The Viennese Girl

by Jenny Lecoat

  Dorothea shut her eyes and shook her head. ‘Come on. We need to get this thing cleaned up – I’ll bury the entrails in the park. Then …’ She smiled. ‘Then we can make our Christmas dinner!’

  Hedy moved the mouthful of pig’s liver across her tongue, savouring it, letting the flavour transport her. She had already consumed one of the kidneys and a portion of its heart, but had saved the tastiest part till last. A little juice ran from the corner of her mouth and she saved it with her finger, pushing it back into her mouth. At that moment Dorothea did exactly the same, and both of them giggled like children. Hedy took another bite, astonished at herself. She had anticipated revulsion, or at least regret; the trauma of the slaughter, the nausea she’d felt scraping the filth from the carcass under the cold tap, the imagined horror of her mother. But right now she felt as if every cell within her body was bursting into life, like a wilting plant finally taking water. Singing still swelled and faded from the other side of the party wall, adding to the sense of celebration, and the light of the paraffin lamp danced on the wall above the table. Dorothea had opened a bottle of Beaujolais she had been saving for a special occasion – it was a little vinegary, but velvety on the tongue – and by the third sip Hedy could already feel its effect.

  ‘What should we do with the rest of it?’ Hedy wondered aloud, using a small crust of bread to mop the remains of the juice from her plate.

  Dorothea shrugged. ‘Tomorrow we must skin it and cut it up. Then we can keep it in the attic where it’s cold – sorry, I’ll put it as far away from you as I can. Should last at least a week.’

  ‘What about the backyard?’

  ‘Too dangerous. Someone might steal it, or a dog will get to it.’

  ‘Do you think we can get through it all in a week?’

  ‘If we don’t, we can trade it for eggs or fresh rabbits. There’s still things you can get in the country parishes, if you know who to ask.’

  Hedy’s chewing was interrupted by a mouthful of gristle, but she happily swallowed it anyway. ‘How did your cousin manage this? I thought the Germans accounted for every piglet born?’

  ‘The farmers have their tricks. They’ll sneak a sow into another pen while the Germans aren’t looking, so it gets counted as a different pig – then the Jerries don’t notice when one goes missing.’ She snorted laughter through her nose. ‘Apparently one farmer tied a bonnet on a pig and put it in his bed, told the Jerries it was his sick mother! They wouldn’t even go in the room!’

  Hedy burst out laughing, and they continued eating for a few more minutes until she piped up again: ‘I still don’t understand why your cousin agreed to help us? I thought, apart from your grandmother, none of your family spoke to you any more?’

  Dorothea glanced down and hesitated a moment before replying. ‘He didn’t want to help me, and he made it clear it’s just this once. We won’t be able to ask him for anything again.’

  ‘So why today? Because it’s Christmas?’

  Dorothea shook her head. ‘I told them Anton was dead.’

  Hedy sat back in her seat. ‘You lied to your own family?’

  ‘I don’t know that it is a lie.’

  ‘Dorothea!’

  ‘I’ve heard nothing for months – Anton may very well be dead.’

  Hedy felt a rush of pity. ‘You can’t really think that? How do you carry on?’

  Dorothea looked her straight in the eye. ‘I love Anton with all my heart, but we all have to face facts. God will find a path for me, for all of us, if it’s his will.’

  Hedy shifted uncomfortably in her chair. ‘You still believe in God? After the last few years?’

  Dorothea looked a little puzzled. ‘Of course.’ She turned her attention back to her plate, wiping the last specks of meat juice with a damp finger, wasting nothing. Hedy did the same, glancing up at Dorothea’s face. There were dark rings beneath her eyes and flecks of grey at the sides of her jet-black hair. But she noticed a rigid set of her jaw and the pale lips that tightened when she was forced into an opinion or decision.

  As Dorothea stood to collect the plates and take them to the sink, Hedy stopped her. ‘Is that why you agreed to shelter me here?’

  Dorothea turned, the plates in her hand. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Because you believe it’s what God would want? That it’s your duty?’

  ‘I never thought about it like that.’

