by Rebecca Bryn
His fingers touched something hard. It was a flat, oblong package, wrapped in oilcloth and tied with twine. ‘Less gold than it seemed. Can I open this?’
‘Of course.’ Charlotte stared at the ring on her finger for a long moment. ‘Why do you think Grandpa never used any of this gold? He and Gran weren’t well off.’
He cut the twine with his pocketknife and unwrapped the package. It contained pages of notes and numbers. Page after page… records of some sort. He leafed through them. ‘Looks like something scientific.’ He picked one up and began to read aloud.
‘What language is that?’
He flicked to another page, and then another. ‘There are names…’
‘What names? Adam?’
He read on in silence, going hot and cold by turn.
‘Adam, what is it? What have you found?’
‘If this is what I think… This is pure bloody dynamite.’ He picked up a handful of the gold and weighed it in his hand. ‘Schmitt. I knew that name was familiar.’
‘Who is he?’
He hardly heard her. ‘Schmitt is only one of the names I recognise. Everything is recorded, signed… beyond dispute. This is like poking a stick into a political hornet’s nest. To the right people these papers are worth… No, they’re above price. To a modern historian, they’re the Holy Grail.’
‘Adam?’
How had Albert Carr got hold of these documents and this gold, and how was Walt involved? He’d obviously been afraid of Schmitt to name him the beast. The nuggets pressed into his palm. Realisation hit him like a punch to the gut and his head swam. He opened his clenched fist.
‘Adam, what is it? What’s wrong?’
What the hell was he going to tell her? Who keeps silence consents. Charlotte had sworn an oath before God. Sweet Jesus, he had to tell her. He hadn’t sworn any oath but how could anyone consent to this? He let the nuggets trickle between nerveless fingers to fall back into the box. He was going to be sick.
***
The evening sun angled across the patio at the rear of Sunnybank. Adam poured tea and passed Charlotte a mug. How would she take the truth?
The box was open on the table in front of her. ‘Adam, why won’t you tell me what this is about… what those records are?’ She waved at the pile of papers she’d put on the patio table. ‘I’ve flicked through them. I can’t understand a word.’
He collected the pages together before they blew away. ‘I want to study them properly before I say more. Charlotte, we should keep this to ourselves.’
‘Why?’
‘I need to verify their authenticity.’
‘I’d like to know who Albert Carr and this Schmitt person are.’
‘That letter Carr sent to the bank, transferring title? The envelope had a Kettering postmark.’
‘That’s where Mum and Gran live.’
‘Which suggests Carr was a long-time friend or acquaintance of Walt. He could still be alive. If we could speak to him, or trace his family…’
‘He’d be pretty old. I’ll check electoral registers and the Records Office. Much of it’s on-line. You can plough through that lot.’
While Charlotte poured over the screen on his laptop, he read, and a picture unfolded before him. Between the lines of emotionless facts, recorded with efficient detachment, lay a catalogue of brutal disregard for human life during the Second World War. The words blurred. He was familiar with the testimonies of those survivors who’d been able to speak of their ordeal, years later. To see the records, to actually touch the fragile pages and read the words written by the hands of their tormentors, to see their names and signatures, to read the callous, abominable way their victims were treated: like meat or laboratory specimens. Children, many of them, only children.
Charlotte sat hunched in concentration: he felt the need to wash evil from his hands before he touched her again. She’d said Walt had suffered from nightmares, and if this was what he’d witnessed it was a miracle he’d survived. What cruel twist of fate had given him twin granddaughters to remind him, every day, of what was recorded on these pages?
He put the papers down, too sickened to continue. He had to determine how Walt ended up custodian of these records, to be certain they were genuine. The accepted account of events was that they were destroyed before liberation: lorry loads of incriminating records, just like these, were burned in the surviving crematoria ovens when it was obvious the war was lost.
There was a rumour that records, of which these formed a part, had been found by the Allies after the war and were now held in a vault in Israel. It didn’t seem plausible. No documents like this had been brought as evidence at the Nuremberg trials, and surely they would have been. The men named in them would have been hunted down and hung if these records had existed.
