War's Last Dance

by Julia Underwood

  The women sipped their coffee, contemplating this conundrum.

  Darkness fell early and the atmosphere in the silent house pressed down on the women waiting by the fire. Each was deep in her own thoughts. Isabel’s fear had dissipated a little now that she knew Penny was safe. She no longer tasted that seamless terror now that she knew approximately where Penny was and that the person that held her would do her no harm until he had what he wanted. All that was needed was to go and get her from wherever she was being held. I wish John would hurry up, she thought. How long can it take to get a few drugs?

  Irma had kept the fire banked up and the room, except for the farthest corners, felt cosy. The beaver coat was spread over Isabel’s knees and she hadn’t taken off her fur boots all day. Zelda dozed in the corner of the sofa, her mink wrapped around her. Isabel smiled. Her friend seemed to manage to keep her hair and makeup immaculate even when in a relaxed stupor. Anya was deep in thought in the other armchair.

  The sound of the front doorbell made them jump; woken from various degrees of sleep into wakefulness. Irma went to answer it and John strode into the room, shaking a few snowflakes from his head, a triumphant grin on his lips. Isabel jumped up and ran towards him.

  ‘You’ll be proud of me, darling, I’ve managed to arrange everything.’ He greeted the other women, managing to look only slightly surprised at Anya’s presence.

  ‘Hello, darling, I wasn’t expecting to see you.’

  ‘Anya’s give me moral support,’ said Isabel. ‘What’s your news? Have you heard from Bill? Did you get the ransom stuff? Were they all right about it?’

  ‘Hold on. Let me get a word in.’ John sat down. ‘Well. My news is good, as far as it goes. I’ve got the drugs – I’ll tell you about that in a moment. I haven’t spoken to Bill in person but to a liaison officer who will pass on the message about the Hartz and the urgency of getting there as soon as possible. I expect Bill will go directly from Hanover.’

  ‘So I won’t see him till we get there,’ said Isabel. ‘I’d hoped to talk to him sooner.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’m sure he’ll do whatever he can. At least he’ll know what’s happened by now.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he ring?’

  ‘I expect he’s on the road and can’t. Don’t worry, Isabel, we’ll hear from him soon.’

  ‘Did you get everything Dennis asked for?’

  ‘Yes and no. I’ve put together some packages that look as if we’ve got everything. It’s cunningly packed. Boxes of morphine and penicillin and the other things arranged on the top of the cartons and then the same sort of boxes underneath, but there’s nothing actually in them. It’s all in the car.’

  ‘But won’t he guess? Won’t it be lighter than he’d expect?’

  ‘Ah, no. That’s where the cunning bit comes in. The chap in the pharmacy had loads of empty boxes and we weighted them with aspirins and other pills and bits and pieces, and then sealed them again as if they came straight from the drug companies. You wouldn’t know, really. Dennis is hardly likely to open every box. Anyway, I hope to get Penny away long before that, so there’s no need to worry.’

  Isabel frowned. ‘He’s a clever bastard. He might guess we’d try to trick him.’

  ‘I really wouldn’t concern yourself, Bella, we’ll sort him out; get Penny back and probably still get the drugs back intact. I hope so anyway, I made some rather rash promises along the way,’ John grinned.

  Zelda’s voice cut in. ‘This is all great, guys, but when can we get going? Shouldn’t we be leaving for the mountains by now? It’s getting dark.’

  ‘Too dark to leave tonight. In this thick snow it could be lethal.’ John replied. ‘We’d do better to leave early tomorrow morning. I know it’s hard, Isabel, but there isn’t so much urgency now. Dennis isn’t expecting his ransom for a day or two. He’ll keep Penny safe till then. Don’t forget, he’s not aware that we know he’s responsible. I’m sure if he did he’d be panicking by now. I hope the VW will be able to manage the journey. I’ve got her full of petrol, but the snow’s going to be thick in the country and going will be tough.’

  ‘Oh, I haven’t told you,’ said Isabel. ‘Zelda’s asked Chuck and he’s letting us borrow the Merc and Hank is going to drive. Zelda, you’d better ring and tell them that we shan’t need him till the morning. About 7.30? It should be beginning to get light by then.’

