A Fire Sparkling

by MacLean, Julianne

I was pleased that the door to the subject of his grandmother was swinging open again.

  “Well, yes,” I confessed. “I did want to ask her something.”

  “What is it? Maybe I can help. When I was young, she used to talk to me a lot about her experiences during the war.”

  “Really? You’re lucky, because my grandmother told me nothing until last week. I’m still in shock, actually. It’s hard to imagine your sweet little white-haired grandmother doing all the things she said she did.”

  “I know what you mean.” He sat back. “But maybe she found it difficult to talk about. It’s understandable. My grandmother used to have nightmares. She would break down in tears sometimes for no apparent reason. I think it was PTSD, but we didn’t have a name for it back then, when I was a kid. I was just told to go to my room until my dad could comfort her.”

  “I never saw anything like that with my grandmother. Nothing to make me suspect that she had any demons. I think she was very good at being a secret agent. Key word being secret. She certainly kept everything classified, all her life, even from her family.”

  He nodded with compassion. “So, what is it that you wanted to ask my grandmother this morning? You still haven’t said.”

  I felt no hesitation about picking my purse up off the floor, placing it on my lap, and withdrawing the envelope that held copies of the photographs my father had found in the little sea chest in my grandmother’s attic. I handed them to Geoffrey.

  “We found these recently. That’s my grandmother in Berlin, shortly before England declared war with Germany. She wasn’t a spy when these were taken.”

  He flipped through all four photographs. “Wow. This must have come as a shock.”

  “It did, but it was even more of a shock to us because, if you look at the date, it was right around the time my father was conceived. But he grew up believing he was the son of a British cabinet minister in Churchill’s government.”

  Geoffrey whistled, and it made me think of Gram’s description of bombs falling during the Blitz.

  “Are you wondering if my grandmother knew about this?” He handed the pictures back to me.

  “I already know part of the answer to that question. She knew about the affair. My grandmother told her after they’d been interrogated by the Gestapo in Paris. Did you know they were captured?”

  “Yes. She talked about it and how the SOE broke them out of the prison truck and sent a plane to extract them and bring them home.”

  “That’s right. But what you might not know is that one of the Germans who interrogated them in Paris was the man in the pictures I just showed you. My grandmother’s lover, for lack of a better word.”

  Geoffrey frowned and shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “My grandmother asked for him when she was being tortured, because she thought he might help her if she told him that they’d had a son together, which he hadn’t known about. But he didn’t help her. All he did was order her to be sent to a prison camp, where she probably would have been executed. And then he questioned your grandmother as well.”

  Geoffrey sat back. “So, what do you want to know, exactly?”

  “That’s a good question, because I’m not really sure. I already have a plane ticket to go to Berlin after this, to find out what became of this man after the war. But I guess . . . I just wanted to talk to someone who’d actually met him and find out if he was as bad as my grandmother thought he was. I want to know what your grandmother remembers about him. Or if she ever heard anything else about him after the war ended.”

  “Because . . .” Geoffrey seemed to be piecing it all together. “He’s your real grandfather.”

  I nodded. Geoffrey blinked a few times in disbelief. “No wonder you came over here. I’d want to know too.”

  “Would you?”

  “Yes.” He paused. “If you like, I can pop over there tomorrow and ask her about it.”

  “Really? You don’t think it would upset her to talk about that? Your mother seemed a bit protective of her today.”

  “She is, sometimes to a fault. But I won’t tell my mom, because I’m pretty sure my grandmother would want to help you.”

  I handed him the envelope full of pictures. “I really appreciate this.”

  “It’s no problem.”

  The server arrived with our plates, and we chatted about lighter matters as we finished our meal. Then I gave him my cell phone number so that he could call me the following day, after he’d had a chance to speak with Daphne again.

  The sky was blue the next morning, but it was chilly. Geoffrey didn’t call. He sent me a text message instead, shortly before noon.

  Hey there. I just finished with Gramma. Now I wish I had brought you with me. Where are you right now?

  With a burst of curiosity, I texted him back.

  I’m at the hotel.

  Can I come and see you?

  It sounded like he had something significant to report, which made my heart beat a little faster.

  Yes. Let’s meet in the lobby lounge café. When?

  Twenty minutes?

  Okay.

  I had been lazing around my room all morning, waiting by the phone, so I felt restless and eager to see Geoffrey and find out what he had learned from his grandmother. Rather than stay in my room, I went downstairs right away and ordered a cup of tea to sip on while I waited.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “Hi there.” Geoffrey approached my table. His cheeks were red from the cold, and his hair was windblown.

  I gestured to the chair across from me. “Have a seat?”

  He turned to look at the busy coffee counter and glanced around at the other hotel guests at surrounding tables. “Maybe we should go somewhere more private.”

  Realizing that he must have something important to share, I finished my tea, stood up, and reached for my purse. “We can go upstairs to the second level. It’s usually pretty quiet up there, unless there’s a conference or something.”

