by Jules Wake
Giving in to the yearning that tugged at her heart, her soul and every fibre of her being, she pulled the stool underneath her bottom and sat down. Her hands held aloft, shaking slightly with reverence and fear. What if she couldn’t do this magnificent instrument justice? But she couldn’t have walked away, not now. With a deep breath, she placed her fingers onto the keys and tentatively began to play. It wasn’t long before her touch became confident and sure, although she played pianissimo, a personal and private contract between her and the piano. She played for herself, ignoring mistakes and falters, for the sheer joy of the music and wondered how she could have lived without this for so long. Tears bubbled up and rolled down her face, as her spirits soared like a ship’s sails escaping their tethers, losing herself in the music.
It was only when she came to the end of the piece, her heart fluttering with sheer pleasure, her fingers gradually and reluctantly drawing to a halt, that she realised there was someone standing by the door. They must have come in while she’d abandoned herself to the music. Sudden embarrassment seared her cheeks but she forced herself to look over. When she saw Walther, wiping his own tears from his eyes, she sighed, relief easing from her like air from a punctured bicycle tyre.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ he said.
She nodded and put her hands primly in her lap, feeling exposed and laid bare, the tears still drying on her cheeks, wet drips between her collar and neck. He walked across the soft carpet through the beams of late sunshine cast through the big windows and came to stand next to her, his hands brushing the surface of the piano exactly as hers had done.
‘It has the most beautiful tone,’ he said almost reverently.
‘It does.’
‘And you play extraordinarily well. Were you a concert pianist?’
‘No. I wanted to be.’ Her mouth crumpled. ‘There was no place for a Jew playing music.’
His face softened and he took one of her hands and squeezed it as if he knew the pain she’d suffered.
‘I’m sorry. That is a tragedy.’
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘A tragedy is the loss of a loved one; it’s being persecuted and taken away to certain death.’
‘I think you are too hard on yourself. Being denied a gift like this is a terrible tragedy and you deserve to grieve.’
‘Grieving doesn’t help,’ said Judith tersely, embarrassment pricking her.
‘No, it doesn’t. Finding a way forward does. Will you play something else?’
She shook her head.
‘For me?’
How was it that he understood?
‘I can play something for you.’ But not for herself. She looked at him for a moment and began to play Für Elise.
Once again, despite being very rusty, her fingers unerringly found their way across the keys. This time she watched him as she played. Leaning on the piano, his eyes never left her face the whole time and it was the most intimate thing she’d ever experienced in her life, as if he were there with her for every note, for every breath she took, for every musical refrain, every cadence.
When she finished he smiled and said, ‘Danke Schön,’ the words holding a wealth of meaning beyond simple thanks.
A laugh outside from further down the hallway brought them both back to earth and she smiled ruefully at him. ‘I’m not sure I’m meant to be in here.’
‘I think you are,’ he said, stroking the piano. ‘It would be a great shame to deny this instrument. I’m sure no one would begrudge you playing here.’
She rose and smoothed down her skirts, awkward now and not sure what to say to him. She’d exposed a part of herself to him that had been hidden for so long, it didn’t feel as if it were her anymore.
‘I checked with Sergeant Jones. You swap to night shifts on Thursday.’
‘Yes, he told me.’
‘I wonder if you would care to accompany me on a bicycle ride. I’d very much enjoy showing you some of the beautiful countryside and we could perhaps have lunch in Amersham.’
Frida’s words came back to her and she blushed, which was silly because he was a very kind man, but it would be more pleasant to have company for the day than spend it on her own.
‘That would be very nice. Thank you, you’re very kind.’
His eyes suddenly twinkled. ‘There might be a price to pay.’
She looked at him warily.
‘I might ask you to play for me again.’
‘Oh.’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘That’s not a high price. I can afford that.’
‘Excellent. Now all I need to do is procure two bicycles by Thursday.’ His smile was pure mischief and Judith realised she really wanted to go for that bicycle ride.
‘I might be to help there. My roommate is a local girl, she might know someone in the village that might lend us a bicycle.’
‘Das ist wunderbar.’
‘I’ll talk to her right away,’ she said, already in her head halfway up the stairs.
‘Excellent. I’ll see you tomorrow. At breakfast?’
‘Yes,’ said Judith, surprised by the little flutter in her heart. ‘At breakfast.’
Betty was out on the roof smoking and she went straight out to see her.
‘Betty, do you know where I might be able to borrow a bicycle – no, two bicycles – in the village? Walther, one of the lis… one of the men in my section, has invited me to go for a bike ride.’
‘Has he now?’ Betty fluttered her lashes.
Judith blushed. ‘It’s not like that. He’s a nice man. We have some things in common. He likes music. He’s German. He’s Jewish.’
‘Well, if he’s just a nice man, that’s fine then,’ said Betty with a teasing glint in her eye as she followed Judith back into their bedroom.
‘He’s a nice man. That is all,’ said Judith shortly and went and sat down on her bed. ‘We’re only going out to see the countryside.’ That was all. Like her, he would understand that it was wrong for them to be enjoying themselves. A ride in the country wasn’t frivolous. And lunch would be a necessity if they were going to be out for a while.
