaps she slept again.
‘Are you all right?’ Toby was standing beside her, filthy with spatters of mud and sand sticking to his coat – her coat – and she hugged him so tightly he squeaked. She kissed his soaking sand-spiked hair. ‘You’ve been gone for hours and hours,’ she said and she couldn’t let him go.
‘I went to Camber.’ He shuffled her off and moved back. ‘Little Bear likes the sand.’
‘It’s all right, darling, although you should have told me. George and Eddie are looking for you and I was worried too.�
� Toby’s eyes slid away and he sniffed the water trickling from his hair and down his face. She kept her voice light. ‘It doesn’t matter, you’re home now, and look at you. What a sight! I’ll run a bath and make you something to eat.’ Toby stared at the floor. ‘Did Michael give you a message for me, darling? What did he say?’
‘I want to go to Rachel’s for tea today,’ Toby said.
‘No, Toby. It’s school tomorrow. Did you hear me? What did Michael say?’ Elisabeth shook Toby’s shoulder gently but his eyes were blank. She knew she must look crazy, her face was hot and her hair was wild. She smiled as normally as she could and stroked the wet from his cheek but he stiffened and then he burst out, ‘You weren’t going to Michael’s like you said. You lied and there’s other things you lied about and that’s all I’m saying.’ Then he turned on his heel. ‘I ripped up your stupid letter.’
In a second she grabbed him and slapped his face. They were both astonished. Toby’s eyes filled up with tears – so did Elisabeth’s. He ran out through the kitchen door and she called after him, but she let him go.
• • •
The certainty had disappeared. There had been too much time to scrutinize herself, to pick herself apart, and now she did not know if it would be a just punishment if Michael had gone without her.
Since Artur Landau came to the house four days ago, Toby had not returned to school and George stayed home from the foundry, saying they had missed their day’s shooting and had earned some time together.
It seemed ‘together’ meant himself and Toby. They cleaned the guns, the Daimler and the bicycles, laying out bits of oily metal on newspaper in the courtyard. They came into the kitchen and found food when they were hungry. It was as if she wasn’t there.
Elisabeth fell asleep on the sofa, at the kitchen table, sitting on the stairs, dreaming and forgetting, and half hearing George and Toby in the house. Sometimes she believed they wouldn’t care and wouldn’t even notice if she left, and sometimes she wanted more than anything for them to prevent her.
The German Boy Page 25