Anya narrowed her eyes and watched John closely as he vanished into the house.
‘I wonder who he’s seeing. Did he say?’ said Anya.
‘Not to me. He often disappears on mysterious errands. Something to do with his work.’
‘Hm. Do you think I should go with him?’
‘Certainly not. I’m sure he doesn’t need his hand held, Anya. He wouldn’t want us to interfere.’
‘I know, but… he may not be safe.’
‘Oh, I think John can look after himself,’ said Isabel. ‘He’s tougher than you think.’
‘I know he’s tough. I’ve seen him in action.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We were followed by a couple of thugs one evening after we left the Moser. They looked as if they were going to try to rob us. John knocked them out; both of them. There was some interesting fighting, nothing like anything I’ve seen before. It involved feet and hands whirling around in the most extraordinary way. The robbers didn’t stand a chance. It had nothing much to do with - what do you English call it? The Queensbury Rules. But very soon they were groaning on the pavement and we walked away.’
‘Look,’ said Isabel. ‘Someone’s coming out of the house.’
A tall thin man dressed in clothes almost reduced to rags emerged. He scanned the empty street and registered the car the women were waiting in and stared at them with expressionless eyes in a bearded face etched with deep lines. His stony gaze lingered for a few moments and then he coughed into his hand, turned and hurried off.
‘Who can that be?’ said Isabel. ‘He looks quite young, yet he’s not in the Forces.’
‘Could be Russian,’ said Anya, ‘and hasn’t gone back to the Mother Country; some Russians escaped the repatriation. Or maybe a German civilian or an ex-prisoner of war. The younger men are reappearing, being let out of the camps.’
‘But they usually get work. That’s what Bill does, clears them for denazification, gives them a persilschein, and they get sent to retraining or the factories.’
Anya stared at the house. ‘It looks as if there are several people in there. I wonder what’s going on.’
‘It’s really none of our business, Anya.’
‘Yes it is. It’s all our business. The future of Europe depends on what happens in Germany. We can’t ignore what’s going on in Berlin.’
Isabel, surprised at Anya’s vehemence over what appeared to be a trivial matter, let the question rest. She didn’t want to know what John was doing; it was probably the under-cover work that Bill had mentioned.
‘I hope he’s not going to be long. I’m starving,’ she said.
Another twenty minutes passed before John appeared in the doorway. He was arguing with someone inside. Throwing his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender he backed away from the door, still talking to the person hidden inside. As he turned away the door slammed, sending down a shower of loose mortar on to the path. John brushed the dust from his shoulders as he crossed to the car.
Isabel saw someone else in one of the upper windows, but they were masked by the drooping tarpaulin. For a moment she thought the outline looked familiar, almost like the stooping stance of Dennis Masters, her upstairs neighbour. But it couldn’t be, not here, out in the sticks, he would be in town working with Bill.
John’s face bore an expression of glum acceptance until he reached the car. His thoughts appeared to be weighing heavily.
‘Well, ladies,’ he brightened, but Isabel could see it was with considerable effort. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. Let’s get on our way.’
John drove silently and unusually sedately during the rest of their journey to the Wannsee. The silence was an unusual departure from his normal chattering self, but Isabel enjoyed the slower journey.
They found the new restaurant. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to make the place attractive. The freshly varnished timber beams matched the furniture, although this was in a mixture of styles and sizes. They must have been salvaged from ruined houses. Someone had managed to cobble together cheerful curtains for the windows out of squares of colourful fabric.
John’s party sat on the terrace overlooking the lake. Each of them had a beer in a heavy German beer mug, and they enjoyed the view.
‘Goodness, the lake seems to go on for miles. Look at all those lovely trees. It must be wonderful in spring,’ said Isabel.
A breeze rippled the surface of the water and the sun reflected in darts of brilliance that dazzled and flickered across the lake like a haphazard message in Morse code.
Isabel shivered. ‘I can’t stay out here for long. There’s a bitter edge to this wind.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll be going in in a minute.’