‘Right-ho,’ said Betty, still with that air of disbelief. It irritated Judith but she didn’t want to say anything else. Judith pulled out her needles and wool and began knitting furiously.
‘Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ said Betty. ‘I can see if there’s a spare bicycle at the farm and Elsie has one she might lend you. She could use the Vicar’s for a day, I’m sure.’
‘Thank you,’ said Judith, feeling a little guilty for her stiffness.
‘You should go down to the weir on the River Chess, that’s very pretty. Or there’s Chenies Manor, or you could see the steam engines at Amersham Common. Or you could cycle to the station and go to London. There’s a cinema in Chesham.’ Betty clapped her hands. ‘If I could I’d go up West. See a show or something, but Ma would play merry hell. Bert too. They don’t like me going up to London.’
‘I suppose they’re worried about the bombs.’
‘Suppose so,’ Betty sighed, ‘but I always make sure I know where all the shelters are before I go. What are you knitting? Lovely colour.’
Judith allowed herself a small smile. It was indeed a gorgeous colour, a rich cherry red. ‘A jumper. The wool came from an old cardigan that belonged to one of my aunts. There might be enough wool left to make a scarf, if you’d like.’ Her aunt had been an interesting character, bohemian, forthright and outspoken. How she would have hated the war and everything Hitler and his cronies stood for. She’d probably have been shot for opposing the regime. Thankfully she’d died in 1932 before things had really started to deteriorate.
‘Are you sure? That’s very generous.’
Judith nodded. ‘I think the colour will suit you.’
‘I think it will suit you too. What are you going to wear for your trip?’
Judith narrowed her eyes at Betty. ‘You never give up, do you?’
‘I like looking nice for me. It m
akes me feel better and if the men look twice…’ she paused before adding with an insouciant grin, ‘why not?’
Judith carried on knitting but she smiled to herself. Walther probably wouldn’t even notice. Her father had rarely noticed what she wore. Men looked at Betty for something other than her clothes; she had that innate womanly appeal that had bypassed Judith. It hadn’t mattered when she was growing up that she was plain and understated because she’d been taught that music and art were more important. But that life was gone now and she had already accepted that it was unlikely that her future held a husband or the things that she’d once held so dear.
Chapter Fourteen
Betty
Freed from the wrist-pounding typing and the anxiety over her slow pace, Betty was enjoying her new job immensely, and the office in which she was now situated had once been Lord Chesham’s bedroom, which tickled her no end. Although now, instead of the big four-poster bed and heavy wooden furniture that had been in his family for generations, the room was full of functional desks and filing cabinets, jammed into every bit of space. The rich burgundy carpet was still in situ as were the plump lined damask golden-yellow curtains with their pattern of roses picked out in the same burgundy colour as the floor. She enjoyed staring at the heavy wallpaper with its huge floral repeat as she reflected on the latest reports. It was so different from the bedroom she’d shared at home. Who could have imagined she’d end up working in this lovely light room with its big stone mullioned window and the wonderful view from the west side of the house looking down towards the river and the fields? As working spaces went, it was a definite improvement on the drab green walls of the offices in Mill Hill.
She leaned back in her chair, going back over the reports she’d just read, her brain busy comparing the information contained with an earlier transcript, with the notes in front of her.
It was another frantic morning, with a whole pile of urgent reports that had to be gone through. Intel was coming through on a number of potential battle plans and more talk of Hitler’s secret weapons. Every day there was more and more to do, although Betty was in her element. It seemed she thrived on being challenged, as did her roommates. All three of them fell into bed after their shifts, and the dark circles under Judith’s eyes were so bad, it almost looked as if she’d been thumped. Despite this, they each agreed that they were glad that they were doing meaningful work. Although they couldn’t discuss exactly what they did, they knew enough to realise that each of them was an interlocking piece in the overall jigsaw puzzle.
Gazing thoughtfully out of the window, trying to piece things together, her attention was caught by a dark, fast-moving shape on the horizon. Then another. Before she could register that the three planes moving low and fast were coming this way, there was a loud whoomping bang and the house shook for a brief moment. Over the hill a plume of smoke began to rise.
‘Bloody hell.’ One of the girls came racing over to the window.
‘Amersham way,’ said Betty through tight vocal cords, praying that no one had been hurt. ‘Poor sods.’ She crossed her fingers and Major Wendermeyer came to stand behind her, putting a sympathetic hand on her shoulder as they stared at the billowing dark clouds rising into the sky.
Suddenly a fourth plane swooped out of the sky, slower than the others, a Heinkel, one of the German long-range bombers. It flew parallel with the river, so close that Betty could make out the pilot in his cockpit. To her horror, at the same moment, she saw the torpedo-shaped bomb drop from the plane.
‘Down, everyone down!’ she yelled at the same time as the Major, who grabbed her and pulled her to the floor next to him, tugging her under the desk, his arm over her shoulders. There was silence for a moment apart from the sound of the plane flying away. They waited. And waited. And waited.
