‘But somebody must know. Somebody must be able to help.’
‘When people enquire, the shutters come down. No influence seems to work.’
I won’t accept this.
‘You must know someone I could speak to.’
He doesn’t reply for a moment. He goes to stand in front of the window, smoking, looking out, not looking at me. His gangly body is dark against the wintry light outside, as though he’s made of shadow.
‘Stella, I’d help you if I could,’ he says then, rather slowly. ‘If only there was a way. You know that.’
His voice is empty. And I understand in that moment that he’s not just stalling or putting me off. That when he says he can’t help me, he means what he says.
I feel tears spilling. I pull a handkerchief out of my bag and try to scrub them away. Frank comes to stand beside me and pats my shoulder, wearing that awkward, helpless look that men always wear when you cry. I tell myself I have to keep control, for Lotte’s sake, but the tears keep falling, I can’t stop them.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, through the tears.
He murmurs something soothing.
At last, I manage to stop crying. I blow my nose and take up my cigarette, hungrily drawing in smoke.
Frank props himself against the edge of his desk.
‘Stella, my dear. There were two things,’ he says then. ‘Two things you wanted to ask. What was the second thing? Perhaps at least I could help you with that.’
I think of what I’m about to tell him, of what I am planning to do. I have a sense of vertigo. It’s as though I’m balancing on a wire above vast acres of air, and the slightest move is perilous.
‘It’s Harri’s little sister, Lotte. I’m hiding her in my room.’
His eyes widen.
‘In Rainer Krause’s apartment?’
‘Yes.’
He has an appalled look.
‘My God, Stella. You’re taking one hell of a risk.’
‘But, Frank, you take risks all the time. And urge other people to take them.’
‘For our country, yes,’ he says. ‘But not just for one child.’
‘I need you to organise papers for her. So I can take her to England,’ I tell him.
He stares at me.
But this time I won’t let him refuse me.
‘You can do it, I know you can,’ I tell him.
‘It isn’t an easy thing, Stella. It would take time, to get papers for her. And I really think this whole idea is most unwise,’ he says.
‘I’m sure you can manage something. Please, Frank. You have to. I helped you, didn’t I? It’s your turn to do something for me. I mean, that’s fair play, isn’t it?’
I hope he’s the kind of Englishman who venerates fair play.
He looks at me uncertainly for a moment.
‘There might be a way. We’d have to forge something. But that would put you at risk as well as the child.’
‘All right. Do that. Forge something.’
‘You shouldn’t do this, Stella. I’d strongly advise against it. It’s far too dangerous.’
‘Look – you would do anything for our country, I know that. You’d twist things, break the law if you had to. Use people.’
He flinches slightly, when I say that. Perhaps this makes him uncomfortable. Perhaps he doesn’t like to see himself in this way.
‘You’d do what it takes,’ I say again. ‘I understand that. And I would do whatever it takes for Lotte.’
He says nothing.
I think of Lotte in my bedroom. The raw look in her face, her fingers biting into my wrist. School was closed today, Stella. That was my fault, wasn’t it? Is it all my fault? And I think, No, it’s my fault, everything that’s happened. The thought sears through me.
‘Harri would have got away if it wasn’t for me,’ I tell him. My voice splinters. ‘And this is the only way I can mend things. Well, not mend them exactly – I can’t do that – but make them better somehow. This is the one thing I can do – to take this child to safety. You have to help me.’
‘Stella.’ Frank’s voice has a practised, soothing tone. ‘When terrible things happen, we often blame ourselves. It’s natural. But we’re usually wrong to do so. That’s not a good reason for doing something so rash. You can’t solve everything, my dear.’
‘But she’s mine now. I’m responsible for her. As though she’s my own child.’
He’s silent for a moment.
I think of something he told me at the Franziskanerkirche.
‘You once said to me, It’s your choice. And now I’ve chosen,’ I say.