The restaurant was sparsely occupied. Only an elderly couple sat near the fireplace, stolidly consuming their bratwurst and sauerkraut. The proprietor directed John to a table near the window overlooking the lake.
‘You tell me if you are cold, please,’ said their host. ‘I put more wood on the fire.’
The inglenook, complete with spit and kettle hook, already contained an impressive blaze with flames threatening the surrounding timbers and heat radiated into the room. Isabel hoped they hadn’t cut down one of those magnificent trees to supply it.
‘We’re fine, thank you,’ said John.
Their meal of clear soup, awash with pasta pieces, and then sauerkraut with all the trimmings - several types of sausage and a slice of pork accompanied by mountains of boiled potatoes - lived up to its promise. The scent of caraway seeds wafted up from their plates.
‘Goodness, German food. Certainly sticks to your ribs,’ said John, wiping his mouth. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to move.’
‘Well, you didn’t have to eat quite so much of it,’ commented Isabel.
At that moment their host appeared beside the table to offer them dessert.
‘I couldn’t eat another thing,’ said Isabel.
The others agreed and they each drank a cup of strong coffee.
‘Interesting,’ said John. ‘I wonder where they got that from.’
‘You know it must be black market,’ said Isabel. ‘We haven’t seen real coffee for weeks.’
‘Yeah, American, probably. I expect they’ve sold off the family heirlooms to get the stuff for this place. Good luck, I say.’
‘I thought you were trying to stamp out the black market.’
‘Yes, I suppose we are. The big boys; criminals, spivs and racketeers who work on a huge scale. They are gangsters and will do anything. They’re dangerous, ruining the economy. But at this level… You can’t really blame them, can you?’
Isabel pictured Mum’s face. She had stood out against black market goods all through the war. ‘It’s unfair,’ she’d said. ‘We should all ‘ave the same, rich and poor alike. You shouldn’t be able to buy luxuries just because you’ve got the money.’
Isabel and her sisters had kept quiet about their occasional indulgences – a bit of extra butter or sugar bought ‘under the counter’; the butcher keeping aside a little extra meat or offal for his favourites. But that wasn’t really Black Market – just the butcher looking after them. Spivs ran the real Black Market and they were genuine criminals.
‘Listen,’ said John. ‘We’ll never get rid of the black market altogether, but we’ll never get the German economy back on track if we can’t get it under control.’
Anya’s very quiet, thought Isabel. John must have thought the same. ‘What do you think, Anya?’ he asked.
The Russian girl shrugged. ‘I think people will do whatever they have to do to survive. And I mean anything; theft, murder, fraud, kidnap, anything.’
Isabel trembled at the malign intensity in Anya’s voice. Her Russian accent was more pronounced and her eyes glared fiercely at the others.
‘You British, you don’t know what it is to be on the edge of survival. You have had it easy. You’re so naive. You want everything your own way. It’s been incredibly hard for us.’
‘Oh, I know it was difficult for you in England. But you were never starving, diseased and homeless as we were. No, for some there is a fine blurred line between legality and crime.’
‘OK.’ John stood up; apparently ignoring Anya’s outburst, but a thoughtful look lingered in his eyes. ‘Home, I think.’
He went to pay the bill and thanked the proprietor and congratulated him on his hospitality.
Isabel smiled at Anya sympathetically and they each linked an arm with John’s as he led them back to the car.
Chapter Nineteen
Isabel and Zelda returned from the Kino chattering in good spirits. Wrapped up against the cold, they walked from the bus stop. They had been to see the newest cinematic sensation, Brief Encounter.
‘Would you do that, Zelda? Give up love for duty?’
‘God, I don’t know, darling. It’s not likely to happen here, is it? There aren’t too many interesting candidates for an affair. Anyway, I adore Chuck, I’d never look at another man.’
‘Come off it, Zelda! I’ve seen you flirting. And there are loads of bachelors around, English ones and those lovely French officers. Or people like Dennis whose wives have gone home. I’m sure they wouldn’t say no to dalliance if you offered.’