The seconds ticked by, the quiet heavy with fear and anticipation, punctuated by the nervous rustle and fidget of people trying not to breathe too deeply or loudly.
Betty was aware of the Major next to her, his arm heavy across her back, his head next to hers. His shallow careful breaths were in tandem with hers and as she inhaled with trepidation as if each breath might be her last, she could smell his Lifebuoy soap. She dared open her eyes, which had been tightly shut, and focused on the smooth chin and golden tan of his skin, within touching distance. For a man, he was beautiful. She’d never thought of men as beautiful. She studied his face as if her life depended upon it, trying not to think about the moment the bomb might blow. His head turned slightly and he stared back at her. Their gaze held for seconds, not a flicker of emotion between them, just a candid, searing look at each other. In that moment, Betty felt a deep soul connection and her heart stuttered in her chest.
Someone across the room emerged from a desk. Betty lifted her head, fear paralysing her muscles, and she hated the feeling. Hated that it had taken control of her body. She fought back, and moved her legs, drawing them up beneath so she could get onto her knees.
The whole house had gone silent, there wasn’t a sound anywhere.
‘What do you think happened?’ she whispered.
‘Not sure. You stay right there.’ He wriggled out from under the desk and crawled to the windowsill, to peer over the top. Betty crossed her fingers and held her breath.
He lowered himself to the ground.
‘OK everyone. We’ve got ourselves an unexploded bomb right out front. I want you all to crawl to the door, one by one, those closest to the door first, as quiet as you can, and head towards the front of the building to the muster point.’
At last, it was Betty’s turn. She looked at the Major. ‘How close is it to the house?’
‘Close enough. We’ll have to call in the Royal Engineers, try and defuse it. If it goes off, it’ll take most of this side of the house with it, not to mention the prisoners’ cells. We’re going to have to evacuate.’
Betty cast an anxious glance at the piles of paper on her desk. ‘But there’s so much to do.’
‘I know. Bloody Jerries, don’t they know there’s a war on?’
She let out a small inappropriate giggle; his using English slang sounded funny. ‘So inconsiderate.’
‘That they are. Come on, let’s get out of here. You go first.’
As she crawled out, she was horribly conscious of him following her. Fear still coursed through her but she was desperate not to give in to it. She looked over her shoulder. ‘And keep your eyes off my behind.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
As soon as they reached the door, Betty stood up and quickly looked back out of the window. A tail fin protruded from the green lawn only a few yards from the house, a menacing threat with vicious capacity. The bomb had buried itself nose first at a forty-five degree angle deep into grass. Less than a quarter was visible.
She shuddered as memories of the carcases of buildings in London came flooding back, a bed balanced precariously on the edge of what was once the middle of a bedroom, a kitchen sliced in two, a sofa upended in the street, and hollow-eyed, shocked, dust-caked people raking through rubble.
‘Betty.’ The soft voice brought her back. ‘Off you go. I’ve got to report to Colonel Myers. Get our contingency plans in action. I expect you’ll be evacuated to the church, that’s the emergency plan.’
‘Right,’ said Betty, shaking her head as if it might dislodge the all-too-clear images. ‘Do you think you should stay in the building?’
‘Don’t worry, the Colonel’s office is the other side of the house.’
‘Yes, but if that bomb went off, it might bring the whole place down.’ She caught her lip between her teeth.
‘Off you go.’
Leaving him, part grateful to be escaping and part guilty that he was staying put, she ran down the stairs towards the front of the house, where everyone was being evacuated to the churchyard on the opposite side of the estate.
‘Be the biggest congregation Frank’s ever had,’ said Elsie as Betty caught up with her. ‘Do you know what’s going on
?’
‘Apart from a ruddy great bomb has landed on the front lawn, no idea,’ said Betty, sounding a lot more nonchalant than she felt. ‘Thought I was safe from all that back here. I might as well be back in Mill Hill.’
Everyone was crammed into the pews of Mary Magdalene Church awaiting Colonel Myers, who was due to address them. Betty looked round to see if she could spot Evelyn or Judith. Evelyn waved from a spot near the back surrounded by her fellow officers but there was no sign of Judith. Betty frowned and scanned the church again before hurrying over to Evelyn.
‘Have you seen Judith anywhere?’
‘No.’ Evelyn frowned. ‘She must be here somewhere. Everyone’s been evacuated.’
‘I’m going to take a look.’
‘I’ll come with you. You go down that aisle, I’ll do the other.’
When Betty met Evelyn in front of the altar, the other woman shook her head. ‘No sign of her. Or Walther.’
‘Or that girl Frida she works with.’
‘I wouldn’t know her.’
‘I’m wondering where the prisoners are?’
‘They were all shipped back to their cells smartish,’ said Evelyn, ‘although if that bomb blows, who knows what will happen. Those prefab cells aren’t the strongest and the stable block will be right in the blow-out zone. That will really set the cat among the pigeons if we have a dozen Germans escaping into the village. It’ll put paid to what we’ve been doing.’