  ‘But you know what you’re risking,’ Hedy pressed her. ‘What if Anton is still alive? He could be back in less than a year! You’re both young, you’d have the rest of your lives together. Yet you’ve chosen to jeopardise all that for me.’

  Dorothea thought for a moment, then sat back down, placing the crockery on the table. ‘I didn’t really think about any of that, to be honest. You’re Anton’s closest friend here, and you were in trouble. It was just the right thing to do.’

  Hedy shook her head. ‘I don’t want to be responsible for anything happening to you. Kurt could find me another place.’

  ‘Don’t talk daft.’ Dorothea put her arms around her. ‘You’re far safer here. And I like the company.’ She began to pull away, anticipating Hedy’s usual reluctance, but this time Hedy reached up and held her in the embrace.

  ‘Thank you.’

  They stayed like that for a moment until the coded tap at the back door made them both jump. Dorothea hurried to open it, and Kurt, his collar turned up high for warmth and concealment, stepped lightly inside. Hedy, warmed by the wine and events of the day, ran to him and kissed him passionately, right in front of Dorothea. Both women gabbled at him for several minutes, talking over each other in their enthusiasm to tell the story of the pig’s arrival, the drama of the slaughter, the wonderful meal.

  Kurt listened to all of it before pushing back his hair with one hand and looking at both of them with a combination of admiration and horror. ‘If that cart had been stopped on the way over here, you’d have been arrested along with your cousin. Within a couple of days we’d all be in jail.’

  Dorothea nodded. ‘I know.’

  Kurt looked to Hedy for agreement, but Hedy shrugged. ‘Dorothea did this for us, Kurt. I think she’s been incredibly brave.’

  Kurt raised the small glass of wine that Dorothea had poured for him. ‘You’re right. To a merry Christmas, and a better one next year.’ Then he glanced awkwardly at Dorothea and back to Hedy, too embarrassed to be specific. ‘I won’t be missed at my billet for a couple of hours …’

  Without waiting to be asked, Dorothea gestured towards the hallway. ‘Use my bedroom – I need to clean the kitchen up anyway.’ Hedy blushed. But Dorothea made a shooing movement with her hands. ‘Go on, make the most of it. It’s Christmas, after all.’

  Kurt nodded his thanks and took Hedy by the hand, leading her towards the stairs. Halfway up, Hedy stopped and leaned over the banisters. ‘Thank you. You’re a good friend, Dory.’ She hesitated. ‘I believe Anton is still alive. And he’d be really proud of you.’ Then she followed Kurt up the stairs, feeling her body grow warm at the thought of him.

  10

  June 1944

  Hedy! Hedy, wake up!’

  Hedy sat bolt upright on her mattress, almost banging her head on the rafter above, filled with panic before she was even properly conscious. In the slivers of morning light rising through the floor hatch, she could just make out Dorothea’s features, and saw that she was smiling.

  ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘Listen. Can you hear them?’

  Hedy sat perfectly still. The sound was outside – far way, but loud enough to penetrate the walls and windows. It was indisputably the throbbing drone of aeroplane engines. Not in ones and twos, as they were used to, but in dozens, perhaps scores. The noise was followed by another, louder and intermittent – the rat-a-tat-tat of anti-aircraft fire. Hedy pushed the blankets off her legs and clambered across the rafters towards the hatch. ‘I want to see them.’

  Dorothea nodded and let herself down the ladder into
the bedroom below, with Hedy following behind. They hurried to the window. Dorothea pulled back the blackout and the thin fabric curtain, and pressed her face to the window, her eyes skipping about to detect the movement of neighbours. Finding the backyards deserted, she beckoned Hedy towards her.

  ‘Here …’ She grabbed a small towel from her bed and handed it over. ‘Wrap this around your hair, as if you’d washed it. Then, if someone sees you, I can say it was me, and they made a mistake.’

  Hedy did as she was told, then, kneeling on the bed, pushed her face towards the window, looking out across the yard and onto the backs of the houses beyond. The long-forgotten colours of the outside world, even on this unseasonably cloudy day, set her senses alight – the emerald of the scrubby grass, the subtle blues and lilacs of the rain clouds! But the real excitement was in the distant sky. A squadron of planes, like a cluster of disciplined insects in rigid formation, was heading towards the French coast, followed by another, then another. She sat motionless for a moment, enthralled by the light, pattern and complexity, then dropped the curtains back.

