Forever Fleeting

by Bret Kissinger

  The lobby was full of every guest and staff member the hotel had. The lights were out, and the front glass doors had been covered with a black covering. A single light came from the open basement door, and people were shepherded down the steps like sheep. Oddly, there were no children amongst the fifty or so people crammed into the small basement filled with extra towels, cleaning supplies, and blankets. The sirens continued to cry out, sounding like the city of London itself was wailing. The warning lasted forty-three minutes if the pocket watch the farmer had given her was still on time. The sirens changed and gave the “all clear” to return to their rooms.

  Hannah and the hotel guests and staff had been lucky. But the next morning, when Otto picked her up and they drove through London, it was obvious others had not been. Otto explained that most children had been moved to the countryside, away from the high number of bombing raids. Otto’s son and daughter lived with his wife and her parents in Kiddington, roughly eighty miles from London. It had been a part of Operation Pied Piper that started back in 1939 and saw over 3.5 million people, mostly children, being relocated out of the densely populated metropolitans of London, Manchester, and Birmingham. Many of the relocations were outside England itself, including Canada and the United States.

  Otto was a wealth of information and had a greater detailed knowledge of how the war had gone than Durand or Josephine could offer. It was not that they were unwilling to offer information, it was simply they did not know. The Germans controlled the newspapers and radio, and any news they received was most likely outdated by a week at best. Hannah had learned from Otto that over 91,000 Germans had surrendered at Stalingrad. Was Wilhelm among the living captives or the fallen of nearly 400,000?

  Hannah began the day expecting to meet Kay Summersby, but she did not. Nor did she meet her the next day or any day that week. It was not until 13 May when Hannah had been brought back into the MI6 building that she met Kay Summersby. She was seated in the waiting area in a military uniform, her dark brown hair flowing in thick waves toward the back of her head. She had thin, high-arching eyebrows, and her nose tipped upward. She was in her mid-thirties and had a fierceness more resembling Josephine than the quiet resolve of Eleanor.

  “Miss Summersby, may I introduce Hannah Smith?” Otto said.

  Kay stood and made sure her uniform was in order before offering her hand to Hannah.

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Smith,” Kay said.

  “A pleasure,” Hannah replied.

  “I will take it from here, Mr. Wesley,” Kay said.

  “Very well. I shall you see later, Miss Smith, Miss Summersby,” Otto said, bowing his head to both women before walking to the staircase.

  “Let us go for a walk,” Kay said.

  Hannah followed Kay out of the office building and onto the sidewalk. They walked in silence, crossing street after street. People, both civilian and government, were trying to clean up the rubble of the previous night’s bombing.

  “I used to drive an ambulance a couple of years ago. I spent my nights driving the injured to the hospitals. Do you know how many people I saved?” she asked.

  “No,” Hannah answered though she knew it was rhetorical.

  “Nor do I. I just know there were a lot more who I didn’t,” Kay said.

  Hannah appreciated that Kay took another turn, for she did not want to see who or what the people searching would find once the debris were moved.

  “Are you married, Hannah?” Kay asked.

  “No,” Hannah lied.

  To tell the truth meant she had lied previously. She would be deported back to France at best or held as a German spy if the English found out she was married to a German soldier. It did not matter that Wilhelm was not a Nazi. Most cities and people thought Germans and Nazis were one and the same. She would have faced the same stereotype if it had not been for the tattoo on her left hand branding her a Jew.

  “And you?” Hannah asked Kay.

  “Married. Divorced. Engaged. Single.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “So am I about half of it,” Kay said, a subtle grin spreading on her face.

  She told Hannah her engagement had ended with the death of her fiancé in North Africa. He had been sweeping for mines when one exploded.

  “I work for the U.S. General Eisenhower as his personal assistant. I don’t know what preconceived notions about secretaries you have, but there is important work that needs to be done. There is no room for spelling errors on reports or being late. You will hear information that could send the entire world into a frenzy. It is your duty to hear such information and process it silently and without emotion. You cannot let emotion show on your face when you move from room to room,” Kay explained.

  “I understand,” Hannah said.

  “Excellent. I am told you will also help out the nurses and doctors. Will you be able to handle death all around you?”

  It went without saying, Kay did not know about the horrors Hannah and the Jewish people had been subjected to at Auschwitz and the thousands of other concentration camps. Hannah had seen hundreds of people brought to the gas chambers daily. She awoke every morning to find at least three or four women dead on the floor. She could handle it, but that did not mean it was easy. It was a part of being a compassionate human being and having empathy. The sort of cold indifference to death was something exuded by the Nazis. Hannah was proud to say that it did affect her.

  “I am ready to do my part,” Hannah said.

  The rest of the day, Kay showed Hannah exactly what it was she did—from typing reports on a typewriter to transferring calls for the General to simply serving him a cup of coffee when he looked stressed.

  “You need to be able to read them. These men are making decisions that will cost young men their lives. It isn’t easy. You or I can’t pretend to know what that feels like, so don’t,” Kay said.

  Hannah had not met General Eisenhower, but if the weight of his decisions stressed him, he was a far better man than any of the Nazi officers she had met.

