The Viennese Girl

by Jenny Lecoat

  Frantic, they discussed options. The Jersey authorities, Hedy asserted, would be useless; she adamantly refused Kurt’s suggestion to interfere on her behalf, arguing that it would be sure to arouse suspicion and put them both in greater danger. Finally, in desperation, Hedy approached Feldwebel Schulz, who sulkily agreed that in the light of her work at the compound and the difficulty of replacing German-speaking employees, he would request an exception be made in her case. It seemed a meagre hope. For three weeks she had lived in dread, her nights tormented with fitful sleep, her days broken by stomach cramps and diarrhoea. Several times Kurt delivered news of another Jewish arrest or disappearance (clearly some had gone into hiding with friends, a dangerous solution in Hedy’s view), always reassuring her that the longer she escaped attention, the more optimistic they could be. Other individuals, he pointed out, were being deliberately overlooked if Field Command deemed it expedient to do so. But his pallor, and the way his fingers trembled as he lifted a cup to his lips, gave his real feelings away.

  No formal decision was ever announced. But by the fourth week, with arrests petering out, they began to suspect that this particular storm had passed. Perhaps Schulz’s request had been accepted, or maybe Hedy’s refusal to attend the College House interview the previous year had caused her name to drop off a list. Whatever the reason, it seemed that, for now, life could return to whatever currently passed for normality. Till the next time.

  By the summer, she and Kurt felt sufficiently confident to return to their tiny acts of sabotage. Shut away in the privacy of Hedy’s flat, they would entertain each other with their stories: of how Hedy had deliberately placed over seventy audit sheets in the wrong files, a mistake impossible to trace back but which took two hours for the administrators of Block Three to correct. Or how Kurt had turned a blind eye to the faulty wiring connections of a young mechanic in his charge, causing the truck to break down on its first girder delivery of the morning. They never fooled themselves that such actions made any real difference, but the laughter they shared in repeating them had a caustic edge to it, and stoked their yearning for revenge.

  On nights like that, their lovemaking often had a cold, urgent undercurrent, as if sex was the one channel where their rage could be safely expressed. At other times the boyish gentleness of Kurt’s touch brought Hedy to tears. She felt shame for ever doubting him. Never had she known anyone so kind, so utterly himself. She loved his attempts to supplement her weekly supplies with whatever he could bargain for at the military stores, the way he gleefully passed on any news of in-fighting or incompetence in the local administration. Best of all were the times he was able to create an excuse at his billet and stay the whole night. Then they would have long whispered conversations into the early hours, reflecting on how Hitler had risen to power and how Europe might prevent such collective madness ever recurring. Because, as summer turned to autumn, bringing with it the fall of Italy, they became ever more optimistic that the Allies would win. All they had to do, Kurt reminded her, was survive, and see the end. Worn down by his certainty, and recognising how many bullets had already been dodged, Hedy had recently begun to believe that some kind of future might be possible.

  The sky was darkening as she set off down her usual route, following the lane towards the main road, then along St Aubin’s road towards First Tower. Her new second-hand coat, a successful barter made by Kurt for some French candy, was a vast improvement on her old one, which had worn away to threads and buttons, but constant undernourishment meant she always felt the cold. Her mouth watered at the thought of the small piece of fish she had purchased at huge expense from her friendly fisherman the previous day. She’d also managed to save a swede and a few potatoes from the previous week, and Kurt had given her a small candle he’d stolen from his billet. Tonight she would eat like a queen.

  She was just passing the arched gate of the old Sun Works tea-packing factory when a hand on her shoulder caused her to cry out. Spinning round, her first reaction was relief that she saw no uniform. Then, as she caught a proper view of the man’s face beneath his cap in the half-light, relief was quickly replaced by fear. She recognised him even before he began to speak, the strength of the accent jerking Hedy straight back to the café where she and Doctor Maine had sat over a year ago.

  ‘I know about your little sideline. Do us a deal and I’ll say nothing about it.’