  I led him up the contemporary, wide carpeted staircase. There were a couple of sofas in front of the elevators, but they were too public and out in the open, so I turned toward the bar. “Maybe we can go in there.”

  It was closed during that time of day, but the door wasn’t locked, so we walked in and found a private corner at the back. We were the only two people in the place.

  Geoffrey dug into his coat pocket. “First, I should give these back to you.” He handed me the envelope with the photographs.

  “You showed them to her?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He sat forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together, his head bowed.

  “What did she say?”

  Turning slightly to face me, he rested his arm along the back of the sofa. “She talked about what happened, and it wasn’t easy for her.” He paused, and I watched him with growing dread. “I already knew that she’d been arrested by the Gestapo during the war, but she never spoke to me about the details, about what happened in that room. And I’m not sure this is something you’re going to want to hear, Gillian.”

  A sick feeling swept over me, but I overcame it. “I came all this way, and I already know what happened to my own grandmother. So, please tell me. I need to know.”

  “All right,” he replied. “When I showed her the photographs, she just stared at the first one for the longest time, then her hands started to shake. Right away, I regretted showing them to her, but it was too late to take them back, and she wouldn’t let me anyway. She wanted to talk about it.” He swallowed hard. “She said that the man in the photographs had been in the room asking the questions, while another man in a plain black suit did the dirty work.”

  “Oh God.” I cupped my forehead in my hands.

  “Your grandfather wanted to know the name of a Resistance fighter they called the Gray Ghost, and she told me that she knew who the man was, but she wouldn’t talk. Then they pulled out one of her fingernails while your grandfather stood by, watching h
er scream. He asked her again and again the same question—who is the Gray Ghost—and every time she refused to talk, the other man pulled out another fingernail.”

  My stomach knotted, and my mouth went dry. I looked away.

  “I wish I could tell you something different,” Geoffrey said, “but according to Gramma, there was nothing sympathetic about the man in the pictures. He just wanted her to say a name, and the only reason he put a stop to the torture was because he had somewhere else to be, and she thinks he knew he was wasting his time. He could see that she’d never talk. Then he said, ‘Heil Hitler’ and walked out. That was it. That’s all she could tell me about him. I’m sorry.”

  For an excruciating moment, I sat there, weak and dizzy from the images in my mind—a young woman being brutally tortured, and Geoffrey’s sweet grandmother that very morning, reliving the ordeal.

  “I’m sorry too,” I said, “for putting Daphne through that. And you, as well. I shouldn’t have asked you to do it.”

  “It’s all right. It was my choice. And I don’t know what I was expecting—maybe that she would tell me that your grandfather had put a stop to the torture. I was hoping I could give you something to be proud of, even the smallest thing.”

  I couldn’t seem to speak. All I could do was sit there and wait for the feelings of disgust and anger to pass. “Now I’m wondering why I booked that flight to Berlin. Right now, I don’t care what happened to that horrible man after the war. I don’t want to know anything else about him.”

  “But there is something else,” Geoffrey said.

  I lifted my gaze. “There is?”

  “Yes. I asked her if she knew what happened to him—whether or not he survived. She didn’t know, but when I told her that you were going to Berlin to try to find out, she suggested that you get in touch with a man she remembered who might be able to help you. His name is Hans Buchmann. She never kept in touch with him, but I was able to find his address on the internet.”

  A soft gasp escaped me as Geoffrey dug through his pocket for a piece of paper, which he passed to me.

  “Hans,” I said with disbelief. “Did she tell you who this man was?”

  “No, why? Do you know?”

  “Yes. My grandmother talked about him as well. They worked with him in France. He was German, but he was also Jewish. He was the Gray Ghost.”

  Geoffrey’s mouth fell open. “She didn’t tell me that part. Why wouldn’t she?”

  I shrugged. “Your mother said she gets confused sometimes. Maybe she forgot about the connection, or maybe she thought you already knew.”

  We both lounged back on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. Then Geoffrey turned to me. “When do you head to Berlin?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I wish I could go with you, because I’m curious about what Hans will have to say. Will you call me after you see him and let me know?”

  “Sure.” I sat forward. “And thank you for all of this, Geoffrey. You’ve been very helpful.”

  “It was no problem. Like I said, I’m curious as well.”

  We stood up and walked out. As we started down the stairs, he asked, “How are you getting to the airport tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know. Cab, I guess.”

  “No, don’t do that. It’ll cost you fifty pounds. I’ll drive you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, it’s no problem. I’ll swing by your hotel in the morning. What time is your flight?”

  We reached the lobby on the ground floor and stopped in front of the registration desk. “Noon, I think.”

  “I’ll pick you up at nine thirty?”

  “That sounds perfect. Thank you.”

  He nodded and touched me briefly on the arm before turning to go. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “For sure.” I watched him leave. Then I headed back to my room to do a bit of research on the city of Berlin.

  “Good morning,” I said cheerfully to Geoffrey the next day as he got out of his silver Audi Q3. He was waiting for me under the hotel portico.