  ‘What time did this start?’

  ‘A little while ago, and there’s no sign of it stopping.’

  ‘So this is it? The Allied invasion?’

  ‘I don’t see how it can be anything else.’

  Hedy involuntarily clenched both fists and her teeth, emitting an impassioned growl. ‘Come on, come on! Let those bastards have it!’ Then she saw the wince on Dorothea’s face, and instantly regretted it. ‘Oh, Dory, I’m sorry.’

  Dorothea shook her head. ‘Don’t worry. I know what you meant.’ She hastily buttoned her cardigan, and Hedy saw that her hands were trembling. ‘I’m going down to the market, see what I can find out.’

  ‘Be careful!’ Hedy called after her. ‘The Jerries will be on edge today.’

  Hedy, washed and dressed, tried and failed to find something to distract her while she waited for Dorothea to return. The tick of the kitchen clock punctured the air as she paced the hallway; she could still hear the far-off hum of aeroplane engines and the crackle of German guns. She ached to switch on the wireless in the cupboard, but didn’t dare. There was nothing for lunch, but she felt too nervous to eat.

  Eventually, a little after four, Dorothea returned, flushed with excitement. Hedy immediately dragged her into the kitchen and sat her down at the table.

  ‘It’s crazy out there!’ Dorothea’s voice was thick with agitation, and Hedy could hear her asthma bubbling underneath. ‘All the locals are smiling, some are even wearing red, white and blue rosettes! There are truckloads of Germans being driven out to man the gun emplacements and to guard billets. One man told me there are barbed-wire blockades across some roads in and out of town.’

  Hedy breathed deeply, trying to take it all in, attempting to picture the scene. ‘So Jerry thinks a full-scale Allied attack is on the way?’

  ‘Must do. They were stopping lots of people, just ordinary pedestrians and cyclists, checking their papers.’ Dorothea’s hands fidgeted in her lap. ‘There are so many rumours. Someone reported an American ship in St Aubin’s bay this morning, but it’s nonsense. A woman told me she thought she’d seen Churchill himself in a car with the Field Commandant. I think she may be sick in the head,’ she added sadly.

  Hedy reached out and patted Dorothea’s hand; it was a mauve colour, and the temperature of stone. ‘We need to stay calm. There will be more news on the BBC tonight.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t suppose you saw Kurt?’

  Dorothea shook her head. ‘I doubt he’ll be able to visit for the next few days. They’re all on high alert.’

  But a little before nine, just as they had finished their dinner of boiled macaroni, and Dorothea was about to pull the radio from its hiding place, Hedy heard Kurt’s tap on the door. Grey-faced with dark rings beneath his eyes, he slumped at the kitchen table, throwing his cap onto the neighbouring chair, while the two women stood around him, too nervous to settle.

  ‘It’s huge – I mean, massive. Thousands landing on the beaches in Normandy, vast air support. It’s got to be the start of the end.’

  ‘So what happens now, I mean, here on the island?’ Dorothea, beside the sink, was pushing up and down on her toes with excitement.

  Kurt pulled a copy of the local evening paper from his inside pocket. ‘Read for yourself.’

  Hedy picked up the paper, and read aloud the proclamation dominating the front page: ‘“Germany’s enemy is on the point of attacking French soil. I expect the population of Jersey to keep its head, to remain calm, and to refrain from any acts of sabotage, and from hostile acts against the German forces, even should the fighting spread to Jersey. At the first sign of unrest or trouble, I will close the streets to every traffic and will secure hostages. Attacks against the German forces will be punished by death. Signed, the Commandant.”’ Hedy shivered. ‘They sound scared. They really expect the locals to rebel?’

  ‘God knows,’ Kurt replied. ‘They’re taking some precautions – shipping out non-essential workers like nurses and canteen staff. And College House staff are sleeping on the premises in case of a night attack, though I don’t see what good that will do.’ ‘So they don’t intend to surrender?’

