As Bill said, ‘It could wake the dead.’
This evening Isabel heard its strident chimes soon after she had put her feet up for a quick rest after a strenuous afternoon’s teaching and had finally settled Penny in bed. She had been excited over the promise of a visit to Hamelin. Frau Hilfe had vividly recited to the children the legend of the piper who had stolen all the children of the town away with the lure of his pipe.
‘Were they never seen again, Mummy?’
‘I don’t know, darling. I expect a brave soldier rescued them.’ Isabel answered, distractedly tucking the covers around the child.
‘Like Daddy.’
Isabel chuckled as she bent over to kiss her, ‘Yes, just like Daddy. Now go to sleep.’
She left the little girl with her pretty German bedside lamp, carved in intricate fretwork shapes representing the story of Hansel and Gretel, painting moving shadows on the ceiling and walls of the room. Isabel found it rather creepy, but Penny loved it and her imagination fashioned animals and people out of the shadows and made up stories until she fell asleep.
The bell clanged again.
‘I’ll get it, Irma,’ Isabel shouted as she strode across the hall and opened the front door, half expecting to see John or one of their other friends standing there. But the stranger before her was a tall uniformed GI, his head shorn in a crew cut, and an irresolute smile on his open face. His wide footballer’s shoulders filled the doorframe. Cold air wafted around him and a cloud of white vapour fogged the air as he spoke.
‘Good evening, ma-am. I’m sorry to disturb you,’ His eyes were focussed on his feet. ‘May I speak to Irma?’
Something familiar about the boy’s stance and soft accent resonated with Isabel.
The soldier looked up from his boots and studied her face more closely.
‘My!’ He said. ‘I know you. The lady with the hat and the kid.’
‘Goodness,’ replied Isabel, holding Prince’s collar with her free hand, trying to discourage him from giving the soldier one of his overwhelmingly welcomes. ‘You’re right. I thought I recognised you. We met at the station at the Hook. You were so kind and I was so rude; I can only excuse myself on the grounds of extreme stress. Come in. We’re letting the heat out. Irma!’ she called, making shooing motions to get the boy through the door. ‘Your young man’s come to see you.’ She closed the door behind him.
The boy’s face lit up as Irma appeared from the kitchen, her face glowing with kitchen warmth and a stronger emotion.
‘So this is Hank! An extraordinary coincidence, Irma. This is the soldier who helped Penny and me in Holland. Fancy meeting him here with so many other soldiers around.’
‘Not such a coincidence. A lot of our guys have gone home. There aren’t that many of us Yanks in Berlin now. You British have a much bigger contingent,’ Hank answered.
Isabel was well aware of that. Many British soldiers were marooned here, waiting to be demobbed. After five years of war they just wanted to go home. Isabel felt sympathy for them; oh for a normal life again!
‘Well, it’s nice to meet you again. Go to the kitchen with Irma. I’m sure she’ll be able to find a lovely piece of Kuchen for you. She’s a wonderful cook.’
‘Thank you, ma-am. But I’m here to see you as well, Mrs Barton. To thank you. I believe it was you that spoke to Colonel Hoffstetter.’
‘Well, I spoke to his wife, actually. What happened?’
‘The Colonel’s been very good about it. He says I can stay in Berlin. He’s making me one of his drivers. It’s really great, because now I can see Irma when I’m off duty.’ He held out a broad hand and grasped Irma’s tiny fist. She seemed very slight by his side but her face shone, incandescent with happiness as she gazed adoringly at her American hero.
‘Thank you, Mrs Barton, for what you have done,’ Irma murmured.
‘I didn’t do much, but I’m really glad it’s turned out well for you. Run along. Major Barton will be home soon. What are we having?’
‘Goulasch again.’
‘Wonderful. I know it’ll be delicious.’
Isabel turned to the lounge and retrieved her shoes whilst the young people hurried off hand in hand to the kitchen. Prince trotted behind them, doubtless hopeful of a scrap or two from a generous stranger. How lucky those two are, Isabel thought, happy and in love. We used to be like that. Window-shopping in Bond Street, close together, hardly noticing the luxurious goods or the hurrying people; wrapped up in each other’s company with no thought for the future. No thought of War, of separation, of sadness and death.
