‘But what if it is a mistake?’
‘There are no mistakes in the Third Reich. This child is clearly Lebensunwertes Leben. As I said, you may go. But you can stay if you wish.’
‘I . . . I will go.’ The first man came back to the bed. To Anna’s surprise he pressed a kiss to her forehead. ‘Sleep well, little one. Do not be scared.’
‘I am not scared,’ she said, wondering why she should be. It hurt to hear the words ‘Lebensunwertes Leben’ but only a little, for she knew that she was not. And Tante Liesl would be here soon, and Tante Liesl had promised nothing bad would ever happen to her, and Mutti had promised and the prinzessin too.
Anna had learned that sometimes mothers and aunts could not always keep a promise. But a prinzessin could.
‘Now . . .’ a pause, papers rustling nearby ‘. . . Anna. We are just going to give you a little gas to put you to sleep.’
‘But I do not want to sleep.’
‘But you do want to be well?’
‘I am well.’
‘But you cannot see, Anna. We cannot have people who cannot see in the Third Reich. Our race must purge itself of imperfection. You might have children who could not see, and their children too.’
‘You . . . you mean you can make me see?’ She spoke with incredulous hope. Even Tante Liesl and Mutti and the prinzessin had never offered her sight.
She could imagine the smile on his face. ‘When you wake up you will see.’
‘Then I will sleep!’ She lay back, imagining Mutti’s face — she would be able to see Mutti’s face! Imagine the shock and joy of Tante Liesl when they came to this hospital and found out she could see.
She would be able to see the swans, the sunlight through the trees. And she would be able to read letters and books that you did not need to touch. She would be able to choose the colours of her dresses and run across the park.
She would run to Tante Liesl when she visited . . .
‘Will it take long?’ she asked.
‘A few minutes only.’
She heard a clang, and then a faint hiss and a mask was placed over her nose and mouth. For a moment she was scared there would not be enough air, but he said breathe deep, and she found there was air, a lot of air, coming from a tube and the hissing sound was closer.
He said something else, something about counting to ten, but the world was fading and she did not want to count to ten, she wanted to see Mutti’s face and Tante Liesl’s . . .
. . . and so that is who she watched, as her breathing deepened, watched them until all vanished, even herself.
Chapter 56
Hearts do not break as bodies. Bodies can mend. Hearts may break so many times, and never once can they be truly mended.
Miss Lily, 1932
Snow had covered the flowerbeds, almost as grey as the smoke from the chimney. Gerda unlocked the door. ‘Liesl?’
No answer.
She walked down the hallway to the kitchen. The stove was lit, but the room was so still and dim she did not immediately see her sister, sitting at the table, her hands idle. Gerda had never seen her sister so unmoving before. ‘Liesl, are you all right?’ she asked awkwardly in vernacular German, not the prinzessin’s Hochdeutsch, but the dialect of their childhood.
‘I do not think I will ever be right again,’ said Liesl quietly.
Gerda knew. She thought perhaps she had known all day, but shut out the knowledge, like the curtains at the window shut out the snow. You could not live in the chill of snow and she could not live with this coldness either.
‘I . . . have new papers,’ she said, trying to push the knowledge away. ‘The prinzessin called as soon as you rang me. It will be all right! And the prinzessin is coming on the next train to join us, and one of the secretaries from the embassy will meet us in England to make sure there can be no mistake . . .’
She was gabbling, pretending to find the precious papers in her handbag, to try to shut away what could not be, what must not be . . .
‘They said it was pneumonia,’ said Liesl tonelessly. ‘But she was not sick. I went to the hospital. No one would admit there had been new orders, but I think they had finally come, for I was allowed to see her. They still insist that she died of the pneumonia. But there was no funeral. There are no funerals for Lebensunwertes Leben.’
The house almost cracked under the weight of silence. At last Liesl said, ‘I do not want to stay here. I cannot stay here. This is not my Germany. But do you still wish me to come to England?’
