by Emma Fraser
‘This woman is a nurse. She is needed.’ Her legs were trembling so much she was scared they wouldn’t support her, but somehow she managed to make them move. She carried on walking towards the nurse, talking calmly all the while. ‘She has been working very hard. She is over-tired, that’s all. She has forgotten herself. But she is a good nurse. She has cared for your soldiers on her ward as if they were her brothers.’
Behind the major, one of the regular soldiers was hanging his head. He had been a patient, treated for VD, and she worried suddenly that she’d overplayed her hand and made things worse for Wanda. As she drew closer to the officer, she realised she recognised him too. The last time she had seen him, he’d been in pyjamas and she’d treated him for an acute attack of dysentery. He’d only been in the ward for a couple of days but they’d treated him no differently to the locals while he’d been under their care.
Although her muscles were rigid with fear, she forced a smile. ‘Oberführer Bilsen, it’s good to see you looking so much better.’
He lowered his pistol and clicked his heels together. ‘Fräulein Kraszewska, if I remember. I am pleased to meet you again.’ He waved his gun in the direction of Wanda who was still being held by the soldier. ‘This woman is a nurse, you say?’
‘A good one,’ Irena repeated, striving to sound nonchalant. ‘And you know we need every nurse we can get. Especially if we are to keep disease from spreading.’
It was her trump card. The Germans were terrified of catching infectious diseases, particularly typhus.
The major replaced his pistol in his holster and nodded to the soldier to release Wanda. ‘She can go – this time. But I’m warning you, don’t interfere again, Fräulein. The people must learn to obey orders without question. It is better for everyone.’
The truck, loaded with the men who had been rounded up, started its engine and the German officer took his place in the side car of the waiting motorcycle.
Quickly Irena moved towards Wanda and took her by the arm. She needed to get her inside before she said or did anything to jeopardise them both. The villagers would see to Wanda’s father’s body as soon as the soldiers left. As the convoy drove away, Irena dragged the nurse inside and sat her down on a chair. She poured a glass of water from the jug on the table and handed it to her. She placed her hands over Wanda’s, whether to steady the nurse’s or her own she couldn’t be sure.
‘Are you going to be all right?’ Irena asked.
‘My father. Why did they shoot him? He was no danger to anyone. He didn’t even understand what they wanted him to do. If they’d waited a few minutes I would have explained.’
Irena thought it was unlikely that, even if Wanda’s father had been able to follow orders, he would have been saved. The rumours had it that those who were taken for the work camps and couldn’t work were simply shot. At least then Wanda would have been spared the sight of him being killed in front of her. Now it was over she felt the familiar anger against the Germans return. Did they not have fathers and mothers? Grandmothers and grandfathers, too?
‘You did your best for him.’
‘Thank you for what you did,’ Wanda whispered after she’d gulped some water. ‘If you hadn’t helped me, they would have shot me too. I owe you my life.’
‘We need good nurses,’ Irena said lightly. She felt a little ashamed of the assumptions she’d made about the nurse. Not all the Volksdeutsche had gone over to the side of the Nazis, even if their lives would have been easier.
‘They could have shot you too. Weren’t you scared?’
Irena forced a smile and held out her hands. ‘Look at me! I’m still shaking. Of course, I was terrified. But we can’t let them do whatever they want to us. One way or another we have to keep some dignity.’
After she’d left Wanda in the care of a neighbour, the father’s body having been removed to the church, Irena collapsed on a chair and, suddenly faint, lowered her head. Yes, she had been terrified.
But she had stood up to the Germans and it felt good.
Chapter 17
London, 1989
Matthew was waiting for Sarah in the arrivals hall at Heathrow. He was leaning against a wall, leafing through some papers, and she paused to study him for a moment. He looked every inch the successful banker in his dark grey tailored suit, a red and white pinstriped shirt and polished hand-made shoes.
She tucked her T-shirt into the top of her jeans to hide the small hole she’d picked with nervous fingers on the flight down, wondering if there would be time to go shopping while she was here.
Although the flight was only fifteen minutes behind schedule she knew Matthew would have been checking his watch constantly, keen to get back to work. Where had the man she’d met at university disappeared to? Matthew cared little about politics now – unless events in other countries affected the rates of exchange or other fiscal policies. Immediately she was ashamed of her thoughts. Matthew was still a good man underneath the swagger.
‘Good trip?’ he asked as she reached him, turning her face up for his kiss. ‘How’s your mother?’
‘About the same.’
‘And Gilly?’
‘She sends her love.’ That wasn’t true. Although she’d never said so, Sarah suspected her friend disliked Matthew.
The muggy heat of London hit her the minute she stepped out of the air-conditioned terminal, frizzing the fringe of her recently blow-dried hair.
She waited until her bag was in the boot and they were on their way to Matthew’s flat in the Docklands.