He sighs; and puts up his hands in a little gesture of capitulation.
‘Well, Stella. You really are very steely, aren’t you? Very determined. The iron hand in the velvet glove,’ he says. ‘All right. One way to do it – the easiest way … I don’t suppose you’ve brought your passport?’
I take it out of my bag, hand it to him.
‘The quickest way might be to doctor your passport. To put the girl on your passport, as your child. How old is she?’
‘She’s seven.’
‘We’d have to change your age – you’re not old enough to be her mother.’
He’s brisk now, taking control. This is what I came for. Though I have the sense that he, like me, is making things up as he goes.
‘It would be best to give you an identity as a married woman,’ he tells me. ‘That’s less conspicuous. So when you go, you should wear a ring on your ring finger. And you have a young face – you’d need to make yourself look as old as you can … But I’m really not happy with this, Stella. It wouldn’t pass close scrutiny,’ he says.
‘Just do it.’
‘Give me her details then.’ Reluctantly.
I realise I don’t know her birthday. I make up a birth date for her. I call her Charlotte, the English version of her name. He writes everything down on his notepad.
Suddenly it’s real to me – that I am going to do this. I feel the pulses that hammer in my head, at my throat.
‘How will you travel?’ he asks me.
‘What do you advise?’
‘Take the train to Switzerland. It will all depend on who looks at your papers, how scrupulous they are. Once you’re in Switzerland you’ll be safe. If you get there … Come back this time tomorrow and I’ll have the passport ready. But I think this is a rather sentimental decision, frankly. You’re absolutely sure I can’t persuade you to think again?’
‘I’ll be back tomorrow. Thank you.’
I pull on my coat. He watches me.
‘It all happened just as you predicted,’ I tell him. ‘Hitler, and Austria…’
‘Yes. Sadly.’
‘I didn’t believe you. I wish I had,’ I tell him. ‘I wish I’d listened. Desperately wish it.’
He nods slightly, tiredly. ‘War is coming, Stella.’ His voice is heavy, resigned. ‘Sooner or later. Anyone can see that. Anyone with eyes and a bit of a brain. Which sadly my masters in England sometimes seem to be lacking.’
‘Still?’
He nods.
‘They still think Hitler will stop here. They’re persuading themselves he’ll be satisfied with what he’s grabbed so far.’
‘I found that date you wanted,’ I say. ‘But I suppose it’s irrelevant now.’
‘It is. But thank you so much for what you did, Stella…’
I pick up my bag and my gloves.
‘You know how to thank me,’ I say.
I go home via the flat on Mariahilferstrasse. I have to be certain. Maybe the men just searched the flat and left Eva and Benjamin there. Maybe by some miracle Eva will open the door, and we’ll hug, and I’ll feel embarrassed about my melodramatic gesture, in taking Lotte.
I ring and ring: nobody comes.
At last, the door of the neighbouring flat opens, and a woman looks out. Her cardigan is crookedly buttoned. She has a cat in her arms; she cradles the cat like a baby, clasping it close to her c
hest.
‘Do you know where they are?’ I ask her.
She leans towards me, speaking in a hoarse stage-whisper.
‘They’ve gone – Frau Reznik and the old man. They took them. I think that the little girl wasn’t with them,’ she says.
‘Right.’
‘They took some of their things, the men who came. It’s quite a mess in there…’
‘Oh.’
Loneliness seems to hang about her. She hesitates, as though she’s torn – wanting to retreat, to shut her door on the world, yet also curious about me.
‘I’ve seen you before, haven’t I, fräulein? You were stepping out with the clever young man – the doctor?’ she says.
‘Yes, I was.’ I feel a sob rise in my throat. ‘I am,’ I tell her.
She opens her mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it. She stands there for a moment, open-mouthed, staring at me.
‘Well, thank you for your help,’ I tell her.
She presses the cat to her face, rubbing her face in its fur, for comfort.