Isabel sighed and, picking up her book from the coffee table, tried to read to pass the time until Bill got home. Hopefully he would be early for once and they could have a quiet dinner. He’d been working far too late recently. He took the placing of his people far too personally and it was getting him down. He couldn’t solve the problems of Berlin alone, however hard he tried and now she was worried that he might be mixed up in something more dangerous.
Prince came back from the kitchen, turned around on the threadbare rug and sighed deeply as he settled. She found she couldn’t concentrate on the book, there was something she needed to talk to Bill about; a discovery she had made.
Yesterday afternoon Isabel had been in the bathroom upstairs, washing her hair. She had just wrapped her wet locks in a towel. She wasn’t looking forward to putting it in curlers, it always took so long and made her arms ache. She really needed a perm, but there was no-one to do it, she’d have to manage on her own until she could use the services of Zelda’s talented maid.
She swilled the last of the shampoo down the drain with the shower hose. Standing up, she stretched her back. I need more exercise, she thought. I can’t go on sitting around all day like an old lady; I need to get out. The ballet lessons helped, but she needed something more demanding.
Isabel left the bathroom and stood on the landing listening to the silence of the house. Irma was visiting her mother, Penny safely at school and of course Bill and Dennis were at work.
Before turning to descend the broad stairs she noticed that one of the doors to Dennis’s apartment stood ajar. He usually locked everything up. Isabel had never been into these rooms as Emma hadn’t invited her to visit.
Overwhelmed by curiosity and with a guilty glance over her shoulder, she padded across the landing in her stockinged feet and gently pushed the door open wider. She stood on the threshold in awe.
Sunshine spilled through the four tall sash windows along one side, matching the four on the floor below. But, as the room was above the foliage of the garden, light penetrated into the room in splendid radiance, illuminating it like a film set. Every surface was covered with beautiful treasures, antique lamps and objets d’art stood on inlaid tables and marble-topped consoles standing on fine Persian rugs.
Isabel gasped in wonder at the Aladdin’s cave. My! Dennis has been busy. She fingered a fine Meissen figurine of a ballet dancer, its delicate lace gown fashioned out of porcelain, on a walnut side table. How on earth did he get all of this up here? He must have done it secretly when we were out.
She examined the artefacts more closely – silver items made by skilled craftsmen stood beside beautiful enamelled boxes and jasper vases. Was that jade? Isabel stroked the surface of the smooth, green figure of a Buddha. This must all be worth a fortune – where did he get it all from?
Isabel turned to the wall above the fireplace. A pair of voluptuously graceful Art Nouveau figures of dancing girls flanked a magnificent antique clock whose mechanism must have been in working order as it showed the correct time. Above the clock hung a painting, a summery landscape with a flower-scattered stream, the representation of sunlight on water so realistic. It looked familiar to Isabel – she’d seen it in a book before the war. Painted by one of those Impressionist artists – Monet, wasn’t it? Or Manet, one of those. She stared at it in disbelief, it looked like an original, but surely it couldn’t be. She moved closer and found she could clear
ly make out the brushstrokes, the light from the window made them stand out in relief, and in the corner, the signature of the artist. My God! He’s collecting art and antiques. He surely can’t be getting all these things honestly, not on his salary, he’s a civilian Civil servant, he probably gets paid less than Bill.
Then it struck her. Of course! He must be getting it all as bribes from the ex-Nazis, to get a clean persilschein. That must be it, how else could he afford such luxuries?
A small sound alerted her to the presence of someone downstairs. It couldn’t be Dennis so early, but it wouldn’t do to be found nosing around in his flat. She tiptoed to the door and cautiously opened it and slid out onto the landing leaving the door as she had found it. I’ll have to tell Bill about this later and see what he thinks about it all.
Isabel rubbed her head with the towel as she descended the stairs. The sound had only been Prince waking from his nap. His overlong claws tip-tapped across the floor of the hall. He greeted her with joy.
‘Down, boy! I’ll dry my hair and we’ll go for a walk.’