  The day with Kay ended shortly after six, and Hannah was told she would be picked up on the fifteenth to aid in a meeting. Hannah waved goodbye and stepped back into the MI6 headquarters. Did anyone ever wander in looking to buy fire extinguishers? But something told her there was someone in the staff who knew everything about them to further sell the lie.

  Otto had been talking to Jane the receptionist, but both fell silent when Hannah stepped in.

  “Good evening, Miss Smith, the chief would like to speak with you,” Otto said.

  Hannah nodded, and even with Otto’s smile, she knew it was a ploy to trick her into a sense of comfort. Hannah ascended the staircase until she reached the top floor. Most of the staff inside were packing up to leave or had left apart from a man in the corner, toiling over paperwork under the heat and light of a desk lamp.

  “Good evening. You wanted to see me, Sir?” Hannah asked, knocking on the side of the door frame.

  “Yes, Hannah, please sit down,” Menzies said, offering her the chair in front of his desk.

  Hannah stepped inside and sat.

  “Can I get you some tea?” he asked.

  “No, thank you,” Hannah refused politely.

  Had she not seen the way Jane and Otto had reacted to seeing her, perhaps she would have gone for a cup. But now, she was nervous and knew something had happened and it was not good.

  “Very well. Hannah, I have some good news that I’m afraid will be overshadowed by some truly awful news. The codes you stole led to a large supply train of troops, munitions, and artillery that was stalled outside Paris and raided by French resistant fighters,” Menzies said.

  It wasn’t good news, it was great news. But Hannah couldn’t even react to it. She curled her thumbs under her pointer fingers and squeezed and grinded the inside of her cheek with her teeth.

  “And the awful news?” Hannah asked.

  Menzies appeared to have wanted to drag out the silence longer.

>   “But the German officer you stole it from placed his blame on you. Josephine Moreau lied for you and took the blame, and I am afraid she was killed.”

  During her first time in Menzies’ office, Hannah’s heart had fallen to the pit of her stomach. She had thought it could not fall any further. But the pit of her stomach had only been a precipice to a much further fall—one that was unending. Her heart had severed all tethering that held it in place and, now, it fell and fell and fell.

  “I am afraid there is more tragic news to be said. Some of the information stolen was planted by the Nazis. French resistance moved to a location said to have had V2 rockets, but they walked into an ambush and were killed. Radley Durand was among them,” Menzies said.

  Perhaps, Hannah was wrong in being proud of her empathy. Her life would have been so much easier had she not cared and had she not loved. The list of the fallen continued to grow, and each time, Hannah felt personally responsible. She had stolen the information against Josephine’s warning, and it had gotten her killed. Had she listened to her, Josephine would be alive—Radley too. Madeleina and his children came to her mind and the awful news they had or would receive.

  “I am truly sorry, Hannah,” Menzies said.

  Sorry would not erase the guilt and devastation. The word had little impact, especially from a man who had never met them. How too short a word love was. Four letters could not encapsulate the emotions she felt toward Josephine and Radley, her surrogate parents who had looked after her in Paris. Every memory she had with the two replayed cruelly in her mind—every smile, every laugh, every deep conversation. She had made a note to ask Menzies for information on Eleanor’s husband, Liam, but what was the point? Surely, there was only more heartbreaking news to be shared.

  “Take as much time as you need. If you require anything, please do not hesitate,” Menzies said.

  She rose from her chair, her legs wobbly. Menzies could tell she was anything but alright, but grief was something each person must deal with and in their own way. Otto wore a solemn face and wanted to say something as he drove her to the hotel. But Hannah was grateful he had not. It was easy to distance oneself when hearing of the deaths of people. Though it was still sad, they were just a statistic. Did two people truly make that big of a difference amongst a population of billions? But when the person was given a name, a history, characteristics, and idiosyncrasies that made that person different from any other person on the face of the earth, it made it unbearable.

  The bombing sirens did not go off that night. Would she have even gotten out of bed for them? Hannah had wanted to return to Paris for visits if the war had ended with a Nazi Germany defeat. But now, there was nothing there for her. She did her best to pretend she did not know their fates. She wished Menzies hadn’t told her. She could go on with the illusion that both were fine and would live long lives into their nineties. But she had seen too much death to fall to such naivety. She would always assume the worse. The part of Hannah that held onto the belief that Wilhelm was still alive began to second-guess itself. Was she just being naive?

  The next day, Hannah called Otto to tell him she was not feeling well and slept the entire day away. A deep sleep was the only place where the pain could not attack her. It was her safe zone. The following day, she was again tempted to stay in bed and sleep to escape her reality but knew, if she did, it would become an addiction—a drug to escape reality.

  It was 15 May 1944. Kay would be picking her up for some sort of meeting at St. Paul’s school. She needed help seeing that all guests were greeted with a drink, meal, and all necessary documents. Hannah forced herself to shower and prepare for the day. As she unzipped her suitcase, the nostalgic smells of Josephine’s apartment wafted toward her and formed invisible fists that sucker punched her. Hannah had made a permanent habit of hiding her tattoo, but she decided she would no longer. She would not pretend it had not happened, that she was not Jewish, and would not treat it as if she had done something wrong.