‘I have something to tell you.’ When she’d called him to let him know she was coming to London, he’d been about to go into a meeting and there had been no time to bring him up to date with what had been happening.
He glanced at her. ‘Something good, I hope.’
‘I’m not really sure. Earlier this week I went to see a firm of solicitors on behalf of my mother.’
‘Go on.’
‘It’s very strange, but it appears my mother has been appointed executor of a Lord Glendale’s estate.’
‘Who the hell is he?’
‘That’s the thing, I don’t know. At least, I don’t know why he made my mother executor. I don’t think she knows either. What I do know now is that his name was Lord Richard Maxwell before he inherited the title of Earl and that he was in the RAF during the Second World War. Apparently, his estate – a house in Charlotte Square and one in Skye – goes to a woman called Magdalena Drobnik, supposing she’s still alive or can be found. If not, it goes to my mother.’ She filled him in on everything she’d discovered, including that her mother was adopted, and had only just come to the end of her account when they stopped outside his flat.
Matthew whistled. ‘Are you certain the child in the photo is your mother?’
‘There’s no doubt. Mum confirmed it too.’
He looked surprised. ‘She’s talking again?’
‘No, not really. There are signs that her speech is improving but the few words she does manage are slurred. Mostly she still uses her walking stick to communicate.’ Her throat tightened and she swallowed.
Matthew reached for her hand. ‘Are you okay?’
She blinked rapidly. ‘Not really.’
She rummaged around in her handbag until she located the envelope with the black and white photograph of her mother as a child. She passed it to him.
He took a moment to study it. ‘It does look like her. So what now?’
‘The solicitors are looking for Magdalena. If they find her she might be able to explain Lord Glendale’s connection to Mum.’ She shrugged. ‘I was so sure she was Mum’s natural mother, but Mum says no. I have no idea how my mother knows her, but I’m determined to find out.’ She tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. ‘I know so little about Mum’s life. I didn’t even know she was adopted. If she lost her parents as a child, if something happened to them, if they gave her up, Matthew, no wonder she finds it difficult to show her feelings.’
Sarah sighed. ‘Can we not talk about this now, Matthew? I can’t think about marriage when Mum isn’t well.’ But if she were honest she hadn’t been able to make herself say yes to his proposal before her mother had become ill. What was stopping her? Matthew was everything she wanted. Decent. Kind. Safe. Staid? a little voice whispered, but she batted it away. Matthew wasn’t the boring one, she was.
Matthew waited until they were inside his flat before he pulled her into his arms.
‘God, I’ve missed you,’ he murmured against her lips. ‘What do you say we skip dinner and go straight to bed?’
Held in the safety of his arms, Sarah felt the doubts slip away. They were only there because they’d spent so much time apart.
She smiled up at him. ‘Dinner can wait.’
Later they lay in bed wrapped in each other’s arms. ‘Hungry?’ Sarah asked.
‘Sure.’
‘You stay where you are and I’ll bring us some supper.’
She threw aside the covers, bringing the sheet with her and wrapping it over her nakedness. Her clothes were neatly folded on the chair – her torn T-shirt tossed in the bin – Matthew’s already consigned to the laundry basket.
She took one of his shirts from his wardrobe, slid into it and went to the kitchen, which took her all of five paces. Matthew’s flat was on the sixth floor with a fantastic view of the docks from its floor-to-ceiling windows. Furnished simply with plain but expensive furniture and the latest hi-fi equipment, it was a little clinical for Sarah’s taste, but Matthew loved it.
She set a tray with cold chicken and salad from a pre-packed carton from Marks & Spencer. In anticipation of her arrival, Matthew had chilled a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc for her and opened a Merlot for him before he’d left for the airport. Trust him to be organised.
They’d met at a party in their first year. She hadn’t wanted to go, but Gilly, typically, wouldn’t take no for an answer. Sarah had known it was a mistake to come the moment they’d arrived. The flat was heaving. The Specials had been blaring, causing the whole flat to vibrate. Several people, arms held rigidly by their sides, jumped up and down as if on pogo sticks.
Gilly had hurried away to find them drinks before Sarah had the chance to protest, leaving her on her own and feeling horribly exposed.
She’d noticed him straight away; at six foot five he wasn’t the kind of man you could miss. He’d been standing against the wall, a pint in his hand, and a glazed expression on his face, as a woman stood on tiptoe to shout in his ear. He’d looked over and caught her staring. She’d blushed and lowered her lids.
When she looked up again, he was in front of her. The Specials’ ‘Too Much Too Young’ had come to the end and there was a merciful silence while someone put on another record. ‘I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Matthew Morgan.’ His voice was deep, with just a touch of an English accent.
‘Sarah Davidson.’
‘First year?’
She nodded. ‘Is it so obvious?’
‘A little. All the first years have one of two looks. Either the first-time-away-from-home-so-I’m-going-to-get-as-drunk-as-I-possibly-can or the oh-shit,-why-is-everyone-staring-at-me? look.’