  Hedy swallowed, her mind racing. Quinn, that was the fellow’s name. Was he talking about the coupons? How could he possibly know? Was he bluffing? She tried to arrange her face in a way that suggested innocence and confusion. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  The Irishman now had a tight grip on her arm. Hedy glanced about but there was no one else on the street. He had chosen his moment carefully, and at that second she realised he had probably followed her all the way from work.

  ‘You know. Those petrol coupons, the ones you’ve been filching away.’

  Hedy’s heart sank. Had Quinn spoken to someone in her office? Had someone there seen her after all? Did he know there were coupons in her pocket right now? She decided it was worth one last throw of the dice. ‘I don’t understand.’

  The grip of his hand tightened, his fingers now biting through her coat and hurting her skinny arm. ‘I think you do. You get them for your doctor friend.’

  Hedy felt the blood drain from her head. ‘Nonsense.’

  He squeezed her harder and Hedy whimpered. ‘I’m not stupid. My girlfriend knows there’s coupons going missing from your office.’ Bruna, Hedy thought. Bruna, that Bavarian bitch, whose romantic interests were clearly now stretching beyond the German NCOs to include OT employees. ‘Then I remembered – you and the doc together that time. I knew there was something going on. Guilt written all over you.’

  ‘You’re crazy.’ It sounded like a lie.

  Quinn smirked. ‘Don’t worry. I’m saying nothing. All I want is a cut. Couple of coupons a week and your secret’s safe.’

  Hedy stood as still as she could, hoping that a lack of resistance would calm him, quickly trying to calculate the best way out. She could give him two of the coupons right now and get away from him, which was what her body was begging her to do. But she reminded herself he was a mercenary. The man had no loyalties, and any fool could see where this kind of blackmail would lead. Two coupons today, ten next week, a hundred the week after. Either she would be caught by Vogt, or she’d fail to deliver and Quinn would betray her anyway. Her only chance was to close this down now.

  ‘I’m sorry, but you’ve made a mistake.’ She looked him straight in the eye, rebellious. ‘I’m just a translator. I don’t steal. I’ve nothing to give you.’

  Quinn stared at her with impotent impatience. Clearly he had not envisaged this reaction and was at a loss where to take it now. Hedy could hear the blood pumping in her ears, and fought to keep her thinking clear. If she was right, Bruna’s accusation was likely based on suspicion rather than certainty. And it had often occurred to Hedy that other people within the office were probably stealing too. If Quinn took Hedy’s word now, perhaps he would walk away and try his luck elsewhere. For a moment she thought she sensed a retreat. Then fury blasted from him. ‘You’ve got some nerve for a Kraut bitch, you know that? Well, they’re all going to know about you now, and you’ll be sorry. You’ll see how sorry.’

  Hedy felt his clutch release, then he was gone as quickly as he’d arrived, bounding up the road towards First Tower in a loping run. Hedy leaned back against the painted wooden gates of the factory, unable to stand unsupported. Rivulets of sweat ran down her chest between her breasts, though she was cold and shaking. All thoughts of home and dinner had now evaporated. There was only one coherent thought in her mind. It was all over.

  She sewed the final stitch, cut the cotton with her teeth and held the coat up in the dim light of the apartment to examine it. It was good workmanship – her mother would have been proud. Provided you didn’t feel or press the hem, no one would ever guess there were
items concealed there: her toothbrush (impossible to replace now, and the thought of not brushing her teeth, even with the crushed cuttlefish ‘toothpaste’ of recent months, repelled her); the bundle of notes from behind the skirting board, finally stepping up to its rightful role; her mother’s precious letters. She shook the coat a little – as she hoped, nothing moved or called attention to itself. She considered taking the small bag of essentials she kept packed, at Kurt’s insistence, under her bed. But she quickly realised that the risk of walking through town with such an item, inviting searches and questions, was too great. In any case, she needed to remain as small and unobtrusive as possible.