‘In times like these,’ she says, ‘it’s better not to know anything. In times like these, it’s best to keep yourself to yourself. D’you understand what I’m saying?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t tell anyone I spoke to you.’
‘No, don’t worry, I won’t.’
She leans a little closer to me. She has indigo shadows like bruises underneath her eyes.
‘They say there’s going to be a war,’ she tells me.
‘Yes, some people do think that,’ I say.
‘What do you think, fräulein?’
I hesitate.
I think of Frank, of what he just said to me. Anyone can see that. Anyone with eyes and a bit of a brain. I think of Janika. Sooner or later, someone will have to get out his fists. Like it or not, that’s how the world works.
‘Yes,’ I say then. ‘Yes, I think there’s going to be a war.’
She looks at me thoughtfully for a moment.
‘Well, you’d better be on your way,’ she tells me. ‘You shouldn’t go getting involved.’
She closes the door abruptly.
76
I’m frightened, coming back into the house. But there’s nobody around. I can’t hear Marthe or Janika.
My bedroom looks empty. I go to the cupboard, my heart in my throat, and gently open the door.
A small scream. I’m so relieved to hear it.
‘It’s only me,’ I tell her.
She’s hunched in a corner of the cupboard, her arms wrapped round her knees.
‘I had to hide,’ she says. ‘I heard the housekeeper coming. But I couldn’t tell when she’d gone again, so I had to stay in here. It’s really dark, Stella.’
‘You’ve been so brave,’ I tell her. ‘My brave girl.’
I give her my hand and help her out. She sits on the edge of the bed.
‘Can we go and see Mama now, Stella?’ she says.
I wish we didn’t have to talk about this at this moment, when she’s so scared from spending all that time in the dark. But I can’t lie to her.
I sit beside her, put my arms around her.
‘Lotte – I don’t know where your mother is. I went back to your house, but nobody answered the door.’
‘Have they taken her to the prison?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Her eyes fill up with tears. Then a sudden light comes in her face.
‘Well, my grandpa could look after me then.’
I shake my head a little.
‘Sweetheart, I think they took him as well.’
Her face dissolves. Her body shakes with weeping. I hold her. We sit like that for a long time.
I become aware of a shadow falling across us. I feel the chill move through me, even as I turn.
Marthe is there, in the doorway. Her eyes take us in: me, and Lotte.
‘Stella.’ Her voice is stern and troubled.
She looks at us for a long moment. I feel my heart banging against the walls of my chest.
‘We were going to see the Führer arrive in Vienna,’ she says. Her face is shuttered. ‘Everyone was very excited, of course … But my varicose veins were hurting me, so I thought I’d come back home. And Lukas said he’d heard something.’
I remember the little click from Janika’s cupboard.
‘Marthe—’
She interrupts.
‘He was playing with his detective kit in the cupboard in the hall, and he heard something. A sound like a child crying.’
I open my mouth to speak, but she talks over me.
‘He said it was just a tiny thing, but a tiny thing can mean something. It can show that something’s happened that shouldn’t have happened, he said. I thought that was rather clever, actually … And it seems that he was right, Stella.’
Her eyes are hard as stones.
Dread surges through me. I know there’s no point in pretending.
‘This is Lotte,’ I tell her, my voice serrated with fear. ‘She’s Harri’s sister. Harri, my friend, who I told you about. He and his family have been arrested.’
Marthe doesn’t say anything. Her eyes narrow.
‘Marthe – you know what we saw in the street. The way they treated that poor woman.’ I’m desperate, pleading. ‘I don’t want anything to happen to Lotte,’ I tell her. ‘She’s only a child.’
Marthe’s face is a mask, white and still and ungiving. I know with a clear hard certainty that she will do what Rainer would want. She always does what he wants. This is the principle that she has built her life on: to do what Rainer tells her, always to be guided by him. Rainer, who had my lover arrested. Who says it’s important to aspire, and to be firm in your opinions; to face up to the logic of what you believe, however uncomfortable that may make you. Rainer, who looks necessity in the face, who does what needs to be done.