  ‘OK, honey. I’ll do that now. I’ll ask the maid to pack me a small bag and Hank can bring it. I’ll stay here tonight, if that’s all right with you.’

  ‘Of course, if you don’t mind sleeping in Penny’s bed. I’ll lend you anything you need.’

  Zelda left the room and was soon delivering her instructions on the phone. It sounded as if Chuck was being very accommodating. Anya got to her feet, stretching her arms, cat-like, and pulling on John’s coat.

  ‘I think I should be going. There’s nothing I can do here. I hope all goes well, Isabel. Do not be afraid; John will look after you.’ She glanced at John under her lashes and smiled a small sad smile. ‘Goodbye, schatz. Look after Isabel.’ A silent message passed between them and John nodded in understanding and held her in his arms for a moment.

  ‘Goobye, darling. Use the flat if you want to; it’s warmer there.’

  Anya turned and left. Isabel thought she detected a tear on her cheek, there seemed to be finality in their parting, as if Anya knew that this was the end. She followed the Russian girl to the front door and hugged her warmly.

  ‘Thank you for your support, it’s greatly appreciated. I’ll be in touch.’ She watched as Anya disappeared into the cold darkness leaving behind a faint waft of that exotic scent.

  Irma produced a warming meal, pork stew with dumplings and boiled potatoes, redolent with caraway and herbs, which they ate together in the kitchen. Prince gazed at them longingly, hoping for titbits, but they were all so ravenous that he was lucky to get a little leftover gravy on his dog biscuits.

  ‘You’re looking a lot better, boy,’ said Isabel, stroking his head, where the scab was already shrinking. The dog wagged his tail.

  Soon after they’d eaten they went to their rooms with hot water bottles to warm the sheets.

  ‘We’d better go to bed early,’ said John. ‘We’ve got to be up at dawn and there’s a long journey ahead. It might be a good idea if Irma makes a flask of coffee and some sandwiches for us, what do you think?’

  ‘That’s a good idea. Do you mind, Irma?’

  ‘Of course I will do that, Frau Barton. I will have it ready for when you leave. Also I will pack some things for Penny; she won’t have any clean clothes.’

  ‘How clever of you to think of that,’ said Isabel.

  ‘Goodnight for now,’ they chorused and left the warm kitchen for their chilly bedrooms.

  Isabel fell into bed with relief. She was not expecting to sleep, having napped earlier in the day, her mind still full of worry. But she found that her body was more relaxed and before long she had drifted into a deep slumber, obliterating the chasing, darting thoughts of what tomorrow might bring. The fear she had felt had been quashed, but at the back of her mind she wondered, just how crazy was Dennis Masters and how far would he go to get what he wanted?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Creeping dread was overtaking Dennis; fear consuming all rational thought. His limbs ached with cold and discomfort; his head throbbed. What had he done?

  What had seemed so simple yesterday, he realised, was a stupid and dangerous enterprise. What would they do to him if he got found out? He couldn’t bear it if they sent him to prison. What on earth would he say to Emma? He almost wailed in fear and desolation. He had burned his boats and if it all went wrong he would have lost everything.

  With Bill Barton away at the Intelligence conference in Hanover Dennis thought he’d take a few unauthorised days off. How boring these snivelling Germans were, with their endless excuses about why they had to join the Nazi party and how deeply they regretted it and how they had never
done anything wrong. Dennis was completely fed up with the whole lot of them, so he decided to spend a few days at home while he had the chance. He’d arranged for the other staff to concentrate on paperwork and had stopped all appointments, so there were no ‘clients’ to see. The staff would all be glad of the break. If Barton asked why he’d done it he’d say that he wasn’t feeling well. There was a lot of flu about as well as the more serious ailments.

  His solitary life without Emma around to nag him about his many shortcomings had become relaxed. He could lounge about in the apartment at ease, admiring his growing collection of art, enjoying the craftsmanship and beauty of everything he had acquired. Some of it had been looted from empty houses when the city was first overrun and sold on for more valuable goods, like drugs and coffee. Some had been in the homes of people now desperate for food; easy pickings for a person in possession of a generous cigarette ration and, of course, the power to deliver a persilschein to the less than innocent. Best of all, Dennis could sit and calculate the value of everything; working out how he could live the rest of his life in luxury on the proceeds of his spoils.

