The Fragile Hour

by Rosalind Laker

  She stood her ground, her cheeks flushed, not knowing yet if he would attempt to strike her, but she was prepared to defend herself. Her training had taught her never to show fear and she could see her apparent calmness was exacerbating his humiliation at her rejection. She took a chance.

  “Go!” she ordered crisply. “For your sake and mine. Now!”

  He hesitated only briefly, scarcely able to grasp why the evening should have ended in this disastrous manner. Then, swinging away, his open jacket flapping, he went off down the stairs. Anna remained where she was until his door slammed two floors below, vibrating through the hotel. A moment later Margot looked sleepily out of her room, pushing back her hair.

  “Something woke me up, Anna. How did the evening go?”

  “I’ll tell you about it in the morning.”

  “OK. Good night.” Margot closed her door again.

  Anna opened her own door, which she had never bothered to lock, but, after entering, this time she turned the key.

  *

  In the morning Anna sought out Emil and said she had to make contact, having an important message to deliver. He nodded and she knew it would be done on her behalf. Going on duty at the reception desk, her first task was to sort the mail for the officers, which was brought by an army delivery. Almost all of it was in a personal category from Germany. As always, each had been opened and resealed by a German censor before leaving the country. Her guess was that not all the news of the Allied bombing of the country was allowed to get through to servicemen away from home.

  Anna looked up as Klaus came through the lobby. He was on his way out and did not glance in her direction. “One moment, Major Schultz!” she said quickly.

  He stopped, impatiently flicking his gloves against his great-coat. “What is it? I’m in a hurry.”

  “There are two letters for you.” She held them out.

  He came across to the desk and took them from her. Turning them over he noted the addresses on the back. Then he raised his head and looked coolly at her. “There was no need for that little contretemps between us last night, Anna. I wasn’t expecting a commitment from you, only my dues as a conqueror.”

  He turned away from the desk and went out. Anna supposed he thought she was left smarting from his sarcasm, but it had had no effect. She understood far better than he realised that his male ego had been cut to the quick and he was still furious with her. Probably no other woman had refused him before.

  It was a relief to know she was free of him and he would not be asking her out again.

  Anna was in the kitchen helping Cook prepare dinner when Emil signalled to her. She made an excuse and met him in the staff hallway.

  “Your contact is waiting for you. He’ll be looking in the bookshop along the street. The code word is ‘Ibsen’.”

  A few minutes later, Anna was walking without haste towards the bookshop. There was nobody there when she arrived, but a man was looking in the neighbouring shop.

  As she stood seemingly interested in the display of books on show, he came and stood beside her.

  “Excuse me,” she said, pointing in the window. “Can you see the title on that red book? I think it’s one of Ibsen’s plays.”

  There was no such book on display, but he gave her the answer she wanted. “Yes, it’s Ibsen’s Ghosts.”

  “There will be a delivery early Wednesday evening,” she said.

  “That’s what we’ve been waiting for,” he answered.

  He strolled on as if their exchange had never taken place. Anna waited, watching in the reflection of the window, as two soldiers on duty with rifles came along on the opposite side of the street. The man had moved on just in time.

  Leaving the bookshop behind her, she went back to the hotel. She met one of the young officers on his way there too.

  “Good evening, oberleutnant,” she said in reply to his greeting. He was easygoing and pleasant, by no means a dyed-in-the-wool Nazi. Greta had told her that he had been reprimanded more than once by Major Schultz for being too willing to turn a blind eye to some minor act of defiance.

  “May I walk with you?” he said, falling into step beside her. “I was at the ski-contest this afternoon. Olsen won the jumping, but two of the ski-troops came second and third.”

  She was pleased with this result, but no patriot would applaud Nils’s victory.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When Anna went out to collect the bread ration the following morning, it was another glorious day. She walked with a feeling of exhilaration that spring was letting its arrival be known. As Karl had predicted, the good weather seemed set to last for a considerable time, the days already lengthening towards the everlasting light of the summer nights. The snow had vanished quickly, although it would be at its best on the ski slopes. The mellow colours of the buildings glowed in the clear light. Resting at the wharves, the fishing boats had already unloaded their morning catch, but the shrieking seagulls continued to swirl overhead in thick fluttering clouds.

  At the bakery Anna waited in the long line, turning her face to the sun, with others missing the ski-expeditions at this time of year in the past. Nobody chatted to her any more. Klaus had finished that for her when he had gained her priority treatment in getting apples that day.

  On her way back to the hotel again she had to wait to cross a street. Two helmeted outriders, rifles slung across their backs, were approaching at the head of a convoy of army trucks coming from the direction of the harbour. Other pairs of outriders were keeping pace in escort on either side of each vehicle. As the first one passed her, Anna saw with a deep sense of shock the plight of those on board. These were the Russian prisoners-of-war being moved in to work on the site of the great gun about which she had informed the Resistance. Skeletal in appearance with their heads shaved, they did not have room to sit, but stood jammed together, listless and hollow-eyed, looking more fit for a hospital ward than heavy manual labour.