I sit there, my arms around Lotte, wait for the blow to fall.
Marthe takes a step towards us.
‘Stella. Are you telling me you’re trying to hide this little Jew-girl here? To hide her from the authorities? To hide her from me?’
Her voice is harsh with outrage, with accusation.
‘It was just for a day or two,’ I tell her.
‘And what then?’
‘I was going to take her home to England with me.’
There’s silence for a moment. Marthe stares and stares at us with unrelenting eyes.
‘So how did you imagine you would get her out of Vienna?’ she says then.
‘Someone was putting together some papers for us,’ I tell her.
I talk about it in the past – because I know it’s in the past now.
‘Mr Reece, presumably?’
Her lips are pursed, as though something in her mouth tastes bitter.
‘Yes.’
‘So – explain to me. How exactly were you going to feed the girl, while she was here?’
‘I hadn’t worked that out yet.’
‘And when were you planning to leave?’
‘Tomorrow, or the day after. As soon as we got the papers organised. We were going to take the train to Switzerland,’ I say.
I feel Lotte start in my arms.
‘But Switzerland is another country, Stella,’ she says.
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t want to go to Switzerland. I want to go back to Mama. I want to stay in Vienna. I want to stay in my home.’
Lotte is crying, angrily. She hits my chest with her fists.
‘Shh,’ I say. ‘Shh.’
But she won’t be silenced.
‘I don’t want to go,’ she says again. ‘I won’t go.’
Marthe watches Lotte, her face working.
‘This child’s mother,’ she says. ‘What happened? What did she say?’
‘People were knocking at her door. I think they were SS and the police, like the people who came for Harri. I said I could take Lotte. That we could escape the back way.’
‘And the mother? What did the mother say then?’
‘Her mother let her go. It was hard for her: she had to decide in an instant. I said that I could take Lotte and her mother told us to go. She had to scold Lotte to make her leave.’
Marthe thinks about this for a moment.
‘Stella. Presumably you’re aware what Rainer would do?’ she says then. ‘You know he’d call in the authorities, if he found the Jew-girl here?’
‘Yes, I know that.’
Marthe turns from us. She goes to stand by the window, looking out over the street, not looking at us. She’s no longer blocking the doorway. I have a quick crazy thought, that I could grab Lotte and go. Run out into Maria-Treu-Gasse, run far away from this room. But where on earth could we run to – with no money, no passports, no coats?
Marthe is moving her finger across the window, as though she is writing some invisible word. I can hear the faint squeak of her fingertip on the glass. She thinks for a long moment.
‘I guessed you were Rainer’s daughter,’ she says then, slowly. Her voice sounds different – fragile and ephemeral as dandelion seeds on the wind.
I feel my pulse skitter away.
‘I could see it,’ she goes on. ‘To be honest, I think I saw at once, when you came.’
She still has her back to me – as though she can’t say these things to my face.
I don’t say anything.
‘But for a long time I shut my mind to it. I tried not to think about it. I didn’t want to think – about Helena, about how it happened. Because Rainer must have been engaged to me then. When they…’ She swallows. ‘Did you realise that?’
‘I don’t know the details,’ I say.
Lotte is crying more quietly now, her lashes stuck down, clotted with water. I hold her.
‘I was angry at first, I can’t deny it,’ says Marthe. ‘Angry with Rainer. Angry also with you. You were beautiful, and looked just like this woman my husband had loved. And with your piano-playing, you had the whole world at your feet. I think, to be honest, I was a little jealous of you. A little envious … But in spite of all that, I welcomed you here, I gave you a home. We both did. In time, I knew, the secret would be told, and Rainer would have embraced you as his daughter. And I would have let him, Stella. I would have let him…’
The English Girl Page 35