  She lumbered downstairs and waited until Kay’s black government-issued car pulled up alongside the hotel.

  “I hear you received some terrible news. I am sorry,” Kay said.

  Hannah only formed a heartbroken smile.

  It was the only reference Kay made of it. She was a conscientious observer and could tell Hannah did not want to speak of it.

  Hannah had thought a meeting between such influential military leaders would have been held somewhere larger than a school, but she did not know of St. Paul’s at all. As Kay drove up the road, a boom barrier blocked their admittance and armed guards held up a warning hand that would surely have been followed by the raising of their rifles had they not slowed down. Hannah paid little attention to them. Instead, she was flabbergasted by the ridiculous size of the building. It looked more like a gothic castle than a school. It had an antique quality to it Wilhelm would have loved. The building was built in 1509, and even four hundred years later, it stood strong. How could the Nazis not bomb such a massive target? Or did they have some remnants of humanity and would not bomb a school?

  Kay was given clearance. The boom barrier lifted, and she drove forward.

  “Most will not be arriving for another two hours, but we need to get everything ready,” Kay said.

  Kay introduced Hannah to at least a dozen women, but she had done so too fast for Hannah to pick up all their names. She had heard Jessica, Annabelle, Agatha, and Carol but could not put the name to the face. Kay led Hannah through the school and into the room where the meeting would be held. A large, rectangular table had been set up, and a large map of Europe hung open on a wheeled cart.

  “Lay out the water glasses and teacups to the left-hand side of each seat,” Kay instructed.

  She put down name holders designating where each guest would be sitting. Hannah only saw a few of them before she left to get the glasses. General Montgomery, Prime Minister Winston Churchill, King George VI, and General Eisenhower were among them. Hannah did as Kay instructed and, when she finished, asked if there was more she could do to help.

  “Place these at each seat. These are top-secret documents. Do not look at them,” Kay said.

  Hannah nodded and took the tall stack of folders that looked identical to the file Menzies had had on her. The words “TOP SECRET” were stamped in red on the front cover and invited wandering eyes. But Hannah did not want to look, for Kay had said the plans put in place would lead to the death of hundreds, if not thousands, of men. Even if she had wanted to, the folders were sealed, and once they were opened, there would be no hiding it.

  “They are starting to arrive. Pour the water. I shall prepare the tea,” Kay said.

  Hannah filled the glasses, but when she got to Prime Minister Churchill’s glass, Kay stopped her. Hannah nearly spilled the water from the tin pitcher onto the top-secret document, the table, and the floor.

  “The Prime Minister prefers his water to have a bit of a kick,” Kay said, holding up a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label whiskey. She poured enough till the bottom of the glass was covered in the amber liquid and nodded for Hannah to pour the water in.

  “Good day to you, Miss Summersby,” a voice said with great diction.

  The man stepped inside the room. He was balding with buzz-cut white hair and adorned in an army green uniform with colored insignia on his chest and stars on both of his shoulders. He was in his fifties but looked slightly older.

  “Good day to you, General,” Kay greeted.

  “Good day to you, Miss,” the General said to Hannah.

  “A pleasure to meet you, General,” Hannah said.

  Kay had not intended for Hannah to be in the room when the leaders came in, but it would be rude to sneak out now.

  “You Americans are always too early to such things,” an older man commented, slurring his words.

  Hannah recognized his face immediately. He had been called the English bulldog when Hannah was in Germany. He had a permanent scowl but, after taking a sip of his water
, became jollier.

  “Prime Minister,” the General greeted.

  “General Eisenhower,” Churchill said, nodding his head politely.

  Neither man had taken their seats as other senior personnel entered the room. There was too much small talk for Hannah to gather who each man was and nobody, except Prime Minister Churchill and General Eisenhower, was by their seats. Another man entered in a military uniform and a beret atop his head. He had a strong chin, a thin mustache, and stood only five-and-a-half-feet tall.

  “Monty knows the definition of a fashionably late entrance!” Churchill remarked.

  Like General Eisenhower, the man moved to his seat. The name Bernard Montgomery was typed on his white placeholder. General Eisenhower wore a look of disapproval. The half-dozen conversations fell silent when the last member of the meeting stepped into the room. Everyone stood and turned to face the man stepping in. He was dressed in a well-tailored suit and was handsome with hair parted to the right and a cleanly shaven face, but he looked uncomfortable having the eyes of the room upon him. As the men took their seats, the last man to enter took the only remaining spot. The man was King George VI.

  Kay nodded to Hannah, and the two hurried to the door as the conversation went from social to business. The meeting lasted for hours, and Hannah only stepped in when someone buzzed for assistance. Most often, it was to refill water or serve coffee or tea. Hannah did her best to drown out what was being said. Hannah, Kay, and the other women served them their lunch, and when the meeting ended, Hannah and the other twelve women went in to clear the used glasses, teacups, plates, and silverware from the table. Kay took a moment to speak with General Eisenhower, and Hannah was sure to maintain enough distance as to not accidentally eavesdrop or be accused of it.