  Pity overwhelmed her. As the second truck reached her, she sprang forward and hurled a loaf from her basket to the men. They uttered a strange kind of strangled shout as it reached them. She had to spring back quickly to avoid an outrider bearing down on her. He yelled at her, gesticulating with one black-gauntleted fist for her to get off the street, but she took no notice, waiting to take aim when the next truck drew level.

  This time a forest of scrawny arms and claw-like hands reached for the loaf that flew through the air. Narrowly escaping motor-cycle wheels again and receiving similar abuse, Anna was ready to throw the third loaf when her arm was grabbed and she was spun round with a force that made her stagger to face Klaus, his eyes grim, his eyes blazing.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Anna Larsen?” he demanded, snatching the loaf from her hand and tossing it away.

  It landed on the street cobbles, causing her to cry out as she saw truck wheels trundle over it. “How could you do that! Those poor men are starving!”

  He twisted her arm just enough to force her closer to him. “Poor men!” he echoed contemptuously. “They’re Russians!”

  “Human beings!” She was aghast that he should have spoken of the prisoners as if they were less than cattle.

  “Look!” He pointed in the direction of the disappearing truck. “They’re fighting among themselves over that bread. Is that what you wanted?”

  “No.” She was determined not to be browbeaten. “But it shows how desperate they are for food. You weren’t able to do anything for the French women, but you could get adequate rations for those men!” It was on the tip of her tongue to add “since you are in charge”, but she checked herself in time. His being in command of the gun emplacement was not yet public knowledge.

  He ignored her request. “I could have you arrested for what you’ve just done, but I’m letting you off with a warning.” The last thing he wanted was to have her behind bars. The manner in which she had defended herself on Saturday night had made him wonder about her. He intended to look more closely
into her absences. Neither did he want her out of his sight for more personal reasons that he could not dismiss.

  “I’ll heed the warning.”

  He released her. “Very well. But never interfere in military matters again.”

  As Klaus strode away, she rubbed her arm where he had gripped it, for it throbbed painfully. There would be more trouble when she faced Cook with the diminished rations.

  Surprisingly Cook accepted the situation philosophically. “I don’t know how I’ll eke out what’s left, but those prisoners needed the bread more than any of us.” Then she gave Anna a sharp look as she added: “But if anyone has to go without altogether, it’ll have to be you.”

  “That’s what I want.”

  By the end of the week and without saying a word, Cook shared the loss by going without too. She told herself that at least she did not feel as if there were lead in her stomach, a common occurrence with the wartime bread.

  *

  It did not take Klaus long to get the information he wanted. He was relieved to read that an old woman of the name Anna had given had lived in Tresfjord, but she had died early in 1939. It bore out Anna’s story and, for the time being at least, he allowed his suspicions to be lulled.

  The great gun did not arrive at Alesund on the date of delivery after all. Anna had another meeting with Rolf, who told her jubilantly that the information she had passed on from Major Schultz’s file and the additional message from Nils had been relayed to London. As a result, a British submarine in the North Sea had torpedoed the ship carrying the gun only a few miles from its destination.

  Anna was with Margot, having visited a friend living at walking distance outside Alesund on the mainland, when they saw the trucks moving the Russian and Yugoslav prisoners. They were being taken to join other prisoners of the same nationalities already engaged in clearing heavy rocks for the Luftwaffe’s new airfield. Two of the Russians must have recognised her as the one who had thrown the bread, for both gave a feeble little wave, their hands barely raised in case of being seen. She waved back vigorously and Margot followed suit. An outrider spat at them as he went past.

  Margot was subdued by the starved state of the prisoners, not having seen any before. Anna understood her feelings and they walked in silence for a while.

  “If that’s how the Nazis treat their captives,” Margot said at last, “what must it be like for those in Grini and in the Arctic concentration camps?”

  Anna guessed she was thinking of friends and others known to her. “I’ve no idea,” she answered wearily.

  Margot’s eyes were uncharacteristically filled with tears.

  “I try not to show it, but I get so depressed at times. If the Occupation had never come, Johan and I would have been married. I might even have had a child now. Instead, not knowing whether he’s alive or dead nearly drives me mad when I can’t keep my fears at bay. I miss him every moment of each day.”

  Anna linked a comforting arm through hers. “I know. I’ve seen how you are sometimes. You have spasms of not sleeping well then too. I’ve heard you moving about in the night.”

  “I’m sorry. Do I disturb you?”

  “No, I have a wakeful night now and again.”

  “Would you come in and talk for a while next time if you hear me about?”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “I’m afraid it was the sight of those sad prisoners even cut off from all news of their families that triggered me into gloom.”

  “That was to be expected. I’m glad we’ve talked.”

  “You’re a good friend, Anna. Now I mustn’t go home in this mood.” Margot let her shoulders rise and fall as if physically shaking off her depression. “Come on! We have to be cheerful for our conquerors.”

  Anna was amused, seeing that Klaus had unwittingly created a joke for Margot and herself to share. “That’s what the Nazis think they are!”