At that magic word Prince danced around in excited circles, practically begging Isabel to hurry up. There was no time to waste when a walk in the woods was on offer.
‘Wait, Prince. I’ll get my coat and we’ll go. I won’t be a moment.’ She rubbed most of the moisture out of her hair; she’d have to leave the curlers until she got back. She reminded herself that she must tell Bill about what she had seen in Dennis’ apartment as soon as possible. But he came in late that night, in a surly mood and she did not have the opportunity to speak to him. By the morning it had gone out of her mind. She really must tell him about it when he got home tonight.
When Bill arrived he seemed distracted; his mind on something worrying. Isabel was dying to tell him what she had found upstairs, but didn’t get the opportunity.
‘Hello, darling,’ he pecked her somewhere near an ear. ‘Can we eat soon? I’ve got some people coming over later.’
Isabel’s heart plummeted. ‘Oh, no, Bill. I thought we’d have the evening to ourselves. I have something I want to tell you...’ She tried to keep the dismay out of her voice.
‘Tell me later. I’ve got to talk to these people. What’s for supper?’
‘Goulasch. It’s ready now.’
‘Oh, not again.’
‘That’s all we can do with the beef. I could swear it gets worse each week; it could be horse for all I know. Anyway, I’m sure Irma’s done wonders with it. There were some tinned tomatoes to put in it for a change.’
Showing little interest in domestic details, Bill took glasses and bottles out of the cupboard and placed them on the small tables.
‘Well, let’s get on with it then. They’ll be here soon.’
Isabel left the room and hurried to the kitchen.
‘Irma, the Major’s home. Can we have our dinner now, please? We’ve got some people coming for drinks later.’
The maid bustled about, deputising Hank to finish mashing the potatoes. In minutes she served the food in the echoing dining room.
Bill laid his table napkin across his lap and began to eat. ‘It’s not very warm in here,’ he said.
‘We can’t heat the hall and here. The warmth from the stove comes in when I leave the door open. It’s the best we can do.’
‘It’s going to get worse, you know. There’s already a shortage of fuel and we’re only at the beginning of December. As soon as there’s a heavy fall of snow I don’t know what’s going to happen.’
‘We’ll have to huddle round one fire in that case. We could always decamp to the lounge; it’ll be like wartime again.’
Isabel tried not to worry; they would be all right. She assumed the Army would not let them freeze. They were still getting a regular coal delivery and there were the logs from the fallen trees in the garden. She wasn’t likely to have to go into the woods desperately foraging for fuel like many Germans; or those who were chopping up their few remaining sticks of furniture and even floorboards for warmth.
‘Who’s coming tonight?’
‘John, Dennis and Oleg. Oh, and I think Oleg’s bringing one of his chaps. But I don’t think he speaks English.’
‘Oleg’s such a brute.’
‘I know, sorry. But I need to talk to him, unofficially. You’ll be able to fend him off, won’t you?’
‘Yes, of course, it’s just that he will grope and he’s so sweaty. Those roving hands...’ she shuddered. ‘So none of the girls are coming? Do you want me to disappear?’
‘No, darling. There’s no need for that. You can stick around and look gorgeous, as always.’
Isabel felt ambivalent about this remark, which was delivered without so much as a glance in her direction. It was a compliment really, but it sounded a bit condescending. Was that all she was good for, looking gorgeous?
‘Never mind, I can talk to John.’
‘Not all the time, I may need him. He’s better with Russians than I am. My Russian’s not up to scratch yet.’
‘John? I didn’t know he spoke Russian.’
‘John has many talents of which you’re not aware, I’m sure,’ Bill said enigmatically. Isabel remembered the many hints she had heard about John’s unusual and covert skills. He appeared to be an altogether fascinating man.
They ate supper rapidly and Irma cleared away. Hank appeared from the kitchen to help Irma remove the dishes. He had removed his uniform blouse and added a small pinafore over his shirt. Tied round his waist, it gave him a comical air; his imposing bulk reduced to the status of a housemaid.
‘Who the hell are you?’ asked Bill. Isabel stepped in rapidly.