Sarah didn’t have to ask which one he thought she had. A flush was creeping up from her chest and working its way up to her scalp.
‘What are you studying?’ he asked.
She glanced over his shoulder hoping to see Gilly re-emerge from the crowds.
‘English Literature. You?’
‘Economics and Maths.’ He paused. He was staring at her if she were the only person in the room. ‘You’re not interested in joining the Political Society, are you?’
She should have guessed. He hadn’t come over because he was interested in her but because he was trying to recruit for his society. Ever since she’d arrived at the halls of residence, she’d been inundated with leaflets suggesting she join this club or that. Gilly had made her sign up for too many as it was. Besides, politics bored her.
‘I’m not interested in joining more societies,’ she said. ‘I’m here to study.’
He laughed. ‘I’ll give you a week,’ he said. Then his face grew serious. ‘We’re protesting against the presence of British soldiers in Ireland. Don’t you think it’s time the British Government gets out of that mess?’
She didn’t have a clue what she thought about Northern Ireland. Like most people she hated what was happening there, but she didn’t have any pat answers; she just wished the killing would stop. She was about to tell him so, when he tipped his head to the side and grinned. ‘If you come, I’ll buy you a beer afterwards.’
‘How does bribery fit with a social conscience? Doesn’t one preclude the other?’
He laughed again. ‘Smart as well as pretty, but I see you have a lot to learn.’
Gilly had drifted back and thrust a glass of cheap, warm white wine in Sarah’s hand. ‘Hello, I’m Gillian.’
‘Oh, hi.’ Unusually, Matthew’s eyes didn’t light up when he saw Gilly the way most men’s did. Neither did he invite her to join the political society. Instead, his attention was fixed on Sarah. Behind him, she noticed the girl he’d been standing with waving. The music started up again. Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s ‘Relax’. The girl lifted her arms in the air and gyrated her hips in their direction.
‘I think your friend wants you.’
Matthew flicked a glance over his shoulder. ‘Yeah, you’re right. Duty calls. I’ll phone you. Which halls are you in?’
Before Sarah could answer Gilly did it for her. ‘She’s in Pollock Halls, Harrington Court, number 401. And I’m next door in 403.’
Later Sarah came to realise he’d mistaken her shyness for cool self-assurance. By the time he discovered the truth, he was in love with her and she with him.
Matthew had left university two years before Sarah and had taken a job in London with one of the banks. They’d commuted between London and Edinburgh – mainly her doing the travelling on Fridays after lectures and returning on the last train on Sunday night. As he’d begun to earn more he’d flown up sometimes to see her. When she’d finished her degree, earning a first, she’d taken a job with a small publishing house in London for a couple of years, renting a flat near his. At first she’d only been a general dogsbody but soon she’d been allowed to work on the copy-edits for a couple of mid-list authors and she found she liked the attention to detail the job required. But opportunities for promotion within the publishing house were limited and Sarah didn’t have the heart or the confidence to push herself forward so when an opportunity had arisen to join a smaller press in Edinburgh, she’d applied. It had caused their first major row. Two months ago he’d given her an ultimatum: marry him and move back to London or their relationship was over. Soon after that her mother had had her stroke and the ultimatum had gone on the back burner, where she knew it wouldn’t be allowed to stay for long.
She returned with a tray and Matthew lifted the duvet so she could clamber in beside him.
They settled back on the pillows with the tray on their laps.
‘So what are you going to do?’ Matthew asked.
She wasn’t sure whether he was alluding to their engagement or the inheritance. She chose to answer the latter.
‘I’m going to find out why Lord Glendale had a photo of Mum. I’m going to find out everything I can about Magdalena and what her connection is to my mother.’
Matthew sighed. ‘And after that? Will you marry me?’
‘You know I can’t even think of marriage while my mother is ill.’
He took the wine glass from her hand and placed it on the bedside table. ‘Why do I feel that you are never going to say yes? You promised to give me an answer one way or another and I think I deserve one.’
She snuggled down against him, avoiding his eyes. ‘I’ve got so much on
my plate right now, Matthew. As soon as I know what’s happening with Mum, I’ll be able to think about the future. Just give me a little more time.’
Chapter 18
Rozwadow, 1941
Irena was worried. Her patient, a boy of six, should be doing better than he was. His temperature was down, his cough had improved, but still he was refusing to eat or drink. He was already too thin, his arms and legs like grasshopper limbs jutting out from his body, his eyes over-large in his gaunt face.
The nurses had tried to make him take some fluids but the boy pursed his lips and turned his head away. No one knew where his parents were; they had simply, according to the neighbours, disappeared the day after the boy was admitted to hospital. It was possible they had been taken away by the Germans, or even that they had seen an opportunity to escape and seized it while they could, but whatever had happened to them it seemed they weren’t coming back.