  ‘Most of the ordinary soldiers here would happily surrender, but the high-ups won’t stand for it. With the defences we’ve put up in the last two years, it could be a bloodbath.’ He rubbed his eyes, as if trying to press the images away. ‘But I suspect the Allies know that. Which is why I don’t think—’ He stopped abruptly.

  Hedy felt her surge of hope ebbing away. ‘You don’t think what?’

  Kurt sighed deeply, from the gut. ‘The Allies will be looking to limit their losses. If I were them, I would press on, try to gain ground on the Continent. The Channel Islands are tiny, after all. Plenty of time to come back for them later, when they’ve pushed the enemy line further.’

  Hedy, suddenly feeling a little unsteady, sank down onto the remaining chair. ‘You’re saying they’ll just … go around us?’

  ‘Quite possibly.’

  ‘But if that happens, the islands will be completely cut off. There’ll be no food or fuel from France or England. How will we survive?’ She felt a painful lump form in her throat. ‘We’ll all starve together.’

  Kurt squeezed her hand, but it brought no comfort. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘The public telephone system will remain suspended. A section of Gloucester Street jail is being set aside for casualties, and a Red Cross flag will be placed above it. Food stocks are to be removed from out-of-town depots and brought into stores in town …’

  Baron von Aufsess paused, reading ahead down his list as if mentally sifting out some of the items. Kurt, standing a good six metres from him, swore he could hear the new chief administrator emit a small sigh. Then the baron coughed and continued, his clipped, aristocratic voice booming out across the hall. Something about potato supplies, and locals being warned away from the beaches. It was all the usual business: protect the garrison, override the populace, no surrender.

  Kurt let his gaze wander. Beyond the windows of College House the sun was blazing, gulls were gliding on the summer breeze, and far above Allied planes continued to stream across the azure sky. Now and then came the dull boom of one of the giant cannons across the Channel; last night anti-aircraft guns had brought down a British pilot at Les Landes, destroying two houses.

  The baron continued to list instructions and priorities: all military were to use discretion, but come down hard on the smallest dissent; the deportation of all civilians to France could not be ruled out at this stage. Kurt looked at the haggard faces around the room, rigid with tension beneath a stoical veneer, and wondered who they believed they were fooling. It was just like the picturehouses where he’d watched Bela Lugosi films as a youth, when all the boys jutted out their chins and pretended not to be scared. Kurt’s own stomach had been churning for days now, and the acrid scent of sweat and sulphur in this room told him he was not alone.


  Von Aufsess reached the end of his list and instructed his deputy to hand out new sectional orders. Kurt was charged with checking the working condition of every truck within his compound, maximising transport potential should the need arise. Turning to leave, Kurt spotted Wildgrube at the back of the room. Like all the secret police, he was today dressed in military uniform, the first time Kurt had ever seen him so attired. From his strutting gait and the gleam in his eye, Kurt saw that the spy relished the opportunity to appear in public as a real soldier, and was forced to admit that it gave the little oik a genuine sense of authority. Hoping to avoid him in the crowd, Kurt pressed towards the door, but within a minute found Wildgrube at his shoulder.

  ‘Kurt, my friend. How are you?’

  ‘Just fine, Erich. Looking very smart today.’

  Wildgrube played with his cuffs. ‘We must all be on our best game to face what is before us.’ Kurt nodded, hoping that might be the end of the conversation. He’d seen little of Wildgrube since his attempt to intimidate him at the compound; Kurt had long hoped that a cold trail, combined with simple lack of manpower, had caused the investigation to be abandoned. Kurt had spotted the odd secret police minion outside his billet, and had twice curtailed a visit to West Park Avenue on the suspicion that he was being followed, but overall it seemed that Wildgrube had found other fish to fry. Kurt threw the spy a polite smile and went to move on, but felt a tug at his elbow. ‘Of course, recent events will necessitate a little … housekeeping.’

  ‘Housekeeping?’

  ‘Old cases, unsolved problems. We need to reduce the burden of excess feeders on the island.’