This was either an opportunist theft of gold, or a calculated risk to steal documents and ensure justice was done. The Latin quotes suggested the latter. How had they been smuggled out and who had Walt been protecting? Not Schmitt, that was for sure… Carr? Possibly. Miriam? Sadly, almost certainly not. Jane and his family? That was more likely the reason; powerful names were incriminated in these documents. Who knew of what they, or their families, might have been capable in order to protect themselves from exposure?
He washed his hands and switched on the kettle. He wanted a double whisky, but he needed caffeine and a clear head. Charlotte moved the laptop and stretched her back. He crossed the kitchen in one stride. ‘Coffee, Charlotte?’
She looked at him, eyes sapphire bright against her pale face. ‘I’ve found Albert Carr. He’s in an old people’s home near Kettering. At least, he was on the last electoral register.’
‘And?’ There was more, there had to be to make her look so distraught.
‘I know who Hans Wolfgang Schmitt was.’
***
Charlotte pushed the legal papers back into their envelope. Robin had begun divorce proceedings. It was a relief: his threat no more than typical momentary violence born of anger. Once he’d cooled down he’d realised the way to humiliate her further was in court. She found she didn’t care about the divorce settlement. That part of her life was over. She had a different path to tread, alone.
The sister at Barton Leys Retirement Home had confirmed Albert Carr was in residence, and well enough for her to visit. Today, Saturday, she and Adam planned to go and see him.
Adam brushed aside her hair and kissed her neck. ‘Trouble?’
His lips were agony and ecstasy. ‘Robin’s filed for divorce.’
His hand moved to her shoulder. ‘Are you okay with that?’
‘Yes, it’s just…’
‘You feel you’ve failed?’
‘It began with such high hopes.’
‘Some things aren’t meant to be, Charlotte. You gave it your best shot. Don’t beat yourself up about it.’
She changed the subject. Something in Grandpa’s documents had upset Adam but he’d avoided answering her questions. ‘You still haven’t told me what those papers of Grandpa’s are.’
‘I’ll know more when we’ve spoken to Carr. I want to be sure before I commit myself.’
‘Mum will want to know why we’ve come.’
‘We’ve come for lunch, and then you’re visiting a friend. Don’t mention the gold or the papers, not yet.’
Mum shook Adam’s hand and welcomed her with a hug. Gran patted the seat beside her. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of inviting Robin for lunch.’
Her heart sank. ‘Oh, Gran…’
‘I know I’m an interfering old biddy. It’s called talking things through, Charlotte. People should do more of it.’
Had Lucy been talking to Gran on the phone? ‘We’ve said everything that needs saying. It’s down to the solicitors now.’
‘Solicitors…’ Gran sighed. ‘Won’t you humour me, just this once? What harm can it do?’
She went hot and cold. She never wanted to see Robin again. Why had he even come? Th
e door bell rang. She glanced at Adam, and then went into the hall and opened the front door. I haven’t finished with you…
‘Charlotte.’ Robin smiled, his eyes dark pools of menace. ‘I believe you wanted to talk. Apologise, maybe… beg, even?’
She raised her head. ‘In your dreams. Gran wants us to talk. I have nothing to say to you.’
‘I only came to make sure your family knows who’s responsible for this divorce. Sleeping around…’
‘You tell them that and I’ll make sure your father knows you hit me, tried to sexually abuse me.’
He shrugged away her threat. ‘Don’t think you’ll get your hands on the house if you do that. I’ll fight you for every penny.’
‘I don’t want your money. I wouldn’t even have been here if I’d known you were coming.’
Gran appeared in the living-room doorway and beckoned them in. ‘Don’t keep the poor boy standing on the doorstep. Robin, come in. I’m sure you and Charlotte can find some common ground. Have you met Dr Bancroft?’
‘Adam works for the Imperial War Museum,’ Mum volunteered. ‘He’s helping Charlotte with Dad’s carvings.’
Adam stood and held out a hand. Robin’s eyes narrowed: his fist clenched and unclenched.
She moved to stand between them. ‘Adam, this is my husband, Robin.’