  “Morning,” he replied with a smile and pointed at my wheeled carry-on suitcase. “Let me help you with that.” He loaded it into the back of the vehicle and pressed a button to shut the automatic door.

  A moment later, we were pulling away from the hotel, where rush hour traffic was heavy around the Tower.

  “What airline are you on?” he asked.

  “British Airways. And my flight doesn’t leave until twelve forty-five, so we have plenty of time.”

  As he maneuvered through the London streets, I noticed he was a skillful driver, well acquainted with the city. “I’m glad you’re driving and not me,” I said. “I’d never remember to keep left.”

  He chuckled. “I know what you mean. It took me a while to get used to driving in the right lane when I was in the US.”

  My curiosity was instantly piqued. “Did you live there or just visit?”

  “I went to school there. NYU for two years.”

  “No kidding. I went to NYU as well.”

  He flicked his blinker and changed lanes. “That’s funny. I was there between ’93 and ’95. How about you?”

  I slapped my knee. “That’s exactly when I was there. I started in ’94. What did you take?”

  “I did an MBA at Stern Business School. You?”

  “BA in sociology. But I only stayed for two years. Then I . . .” How should I put it? “I took some time off to figure out my life. Then I went back and took media communications.”

  “Maybe we walked past each other every single morning.”

  I laughed. “Maybe. It sure is a small freaky world sometimes.”

  We drove past a few car dealerships. Then Geoffrey turned down the volume on the radio.

  “You know,” he said, “I almost called you last night.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about what our grandmothers went through. It’s hard to imagine. I guess I just wanted to talk about it.”

  “You should have. I wasn’t doing anything. Just watching TV and waiting to get up this morning.”

  He checked his mirrors and changed lanes again. “Yeah, I should have.”

  “But I know what you mean,” I said. “I’ve been kind of obsessed about it since I found out. It’s why I came here. I wanted to see where she lived and get a sense of what it was like.”

  “It must have been a shock for you to learn about it after all this time. What made her finally tell you?”

  I shook my head. “I doubt she would have told us at all if we hadn’t found those pictures in her secret hiding place.”

  “Where was that?”

  “In a locked chest in the attic. I was on my way there for a visit when my dad told me he had found something suspicious up there. He waited until I arrived before he showed it to me, and then we confronted her. She had no choice, really. She had to explain what they were. It was a crazy few days.”

  “No doubt.”

  My phone chimed just then. I dug it out of my pocket, and my stomach dropped, because it was a text from Malcolm.

  Hey there.

  I spoke under my breath. “Geez.”

  “Everything okay?” Geoffrey asked.

  “Yes, it’s fine.” I ignored the text and slid my phone back into my pocket, but it chimed again.

  With a swell of agitation, I pulled it out to read the message.

  Gillian . . . I’m so sorry about everything. Can we please talk?

  “Seriously?” I wanted to ignore the message, but I knew Malcolm too well. He wouldn’t give up until he heard back from me, so I began typing a quick reply.

  No, I don’t want to talk to you ever again. Do not contact me, or I’ll tell the world how you cheated on me. I’ll spread that story far and wide. So if you value your reputation, you won’t text me again. Ever. Goodbye.

  I hit send and slammed my phone down on my lap, shaking my head with frustration.

  Geoffre
y glanced at me. “You sure everything’s okay?”

  “No.” I took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. What is it? Maybe I can help.”

  “I wish you could.” I met his gaze. “If you really want to know, my life’s been a bit of a train wreck lately. Personally. That’s part of the reason why I came here. Just to get away.”

  Geoffrey relaxed in the driver’s seat with one hand on the wheel, waiting for me to elaborate.

  “I just broke up with a man I’d been seeing for a few years,” I finally explained. “I caught him cheating on me.”

  “Ah . . . I’ve been there,” Geoffrey replied. “It’s rough.”

  All at once, the whole sordid story came pouring out of me. “When I say caught him cheating, I mean it literally. I walked in on him having sex with a supermodel in the front row of a private screening room during his fiftieth birthday party.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “I know, right? But, it gets worse. The next day he came crawling back, begging for a second chance, and then he pulled out a giant engagement ring and proposed.”

  Geoffrey’s eyebrows pulled together in a frown, but he made no comment.

  “I don’t know why, but I let him put the ring on my finger, even though I was totally pissed, and I had no intention of forgiving him. But what can I say? I’m not proud of it, but the ring was really pretty, and I guess a part of me wasn’t ready to let go of the dream—that he was my guy. My Prince Charming. And I wanted to start a family. I want to have children someday.”

  I gazed out the window for a moment, while Geoffrey sat quietly behind the wheel, listening.

  “Then the whole situation went downhill from there. I thought maybe I could forgive him, that he deserved a second chance, so I went back to his apartment the day after he proposed and found a pair of women’s earrings on the bedside table. They weren’t mine.” I paused. “She was gone, but he was in the shower.”

  I let out a dejected sigh and continued to stare out the window as I replayed that moment in my mind.

  “Then what happened?” Geoffrey asked.