  He stretched his boots out towards the electric fire, all three bars blazing. Well, he didn’t have to pay for the electricity, the Army saw to that. He couldn’t be bothered to have an open fire up here. It meant lugging the fuel up from the store outside the Barton’s kitchen. He didn’t qualify for the services of a maid, so he didn’t have someone to order about and fetch and carry for him. Mind you, it might have been pleasant to have a girl at his beck and call, especially one as pretty as Irma. He sipped at a cup of tea.

  The tinkle of the piano in the hall reached his ears. Those kids are having a ballet lesson, he thought. He quite enjoyed seeing Isabel Barton, all grace and beauty, with her hair twisted into one of those buns at the back of her head that all ballet dancers seemed to have, instructing the children. He watched quietly from the top of the stairs, keeping in the shadows. The music was pleasant; lyrical and familiar, something his mother would have played on summer afternoons in Cheltenham.

  Dennis pondered his dilemma. He had managed to smuggle his illicit treasures into the flat in the evenings and afternoons when the Bartons were not at home and Irma was working in the kitchen. Now he had to work out how to get it all away and into the arrangements he had made for shipping it back to England, where he could sell it all for a healthy profit. In England the rich and the collectors would be scouring the dealers looking for antiques now the war was over, hoping to replace those things they’d lost in the bombing.

  How was he to get it out without anyone seeing? Bill would be back from the conference on Wednesday so this would be an opportunity, in his absence. But Isabel and the kid were here most of the time, how could he get them away from here? With all this snow they were unlikely to go out without good reason.

  He rose and softly opened the door to his sitting room. He stood at the top of the stairs and watched the children dance. They looked quite sweet, he thought, whirling around like little undisciplined dervishes. Penny Barton followed the movements of the others devotedly, her forehead creased in concentration; such a serious little girl. Isabel clapped her hands; the music stopped and she got them all to curtsey and bow and the children rushed in all directions to change and get ready for the truck that would take them home.

  Dennis watched as dumpy Frau Hilfe packed up her music, gathering several coats around her and pulling on a stout pair of boots. He noticed when the door was opened that snow was falling and the air issuing through the front door was freezing; the cold reached him at the top of the stairs.

  The truck arrived and he could see it at the kerb whilst the corporal helped the children in. They chattered and giggled; a happy crowd of kids. Isabel waited on the doorstep, her hand loosely holding the dog’s collar. Penny, wrapped up warmly, stood beside her.

  A little later Dennis heard the sound of the ration truck speeding down the street. The dog vanished from Isabel’s side and there was a great deal of noise and screaming and Penny, looking terrified, turned and ran into the house, emitting distressed cries.

  ‘Prince! Oh, Prince!’ she cried.

  Dennis had a flash of inspiration. An opportunity like this might not occur again. It was risky, but worth a try.

  ‘Penny!’ he called softly from the stairs. ‘What is it, sweetie? What’s happened?’ He tried to inject avuncular sympathy into his voice.

  ‘It’s Prince,’ the child sobbed. ‘I think he’s been run over by the truck.’

  ‘Come up here, Penny. It’s nice and warm. I’ll look after you.’

  ‘But Mummy ...’

  ‘Mummy’s busy at the moment, come up and I’ll give you something nice to drink.’

  Penny climbed the stairs and stood shaking, still in her outdoor clothes, in front of Dennis’s electric fire. He made a drink of grenadine, the sweet syrup that he had bought in the French zone. He diluted it with warm water and covertly put in the contents of a couple of the sleeping capsules that Emma had left behind. He hoped they wouldn’t be too strong for the child, but he took a chance; he couldn’t miss this marvellous opportunity.

  ‘Here you are, Penny, you’ll like this. It’ll make you feel better.’

  ‘Thank you, Uncle Dennis,’ she said politely, sipping the drink. ‘It’s very sweet, but I like it.’

  She settled in the armchair and Dennis was surprised at how quickly her eyelids drooped and she drifted into a deep sleep. She should sleep for hours now, he thought, while I think what to do next.