‘Yes,’ said Gerda. She still had not met her sister’s eyes.
‘But I failed you. I failed our Anna. Our darling, precious Anna.’
‘I failed you too,’ whispered Gerda. ‘I failed my daughter. Liesl, I do not think I can survive alone. Even with the prinzessin, kind as she is. Please, come to England with me. I cannot bear to be alone.’
‘Then we must go fast. They may come back, if you are known to be here, to sterilise you, as the mother of an unfit child. You might marry again, have other children . . .’
But Gerda would not. Not because another child might be blind, but because the world now, the world as it was becoming, was not a place where she wanted to raise a child.
‘Liesl,’ she said. And suddenly they were in each other’s arms and crying, deep wrenching sobs for what was lost, and for what would never be and for the precious grace of sisters.
They cried for half an hour perhaps, then Liesl picked up her two suitcases, already packed, and Gerda picked up hers, as well as Anna’s small one, for that at least they would not leave behind.
‘I think I would like to kill them,’ said Gerda, as if they were talking about buying a loaf of bread. ‘All who talk of Lebensunwertes Leben, of Untermensch. I would like to kill them all.’
‘When the war comes . . .’ said Liesl, and she too might have been talking about a visit to the forest for a picnic.
‘Women do not fight in wars,’ said Gerda.
‘Then we must find a way to do so,’ said Liesl, calmly. For all emotion was gone now, gone with little Anna, all except their sisterhood, their grief. All except revenge. They did not even damp the stove down when they left to catch the next train to Paris.
Chapter 57
Chicken Liver and Orange Paté
Ingredients
1 small onion, chopped
3 tbsp butter
250 g chicken livers
grated zest of two oranges
2 tbsp brandy or Grand Marnier
black pepper
1 sage leaf, chopped, or 10 tarragon leaves, chopped, or a sprig of fresh thyme, the leaves stripped from the stalk
Method
Sauté the onion in the butter on the lowest heat till the onion is soft. Add the livers and sauté gently till they have just changed colour. Add all the other ingredients, take off the heat, mash well, then place in small containers to set. Cover with melted clarified butter when cool. They will last up to a week in a cool room or refrigerator.
LONDON, DECEMBER 1936
Sophie returned to London only for the day, and only because she knew she would always wonder what would have been said, if she refused to go. She dressed well, or rather, Green dressed her well, for it must not be thought that the Countess of Shillings was in any way mourning the loss of King Edward VIII.
A green and umber dress in light wool, with a green scarf worn as a belt, so low on the hips it might — but would not — fall, with a fringed hem of a conservative length until she walked or sat and showed the length of what were still, she had to admit, extremely attractive stockinged legs. Her coat matched the dress, without the fringe, but the lower three buttons were left open to display it.
David had left England. He had signed away his right to live in England, his right to call himself His Royal Highness, though the new king would allow him to continue to use that term, as well as his new and official title of the Duke of Windsor. David no longer needed parliamentary approval to marry but his wife w
ould be styled duchess, and never Her Royal Highness. David had even given up most of his income, and Fort Belvedere, though according to James he still did not realise it, for he had not read the documents he’d signed. Nor had he gone as quietly as expected. Instead he had written an impassioned plea for the people of Britain to rise up, rebel and make him king again. Thankfully, Baldwin had convinced him that there would be no rebellion. Instead David had read a sweetly sentimental piece about needing the support of the woman he loved. King Edward VIII had jumped from the bridge, and would never again have a place on it.
Not an intelligent man, and one who had grown so used to being advised that he was lost without his advisors. He did not even have Wallis Simpson as his guide at the moment, for they must remain apart until her divorce decree was absolute, or her divorce might be contested on the grounds of adultery with the man who was now the Duke of Windsor.
Poor David. He must suspect that she, too, had been part of the treachery. But Baldwin and Churchill and the new king would ensure that David — and Wallis — were kept powerless.