‘Dennis? Give me a break, honey; he’s like a wet week in Seattle! All that ginger hair and horrible beard. Anyway, it’s just flirting; doesn’t mean a thing. “Dalliance” isn’t quite what we’re talking about here though, is it? I thought that was real love in the movie.’
‘Yes, I think it was. So sad. I couldn’t even flirt; not even with the French. I’d feel so disloyal to Bill.’
‘I know, and being British doesn’t help. You should loosen up a little; give him a run for his money.’
‘He’s not around enough to notice. I could be having a hundred affairs for all he’d know. I’ve hardly seen him this week.’
Zelda nodded. ‘Yeah, they’re really busy with this Bizonia thing, joining our zone with yours.’
‘Bill says it’s because we need to show a united front. It doesn’t make sense to have two administrations duplicating everything. It looks as if the Russians are up to something.’
‘More than likely. Russians! I wouldn’t trust them with my auntie’s dog.’
Isabel took her key from her bag and opened the door. As they took their coats off and hung them on the stand in the corner they heard raised voices from the lounge.
‘It’s not much good complaining about it now,’ Bill’s voice was angry.
‘But it’s my neck on the block if it goes wrong,’ John replied. ‘It’s no good supplying refrigeration units that don’t work or radios with broken valves. It completely undermines my credibility. I’m trying to drag the bosses out of the woodwork, not bring a shit storm down on myself. These aren’t nice gentlemanly businessmen I’m dealing with. They’d slit your throat as soon as look at you.’
‘It was all your idea in the first place. You have to take some responsibility for your operation. Perhaps you should have thought it through more carefully. It’s not our fault if it isn’t working out quite as you expected.’
‘I’m not some sort of mad maverick. I did run all this past the Colonel, you know, and he approved it. I thought you’d back me up. We’re never going to get these bastards out of the shadows without the right bait. You’ve got to complete your side of the bargain. At the moment I’m out on a limb.’
‘I don’t see why you can’t fob them off. Offer them something else they want.’
‘What? Another armoured truck with no brakes. Bloody thanks!
Isabel thought it time to intervene and she stuck her head round the door. Prince rushed over, all wagging exuberance, to greet her. He drew his lips back in imitation of a grin, showing all his teeth in sheer delight; his body shaking with excitement. Isabel patted him.
‘What a lovely smile! Down, Prince, good boy. Hello, John. Sorry to disturb you, Bill. Zelda’s with me. We’ve been to the Kino.’
Bill composed his angry features and John stepped forward, all charm as usual.
‘Darling! How was the film?’ He kissed them briefly.
‘We loved it. A real weepy. Shall I tell you all about it?’
‘Later, darling,’ said Bill, belatedly pecking her cheek. ‘It’s a woman’s film isn’t it? I don’t think we need to hear about it right now. How about a cup of tea?’
‘Righto. I won’t be long. Come on, Zelda; help me make the men some tea. Irma’s out this afternoon.’
‘What was all that about?’ asked Zelda as they made their way to the kitchen. ‘John sounded really upset.’
‘I don’t know. Nobody tells me anything. Just the usual argument about the black market people. John’s always off on little missions, visiting some very unsavoury characters.’
‘Chuck says they’re a real nasty lot of gangsters.’
‘What? Like Al Capone in Chicago?’
‘Yes, I suppose, only more desperate and even better armed.’
‘Better armed? How’s that?’ Isabel flinched with fear.
‘Great piles of arms and ammunition were left lying around when the war ended. If somebody died in the street, a soldier say, their handguns were snatched up and stowed away. Or a machine gun dropped by a dying man. Quite a valuable commodity I’d think, to trade for food. Guns and grenades traded for coffee and soap. It sounds obscene.’
Isabel remembered something. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you. Have you been issued with a gun?’
Zelda looked startled. ‘No. Have you?’
‘Yes. I’ve got this little Mauser automatic. It’s under my pillow. Horrible thing. It scares me.’