‘It’s all right, Bill. This is Hank, Irma’s friend. I told you about him.’
Hank stood rigidly to attention, a terrified expression on his face and his right hand hovering in the air, unable to decide whether to salute or not. At the same time he pawed fruitlessly at the apron, trying to discard it.
‘At ease,’ growled Bill, attempting to keep a smirk from his face.
‘Sir.’ Hank mumbled, muted by embarrassment. The boy scurried back to the kitchen in Irma’s wake.
‘Why didn’t you tell me he was here?’ Bill asked as they stepped into the lounge.
‘I didn’t know I had to,’ Isabel snapped. ‘He’s Irma’s friend; nothing to do with you. I didn’t know Irma was going to co-opt him as a waiter. I suppose he should have stayed in the kitchen.’
‘He’s an American soldier. In our house. Irma’s boyfriend!’ he snorted unpleasantly. ‘A few months ago he would have been court-martialled for fraternisation.’
‘Yes, I know. But it’s all right now. They’re our allies, aren’t they? At least they’re better than the Russians and you invite them round.’
‘I’m not sure that I want my meeting with Oleg to get back to the Yanks at this stage.’
‘Well, I’m sure Hank will keep well out of the way. You scared the poor boy to death. He’s only got eyes for Irma anyway. I think they’re in love.’
Ignoring her, his mind already on other matters, Bill arranged glasses on the table in precise lines and found some mixers, soda and tonic water, in the cupboard.
‘It’s a funny old mixture of booze; we’ve finished the gin. But it’ll have to do. I suppose we could mix tonic with slivovitz…’
‘It might even make it drinkable,’ replied Isabel. ‘I wish we had a lemon - that would help. I’ll go and get some of Penny’s orange juice and put it in a jug. If I dilute it we can put it in the vodka - I’m sure Oleg will bring some - and make Screwdrivers. Anyway,’ she turned towards the door, ‘I must go and powder my nose.’
Twenty minutes later the front door bell clanged. Isabel waited at the drawing room door and watched as Irma, in a spotless white apron, went to open the front door. Several men stood on the step. As she welcomed the guests she made one of her little bobs.
‘Guten Abend, meine Herren,’ she said.
‘Guten Abend, Irma,’ she blushed
at John’s cheerful greeting and stiffened when she saw the huge hairy Russian behind him. Irma could not abide Russians and would never forget their brutality when they first invaded and the agonising months that followed.
‘They shot my dog,’ she related to Isabel. ‘I know many girls who were raped by Russians. I was lucky; Mutti cut off my hair so they thought I was a boy.’ Isabel could well believe that with her slight figure she would have got away with this.
Irma took Oleg’s fur-collared coat; her eyes firmly cast down to the floor. The garment’s weight caused her to stumble. She was obviously not going to look this horrible bear of a man in the face. The other men passed by her as if she was not there and strode over to the stove.
John, Dennis and another Russian, younger and slighter than Oleg, with a hard, watchful air about him, all stood close to the stove. There were also a couple of other Russians, silent and stern, who stood at a respectful distance from the other officers. Isabel assumed they were underlings; a sort of bodyguard. She regretted being the only woman there, it made her uncomfortable.
Bill had explained that Dennis was at the meeting only to keep numbers up; a show of British strength. He probably wouldn’t have much to say, he was only there as a civilian observer. Or a witness, thought Isabel.
‘Come into the drawing room, gentlemen,’ invited Isabel cheerfully. ‘It’s all right; we’ve lit a fire. You can drag yourselves away from the stove.’
‘Mrs Barton, my darlink, how I have longed to be seeing you again. Come; show me your so lovely apartment…’ Oleg turned away from the drawing room door, pulling her towards the other rooms. His lack of subtlety made Isabel wince.
‘This way, Oleg,’ John took the Russian firmly by his elbow and steered him into the room. ‘What can I get you to drink?’
‘Ah, Wodka,’ the Russian produced a bottle from his pocket as Bill had predicted. ‘It is nearly cold enough, it will do.’
He plonked the bottle on the table and, opening it, Bill poured some of the oily spirit into a glass.
War's Last Dance Page 16