The car drew up at the kerb. ‘Thank you, Jones,’ she said.
‘I wish you’d allowed Lily to come,’ he said.
‘No. Emily is my friend, Jones. Whatever she wants to talk about it is something for her and me alone.’ She lifted a scarf around over her nose, for the London air, almost solid coal smoke, was bitter. The butler opened the door even before she lifted her hand to knock.
Emily’s drawing room had been repapered in the last few weeks, in gold and silver stripes. The chairs and sofas had been re-covered too. Sophie murmured her appreciation.
‘One must keep up with the times,’ said Emily. ‘I have been thinking of a burnished copper floor, if it is possible to get exactly the right shade. Darling, you look terrible. Are you sure you are up to travelling?’
Sophie’s head still ached at times. Her hands still trembled if she did not concentrate on keeping them still. Her heart felt like a small portion had been cut out and replaced by steel.
‘Yes,’ said Sophie. She attempted a smile. ‘Thank you, Emily. For all you have done. For not asking questions.’
‘You will feel better after a cup of tea.’
A footman carried in the tea tray. Sophie accepted tea, and then, reluctantly, a piece of buttered teacake. Daniel had said that she must eat and drink, and so she would.
All at once she noticed that Emily had not poured out her own cup. Instead she stood. ‘Sophie, I’m sorry, but she asked that you see her alone.’
Everyone was apologising to her these days. Did the apologies make things better or worse? She turned and saw Hannelore in the doorway wearing a dark yellow woollen coat with ermine trim.
‘I don’t want to be with her alone,’ she said, but did not stand. Could not stand. The world flashed to black nightmare once again.
Emily touched her shoulder: the first time, Sophie thought vaguely, she’d felt real affection from the other woman. ‘I will be just outside if you need me.’ She left the room and Hannelore entered quietly, not even removing her coat.
‘Sophie, I must talk to you.’
‘That is what you said in the note,’ said Sophie bitterly. ‘Does the drugging come next? Or are you going to try to tell me you didn’t write it?’
‘I wrote it. I wrote many such notes. I did not send any of them.’ Hannelore met her eyes. ‘And I wrote them many years ago.’
Sophie tried to think. Perhaps the note had not looked new. It had been written on good-quality paper and good paper did not age nor ink fade for many years . . .
‘I knew nothing until James told me you were missing.’
Was it true? It could be true. Sophie even found she desperately wanted it to be true.
Sophie forced herself to meet Hannelore’s eyes. ‘Dolphie was there.’
‘I know. I asked him to make sure you were safe, once James told me you were missing. But I know Sophie planned it, or was part of the planning. When James asked me where you might be I went to Dolphie. He promised me you were safe. I asked him to make sure you were still safe. He agreed to do that. He . . . he is fond of you, Sophie. That meant that James’s agents could track him in the days that followed.’
‘And so eventually I was found,’ said Sophie dully. ‘How long did they plan to keep me?’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t know that either. Dolphie would tell me nothing, nor why you were taken, although that is now obvious, nor where. He even denies now he said anything about you at all.’
‘For it didn’t happen,’ said Sophie, trying for lightness. ‘The Countess of Shillings may have willingly visited a country house noted for its drug parties, or she may have been kidnapped. Nothing she says can be relied upon. But at least I do not have to appear at the inquest.’
‘Inquest?’
‘Three guards were found dead when I was rescued.’ So Hannelore did not know that. Or was very good at pretending.
Hannelore was very good at pretending. But, Sophie thought, not to her.
‘I do not ask for friendship,’ said Hannelore slowly. ‘I lost that right long ago. But I hope that you will consider that I might be of service to the cause of peace Miss Lily hoped to advance.’
‘Helping Britain?’
‘Yes,’ said Hannelore simply. ‘For my country is being corrupted with fear and hatred and these mad dreams of a Third Reich and a race that is not of supermen but of men infinitely broken and twisted, with no belief except in their own right to flout the laws of God or to follow unthinkingly the orders of others. I cannot sit and see this happen.’