  With a laugh that they both needed, they went into the hotel.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As the days slipped by, the forests were spread with pale carpets of wood anemones in the sudden spectacular burst of the Northern spring. Almost overnight, the trees budded forth new green and a variety of birds returned to join the colourful little tits that remained steadfastly resident throughout the winters. Anna knew the waterfall at Tresfjord would have melted and amid veils of spray would be cascading down to the salmon river below. She yearned to see it and to wander along that peaceful valley. Sometimes the strain of her underground work and the busy routine of the hotel made her long for a brief respite just to be on her own.

  When Emil had injured his back and had to rest for a couple of weeks, she had taken over the delivery of the transcripts that Margot took down from the BBC. The press that printed the underground news-sheet, entitled Freedom, was hidden in the cellar of a stationer’s shop, which also printed posters and notices for the Germans. What the enemy did not know was that there were two presses, one that could be inspected and another that they never saw. Sometimes, instead of going to the shop, Anna would meet Solveig, the wife of the editor, with Inga, her baby, and the transcript would be tucked behind the pram pillow.

  Anna had no idea who delivered the printed news-sheets locally, and she doubted if Emil knew it either. These true reports of what was happening everywhere were published under various headings all over the country and were avidly read and passed on again. News of enemy atrocities and reprisals were also included, some of them horrific, and yet the smouldering defiance of the people did not falter, no matter how bad the home news.

  At the hotel Anna had twice narrowly escaped discovery when an occupant had returned unexpectedly to his room, but the risk had been worth it. She had been able to pass on three valuable pieces of information that Rolf had been glad to receive. By now she had met two other members of the local cell and once Alf was her contact. As he knew her socially, he was chosen to ask her if she would resume an unpleasant task.

  They met at the seagull’s rock and, because German rules forbade them from standing to talk, they had to walk on together. At first they kept their conversation to normal topics until they could be sure nobody was within earshot. It meant waiting until after they had passed a little scene that was not uncommon these days. Two civilians, one a middle-aged businessman and the other a fisherman, had been stopped at random in the street by two soldiers and ordered to scrub off a large patriotic cypher that had been painted on a wall.

  “Get on with it!” one of the Germans barked when the businessman paused briefly to rest his arm before dipping his scrubbing-brush into the water again. The royal cypher was that of the King, the letter H interlaced with a 7 for Haakon VII. It was forever appearing all over Norway and seemed to infuriate the Germans even more than the wearing of paper clips or scarlet woolly caps, the colour of the Norwegian flag, which was the latest demonstration of unity.

  “What did you want to see me about, Alf?” Anna asked as they came to a play area where children were throwing a ball to one another.

  “We’d like you to take up your relationship again with Major Schultz. There’s something in the wind and we don’t know what it is.”

  She frowned sharply. “I wish you’d asked me anything but that.”

  “You’re on speaking terms with him, aren’t you?”

  “Only when necessary at the hotel, but nothing more. As I told Rolf at the time, I learned nothing of any value at that party and Schultz expected his dues, as he called it, afterwards. No thanks! I’ve had enough of him. I thought once I’d like to be a Mati Hari, but I’ve changed my mind. I came here to be a courier or a radio-operator, not to fawn on a Nazi.”

  “You’re a radio-operator, are you?” Alf was interested. “I don’t think Rolf knows that. You’d find it a nomadic existence, because the Germans can soon trace a signal in town. Sometimes it means living in the mountains for months. You’d always be on the move.”

  “It would be preferable to what you’re asking me to do now!”
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br />   “Maybe you’ll get a transmitter later on, but in the meantime try to find out what Schultz is planning.”

  She glanced at him in exasperation, but he returned her look steadily in a silent reminder that she was in the Resistance to work for the country’s liberation, however unpleasant the task. With a heavy sigh she capitulated.

  “I’ll do what I can. But it will have to be gradual, because I’m uncertain about Schultz. It’s just a hunch, but I’ve a feeling he has his reservations now about me too.”

  “You’re an intelligent girl. It shouldn’t be too difficult for you to talk him out of his doubts. And don’t make the healing process too gradual. Time may be running out for us.”

  Anna gave a mock groan. “Anything more?”

  “Only something that may or may not be important to you. A verbal message from Karl.”

  She held her breath. “Have you spoken to him?”

  Alf shook his head. “The message was relayed to me by someone passing through.”

  “What is it?” she demanded eagerly.

  “Only that the mountain flowers are still in bloom.”

  Anna tilted her head back with a soft laugh, diving her hands deep into her pockets as if to restrain the upsurge of happiness that swept through her. Alf probably thought it was a message in code and in a way it was. Karl, having to contain all he wanted to say in a single mundane message, had chosen to remind her of the past and to promise for the future in an oblique reference to their parting in the mountain snows.

  That evening Anna made a start on the task allotted to her. She gave Klaus a slight smile as she passed him and sensed that he paused to look back at her. It made her wonder if intense hatred created an acute awareness of another person almost as much as love.

  When Anna took the opportunity to repeat her smile, wider this time, Klaus acknowledged it with an interested nod. In his own mind he regretted having rushed his fences with her. It was why he had been very civil to her since after the morning when his temper still had the better of him. In spite of her firework anger that night, she was probably still attracted to him as he was to her.