‘Gee, Bill must know something we don’t. Did he say why he gave it to you?’
‘Something about all the wives being issued with them. There have been murders. But I think he may be mixed up in something dangerous. I didn’t realise; I thought he was just interrogating ex-Nazis and DPs, and finding people jobs and housing; admin and paperwork. But he seems to be mixed up in the same thing as John, from what we just heard.’
‘He’s an Intelligence officer, honey. What he tells you is just the tip of the iceberg. All those hours away from here; they’re not all spent in the interrogation centre. He could be up to anything, you’ll never know.’
‘I hate that! He’s my husband, I should know if he’s in danger, or putting us in danger.’ Isabel thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps John would tell me.’
‘Don’t bank on it, babe. He seems very open, but John can be as tight-lipped as the rest of them.’
Isabel put a couple of spoons of loose tea into the pot. She poured canned evaporated milk into a jug and diluted it with water. No sugar this week; luckily none of them cared.
‘Bill would like me to go back to England. He thinks Emma had the right idea.’
‘Oh, Isabel, why?’ asked Zelda. ‘Anyway, who cares what that awful woman does?’
‘He thinks I’m lonely and not occupied enough, even with the dancing classes. Maybe it’s the danger too – for Penny and me. There’s a lot of typhus and TB, measles, diphtheria. And with the winter coming…’
‘Don’t go back. I would miss you. Who would I gossip with about the hausfraus if you went home?’
‘No, I won’t go. I wouldn’t leave Bill alone. Five years during the War was enough. I want to have a normal family life. Although I don’t see him much, I think he’d miss me.’ Isabel looked wistful for a moment. ‘Besides, I’d have nowhere to live. I’d have to go and live with Mum and Dad. Can you imagine how awful that would be?’
‘Yes, I expect it would be grim. And of course Bill would be bereft without you. But if he thinks it’s dangerous enough to need a gun he must know something.’
‘He says people are getting murdered all the time.’ Isabel finished making the tea.
‘Yes, some people are desperate. When you have nothing you will do anything
to protect your family.’
‘Yes, Anya said something like that.’
‘She’s right. Don’t tell John, but I’m not sure I like Anya. She always seems to be watching, judging. I’m sure she remembers everything we say; stores it up for later. An underhand little minx, Chuck says.’
Isabel laughed. ‘She probably envies you, Zelda. You’re so glamorous and rich and American too. How could she not hanker after your life?’
Zelda gasped. ‘Goodness me! Is that how I look to you? I thought I was just like everyone else.’
‘Don’t be silly, Zelda. You’re not exactly another hausfrau, are you?’
They had reached the drawing room door with the tea tray. John and Bill’s voices were low now and they stopped talking as the women entered.
‘Don’t stop on my account, gentlemen!’ Zelda said breezily. ‘We’re all in the same Zone now!’
‘Come and sit down, Zelda,’ John showed her to a seat. ‘Tell us about your little film.’
‘Try not to be patronising, John. I think you would have enjoyed it, actually. It was an interesting commentary on the human condition.’
‘La-di-da,’ laughed John.
Isabel listened to their banter with only half her attention and poured the tea. Her forehead puckered with concern as she thought about the danger she and Penny might be in. Had she been blind, not really seeing things as they were? Was she complacent about the poor souls wandering the streets whilst she was secure here in her requisitioned flat? Just four fragile walls between them and the ghastliness of outside. Could someone sneak into the house when Bill was out? Could there be someone concealed in the shadows, when she came home one day? Would she meet with an accident when she was at the NAAFI or the Kino? Fear of the unknown gripped her.
But the danger, when it came, took an entirely different form.
Chapter Twenty
The doorbell of the Grunewald house had miraculously escaped the vandalism of the Russian occupants. They had probably had no use for it or no conception of its proper function. It consisted of a stout and ornate iron lever, which, when pulled firmly, through a complex system of cables and pulleys, sent a sonorous clanging to the end of the long corridor and the kitchen.
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