‘You know you will never be entirely trusted, by your own people now, or mine?’
‘Oh, yes. I do know that. Do you believe me about the note?’
‘That it was written years ago? Yes.’ But used without Hannelore’s knowledge? She was not sure.
‘Sophie, in the years to come, if you ever need me — I will do anything. Give all I have, give my life for you. Always.’
‘I don’t think we will meet again,’ said Sophie.
‘No,’ said Hannelore sadly. ‘I do not think we will.’
She stood, still in her coat. Sophie stood as well, her tea untouched. She stepped forward, almost without thinking, and embraced the prinzessin.
The coat felt cold. A cold winter to come. Many even colder to follow.
She stepped back, tears wet on her cheeks, and found Hannelore was weeping too. But she did not wipe her eyes. Wiping makes your eyes red, Miss Lily had told them so many years before. Red eyes are never attractive. Just let the tears fall, my dears, then wipe them from the cheeks or chin.
‘Liebe Sophie,’ said Hannelore quietly, and left.
Chapter 58
Never think the English do not have a tea ceremony. We have many tea ceremonies and I am grateful for every one of them.
Miss Lily, 1905
SHILLINGS, DECEMBER 1936
Hereward ushered James into the small drawing room. Lily always chose small rooms, he thought.
‘James, how lovely. Hereward, would you bring tea please?’ She cast a look at James. ‘And crumpets with honey.’
‘I wondered when you might offer crumpets and honey again,’ said James as Hereward shut the door behind him.
Lily resumed her sombre tone. ‘Not while Sophie was missing. And this is her house now, not mine.’
‘I don’t think she feels that way.’
‘No. Dear Sophie. But I do. She is up in London at Emily’s today. I believe she will meet Hannelore there, though she does not know that yet. She needs to face her before she goes back to Australia.’
‘And Hannelore will say she did her best to have Sophie returned to us safely.’
‘Do you think she did?’
‘Oh, yes. The Germans had nothing to gain by Sophie’s death and much to lose. The mysterious death of a countess is news. Her temporary vanishing — especially if found in a house of ill-repute — is less newsworthy. Not that it will e
ver reach the papers, of course.’
Lily nodded. ‘But was Hannelore complicit?’
‘In the kidnapping? I truly don’t know. In Sophie’s rescue? Possibly. Even probably. But by then von Ribbentrop thought he had won. The king would marry Simpson, abroad if it were not done here. At the very least he had achieved a long constitutional crisis, at best a fascist king.’
‘Winston plays a long game.’
‘He always does. And sometimes he even wins it.’
‘Has he won now?’
‘A battle, not the war. The real work comes now, trying to convince the nation that we must re-arm. And for that we need a true leader, neither Baldwin nor Chamberlain. But that is who we will have, unless Winston can pull off another miracle.’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps he is learning how to actually pull off these miracles of his. He is the best hope we have, at any rate.’
‘You’ll continue to use Hannelore?’
‘I’ll continue to accept any information she gives me. But no, I will not trust her unless we must.’
‘And Violette?’
‘No,’ said James gently. ‘I will not use Violette again.’
‘She hopes you might. Even expects it. But you are right.’
‘She’s unpredictable. And a killer. She was not told to kill those three men, though, admittedly, their deaths were slightly convenient. But only slightly. All three had diplomatic immunity with the embassy. They could never have been charged nor brought to trial. She could have simply called for help once she had located Sophie. What does Violette plan to do now?’
‘Green has arranged for one of Madame’s senior cutters and her chief vendeuse to move to the new House La Violette. Violette, who will only have to design, and who will do so very well, will be respectful to them — she knows their use — and they will be paid extremely well.’
‘By Higgs Industries?’
‘Sophie will help at first. I suspect Violette will be successful. Ruthless women often are. I imagine she will also send you information you may find useful.’
Lilies, Lies and Love Page 29