Gran appeared not to notice the body language. ‘Charlotte, Lucy tells me you’ve found another of Walt’s carvings.’
She glanced from Adam to Robin and back. ‘Yes.’
Gran’s bright eyes searched hers. ‘And…?’
‘What do you mean?’
Gran waited, mental forceps poised, like she always had when extracting truth from granddaughters.
She squirmed and glanced at Adam again. ‘Documents.’
‘What sort of documents?’
‘I’m not sure. Adam has read them but he wants to verify their authenticity.’ She smiled at Gran apologetically and looked back at Robin. ‘He’s being a bit secretive.’
Gran brandished her forceps at Adam. ‘They’re to do with the war?’
Robin glared at Adam. ‘Don’t you think Walt’s family has a right to know?’
Adam stood his ground. ‘Yes… when I’m certain they are what I think they are.’
Robin wouldn’t take no for an answer. ‘They’re so important you whisked my wife off to Trier?’
‘In my professional capacity. I’ll say more when I’m sure.’
Gran nodded. ‘I don’t know what they are, either. Walt…’ She stopped as if she’d said too much. ‘I think it’s evidence of some kind.’ She sucked her lower lip and looked at Adam as if weighing his character. ‘I think there’s something you should all see. Jennie, in my bedside drawer there’s an old book. Would you fetch it for me, love?’
Mum returned with the book. ‘It looks pretty battered. What is it?’
‘It was in your dad’s drawer. I found it after he died.’ Gran opened it, stroked the page with a tender gesture and passed it to her. ‘It’s a diary. An account of Walt’s time in Poland during the war.’
‘A diary?’ Adam’s voice held a note of excitement. ‘This could be what I need to authenticate the documents.’
Gran looked at him thoughtfully. ‘It’s not easy to read. He had his reasons for keeping it secret, but I think Walt and Miriam’s story may be relevant.’
She couldn’t hide her surprise. ‘Miriam… Miriam Hofmann?’
Robin interrupted. ‘Who’s Miriam Hofmann?’
Gran ignored him and looked at her sharply. ‘You know about her? How?’
‘One of the carvings contained photographs of her and her family.’
‘Just a girl…’ Mum’s voice was a whisper.
‘What did you say, Jennie?’
Mum flushed as if she hadn’t meant to speak aloud. ‘It was years ago, after Vince died. I was struggling… emotionally. Dad… he was only trying to help, hoping one day I could move on… I said… oh, it doesn’t matter what I said.’ She held Gran’s eyes steadily. ‘Dad said a candle doesn’t burn dimmer because you light another one.’
Gran’s lips made a taut line, her eyes bright with tears. She nodded. ‘Did he tell you what happened to her?’
‘What did happen to her?’ Robin’s voice held a note of impatience. ‘What’s all this about?’
Adam leaned forward. ‘Does the diary tell us?’
‘Much of it’s in a foreign language... and I didn’t read it all. Part of me didn’t want to know.’
Mum sighed and went to stand behind Gran. She put her hands on Gran’s shoulders and bent to kiss her hair. ‘Mum, Dad loved you.’
Gran covered Mum’s right hand with her own. ‘I know, Jennie.’
Mum’s voice was soft. ‘Dad said the war had happened to them both. He wouldn’t explain what he meant.’
‘Listen to this.’ She moved her finger along the row of copperplate, several pages in. ‘May 15th 1944. Prisoners in the Gypsy camp learned they were to be liquidated. SS guards with machine guns attempted to transport them to the gas chambers but they met resistance. Armed with home-made weapons the Gypsies defended themselves. Many were shot.’
She turned to another page. The handwriting was hurried, less neat than Grandpa’s usual hand. ‘It is dangerous to write but we must bear witness any way we are able. We keep this book hidden and hope to survive. I have asked Miriam if she will join us, a link in the chain smuggling packages from the Soviet guerrillas in the hills to the Sonderkommando. Anything to stop the gassings. She’s agreed, and she knows it will be death if we are caught but she lives each day as if it is her last.’