  From downstairs he could hear the sounds of Isabel and Irma searching the house and Isabel’s wails of fear and loss. He couldn’t help smiling. Little did they know that the child was upstairs here. He’d have to be very quiet for a while; they wouldn’t know he was here, probably thought he was at work.

  He tucked a woollen rug around the child and settled in the other chair to wait, after locking the door to the room. Just in time, he realised, as one of the women came up and rattled the handle. He stayed as silent as he could. Go away, he breathed, nothing in here.

  He heard the doorbell ring and a lot of talking, some of it hysterical, before he heard the front door slam and the sound of a jeep driving away taking Isabel with it. Dennis, in the meantime, had formulated a plan of sorts. He would have to get that villain, Fritz Keller to help, but he had to get the child away from here, somewhere safe, where the Bartons couldn’t find her until he was ready. This might be the opportunity not only to remove his stash from the house, but also to get some even more valuable items out of them in ransom.

  He’d have to leave the child alone for a time while he went to fetch Fritz and fill him in with what had happened. Penny seemed to be sleeping soundly, but he didn’t want to take any chances, so he slipped another sleeping pill into her mouth and watched as her reflexes took it down her throat. That should keep you out for a bit, princess, he thought, locking the door to his room.

  As he left the house he checked that there was no-one who knew him in the street. He would have to walk to Fritz’s hovel. It would take him about half-an hour in this snow. Bugger, it was cold. Dennis shivered even though he had put on fur lined boots and a shapka urshanka, with flaps over his ears, as well as his overcoat over several thick sweaters. He set off with plodding gait into the frozen whiteness. Luckily the wind was not strong and he could see where he was going.

  By the time he arrived at Fritz’s filthy dwelling he was cold to the bone and, having greeted the German, he accepted a swig of brandy and stood beside the rank paraffin stove with outstretched hands, shivering from cold and agitation.

  ‘What’s happened?’ asked Fritz. ‘You’re very excited about something.’

  ‘I’ve got the Bartons’ kid.’ He rubbed his hands together to get some feeling back.

  ‘What!’

  ‘Yes. I snatched her practically off the doorstep, right from under Isabel’s nose.’ He sounded smug.

  ‘Mein Gott! Are you mad? What did y
ou do that for?’

  ‘Think about it, Fritz. I’ve got to get the Bartons out of the way to clear the flat and we could get a ransom as well. Yes, you and me! They’ll do anything to get the child back. How do you like the sound of a juicy ransom? Enough to set you up and get you out of this squalor.’ He waved his hand at the insanitary shack.

  Fritz’ eyes lit up. ‘That would be bloody good,’ he said. ‘What do you need me to do?’

  ‘I want you to take care of things this end. When everyone’s out of the house, I’ll let you know and I want you to start moving all my stuff out and into that building that I own, off the Ku’dam. Later we can get it into the truck and off to the UK. It’s all arranged, I’ve got official papers for it, Bill Barton signed them himself; he had no idea what they were for. There just hasn’t been such a good opportunity to move it before.’

  ‘And why should I do this for you, Herr Dennis?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Fritz. You’ll be well paid. We’re going to get a ransom out of the Bartons. We’ll get some of those drugs you’re always going on about. Like gold dust aren’t they?’

  ‘Ja wohl.’ Fritz thought for a moment. ‘I like the sound of this; it may work. Perhaps it would be best if I come back with you and we can get started.’

  ‘Yes, that’s a much better idea, do it all now. We’ll have to be quiet in the flat when Isabel gets back. She’s gone off somewhere, looking for the kid, I suppose. But she’ll be back later.’

  ‘We’d better get a move on and move your stuff before she arrives.’

  ‘I’m not sure how long she’s going to be. We can do it now, whilst she’s out, and hope there’s time. Can you drive the truck?’

  ‘Natürlich. We go and get it now and then I can take everything to your storage before curfew.’ Fritz was prepared for going outside and he extinguished the paraffin stove.

  The two left the shack and walked to where Dennis kept his stolen five-ton truck. All signs of Army involvement in the vehicle had been obliterated. It looked like any other tired, knocked-about truck in Berlin. But in spite of the cold the engine roared into life immediately; well-maintained by REME in its previous life. The tank was full of purloined fuel, enough for the night’s work.