  She remembered herself and Roda preparing to escape across the Swiss border all those years ago, and tried to recall everything her sister had said. ‘Money for bribes’ – that had been her mantra. Anything else could be acquired later. It was funny really, Hedy mused; everyone in the family always thought of Hedy as the sensible, hard-headed one and Roda the romantic one who would fuss over girlish possessions and crack under pressure. But it was Roda who organised, chivvied and made all the harsh decisions, even volunteering to drive them through the mountains on those treacherous roads. Now it was Hedy’s turn to show what she was made of.

  The knock on the door paralysed her. Could Quinn have raised the alarm in the few hours since his threat? She searched for the small tear in the curtain fabric that allowed her to peek out without being seen, and pressed her eye to it. Dorothea. She leaned back against the bedstead, wondering whether to answer, weighing up the pros and cons of speaking to Dorothea today. Then she moved quickly to the door.

  ‘I just wanted to tell you,’ Dorothea began chattering before she was across the threshold, ‘an old friend of Anton’s told me today that there’s been a shipment of French cheese. Of course the Jerries have taken most of it, but there’ll be a little on sale in the market tomorrow if you get there first thing.’ She beamed at Hedy, so proud of her news, so childishly hopeful of gratitude.

  ‘Thank you. But I won’t be able to get to the market tomorrow.’

  ‘If I take your ration card, maybe I can get some for you?’

  Hedy looked at those innocent, pale eyes. She knew she was about to break her promise to Anton, and felt a tug of remorse, but it was too late. The decision was made.

  ‘Dorothea, I’m sorry, but I have to go away for a while.’

  ‘Go away? What do you mean?’

  ‘Something’s happened. They’re going to find out I’ve been stealing petrol coupons.’

  Dorothea’s mouth fell open. ‘You’re still doing that?’

  Hedy nodded. ‘And I can’t take the chance. If I stay here, I’ll be arrested and deported.’

  ‘You want to come over to my house?’

  To her own surprise, Hedy gave a little snort of laughter. ‘I need to go a little further than that.’

  Dorothea slumped into the only chair, her face even whiter than usual. ‘Is Kurt going to help you?’

  Hedy hesitated, considering a lie. But she already knew she was going to need Dorothea’s help. ‘Kurt doesn’t know. I haven’t told him.’

  Dorothea’s eyes grew wider with each second. ‘Doesn’t know? Hedy, you can’t just vanish!’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Kurt loves you. And you love him. Don’t you?’

  ‘Which is exactly why I have to do it this way.’ Hedy moved around the room, tidying the books, pulling the bed covers straight, trying to keep her hands occupied. ‘Kurt has a record for coupon theft already. Once they know about this, they could easily connect us. God knows what they’d do to him.’

  To her embarrassment, she could see Dorothea was starting to cry.

  ‘No, this is all wrong. Where will you go?’

  ‘I have a plan. But I can’t tell you. It’s better no one knows – in case they question you.’

  ‘You’re not going to try and get off the island?’ Dorothea’s breath was becoming wheezy.

  Hedy made a scoffing sound and turned her face away. ‘That would be foolish and dangerous.’

  ‘You can’t do this alone!’

  ‘It’s all taken care of.’

  ‘Doctor Maine? Is he helping you?’

  ‘No!’ Hedy was shocked at the volume of her own voice. ‘He’s to know nothing about this. That way, if they question him, they can’t prove he was involved in any of it.’ She wiped her cold sweating brow with the back of her hand. ‘It will only be for a while, till things settle down.’

  At this point Dorothea broke down completely and buried her face in her hands. Hedy watched her cry, too distracted to reach out, too scared to shed any tears herself. Then she crouched down beside her to get Dorothea’s full attention. ‘I need you to do something for me.’ Hedy took the sheet of paper she had spent so long writing out on her last precious sheet of writing paper, folded several times for want of an envelope. ‘Please give this to Kurt. I don’t want to leave it in the apartment in case someone else finds it first.’

  Dorothea took the note and pressed it to her rasping chest. ‘Of course. But, Hedy, are you sure? Whatever you have planned, it sounds dangerous.’