Grandpa and Miriam had been part of the resistance… her pulse quickened as she read on. She turned a couple of pages in a foreign hand and stopped at Grandpa’s familiar writing. ‘Today they found explosives in the men’s camp. They hung a boy who passed a package to Miriam. Everywhere was searched. We are all suspects. They found nothing in the infirmary but we were decimated. I have never been so afraid.’
Robin raised an eyebrow. ‘Decimated?’
Adam sighed. ‘The SS shot one in ten of them.’
‘Dad was in an infirmary?’ Mum sat on the arm of Gran’s chair with a thump and clutched Gran’s hand. ‘They… murdered patients?’
She turned a number of pages. ‘Oh God… listen… July 10th 1944. They have liquidated the family camp, the men, women and children from Theresienstadt.’
‘They gassed the children.’ Mum’s voice was flat. ‘Oh, Dad…’
Gran’s fingers curled around Mum’s hand. ‘He used to call out in his sleep. Sometimes he woke crying. He would never talk about his nightmares. It wasn’t until after he died, when I found the diary, that I realised what caused them. If he’d only talked to me.’
‘Mum, he wouldn’t talk about it to any of us. How do you share something like this?’
She hardly heard Mum and Gran, lost in the past. ‘August 2nd 1944. They have liquidated the gypsy camp. They came for them in the night. They were burned alive in pits next to the crematorium.’ She closed the book, trying to shut out the screams and the stench of burning flesh, and passed it to Adam. ‘I can’t read this.’
Adam flicked through it slowly. ‘Most of the later entries are in an Eastern European language I’m not very familiar with… and different handwriting. Mrs Blundell, may I take this to a colleague? He may be able to translate it.’
Gran considered for a moment. ‘Adam, this is a personal diary. It’s private, family… not the possession of the public. I’m only showing it to you in case it helps authenticate the documents. They’re different… evidence… they never belonged to Walt. They belong to the world.’
‘I can depend on Roger not to divulge anything he reads, if I ask him not to.’
Robin stepped forward. ‘But why should we trust you?’
Gran smiled thinly. ‘Robin has a point, Adam. Charlotte, I trust your judgement. If you feel it should be kept private then Adam must prom
ise to respect that.’
‘I respect Charlotte far too much to even read the translation without her seeing it first. I promise I’ll do nothing without her permission.’
Gran’s smile relaxed. ‘You will take care of it, Adam? It was important to Walt.’
‘I’ll guard it with my life.’
‘Gran…’ Would this upset her further? ‘Gran, Adam needs to know how Grandpa came by the documents. We’ve found a friend of Grandpa’s, Albert Carr. Grandpa may have talked to him about his time in Poland. He’s involved with the documents, somehow. He’s in Barton Leys Care Home, near Barton Seagrave.’
‘Albert Carr.’ Gran shook her head. ‘Doesn’t ring any bells. Mind you, Walt had a lot of mates up the allotment I never met.’
Robin gripped Adam’s arm. ‘These documents are valuable aren’t they?’
Adam removed Robin’s hand, his face a mask of calm. ‘Yes, they’re valuable, to the right people. They could be vital evidence of war crimes. That’s all I’m prepared to say until I know how Walt came by them.’
‘And you think by seducing my wife she’ll talk Jane into giving them to you?’
Adam’s grey eyes turned hard. ‘You think so little of Charlotte?’
Robin’s mouth twisted in a sneer. ‘They could be worth a fortune. What’s to stop you selling them to a newspaper, or the highest bidder?’
‘Robin…’ Gran’s voice was stern. ‘I’m quite capable of making a decision about what should happen to the documents. If they are genuine evidence of the things Walt describes in the diary, then they must go to the proper authorities. If Charlotte trusts Adam to advise me about them, then so do I. Now, you two have some talking to do. You can use my bedroom. You won’t be disturbed.’
Adam squeezed her hand. ‘I’ll be here if you need me, Charlotte.’
She had no intention of being alone with Robin. ‘I have nothing to say to Robin. I’m sorry, Gran. You meant well, but he’s a bully and I’m well rid of him.’
‘That’s rich.’ Robin’s voice was angry. ‘Did she tell you she tricked me into marriage, and then committed adultery with this jumped-up apology for a man? No, I thought not.’