  ‘Doing nothing will be worse.’ Hedy pulled on her coat and buttoned it up to the neck. ‘I’m really sorry.’

  ‘For what?’ Dorothea looked genuinely confused.

  ‘For dragging you into this. For leaving you on your own.’

  ‘Oh, Hedy, don’t worry about me.’ Her voice had a new steeliness. ‘Just take care of yourself, for God’s sake.’

  Hedy put her hands in her pockets to pull the coat more tightly around herself, feeling the weight of its new additions in the hem. Her voice wobbled a little as she forced out her reply: ‘Of course. Don’t worry, it’s all going to be fine.’

  He was just emerging from his tiny office when he saw them. A group of six or seven female employees – typists, he assumed – were gathered on the pathway from the canteen, talking with great animation. Their heads were bobbing together as if discussing something very important, but the way they kept glancing over their shoulders to check who was listening suggested that it was also rather shameful. Some gossip about a boyfriend, Kurt supposed. Perhaps a pregnancy? He knew, through an overheard conversation at his billet, that Fischer had just been through a similar panic with his married girlfriend, and had felt a twinge of smugness that he and Hedy were always so careful. Eager to show how uninterested he was, Kurt stepped off the path and gave the women a wide berth. But just as he passed them, a German phrase jumped out at him.

  ‘At least you weren’t in her block! Who knows what I might have caught!’

  Kurt tried to dismiss it, but something told him that he needed to hear more. Deliberately dropping a couple of the files he was carrying, he bent down and began to shuffle them back together. He didn’t have to wait long.

  ‘What’s the management playing at anyway, employing Jews? I hope they find the bitch and shoot her.’

  Slowly Kurt rose and sauntered towards them. Unsure how else to approach it, he decided to pull rank.

  ‘Ladies, you’re blocking the path. What’s so important that you have to stand around here gossiping?’

  The tallest of the group, with blonde hair worn in a single plait, stepped forward. ‘Sorry, Lieutenant, but we’ve just found out that there was a Jew working in Block Seven. Apparently she’s been stealing petrol coupons.’

  Kurt gave a little cough to cover his involuntary gasp. ‘Really? And where is she now?’

  ‘No one knows, sir. She hasn’t been in for two days. It’s not right, though, sir.’

  ‘It’s scandalous,’ chipped in a pug-nosed brunette. ‘People have been sitting next to her all this time and never knew. I think we should have been told.’

  Kurt looked at them, their angry, contorted faces scowling in unison, then turned and marched quickly in the direction of Block Seven. His heart was beating so fast he felt sick. Could it be true? How had she been caught? And how come he hadn’t heard about it? Arr
iving at the hut, he opened the door and scanned the room, but saw only a handful of secretaries working through their lunch hour. Hedy’s coat was not on the rack.

  Without waiting to give notice to anyone, he dumped the files on a colleague, pulled on his tunic and ran from the compound, jogging the two miles to her apartment, arriving soaked and gasping at her door. Shouting Hedy’s name, he wiggled his key frantically in the slot until he managed to get inside. The apartment was deserted. The bed was neatly made, a few garments still hung in the cupboard, and for a few terrible moments Kurt was certain that she had already been arrested. But then he took some deep breaths and began to look around. Her toothbrush was missing, the drawer where she kept her parents’ letters was empty. With trembling hands he got on all fours and pulled the loose skirting away from the wall – the Reichmarks, too, were gone. He gasped with relief – clearly this was a planned escape. But where the hell had she gone?

  Only when he reached Dorothea’s house, and was greeted with her anxious, pallid face and Hedy’s note, moistened by Dorothea’s sweating hand, did the panic begin to return.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kurt,’ Dorothea muttered. ‘I tried to make her tell me, but she thinks it’s safer for us not to know.’ She stood before him, arms crossed over her chest against the chill, looking up at him, wide-eyed. He placed his hand on the foot of the hall banister for support and read the note again. He had already read it three times, but could not accept that it told him nothing.