A View Across the Rooftops: An epic, heart-wrenching and gripping World War Two historical novel

by Suzanne Kelman

  She smiled. “I know you will be a perfect gentleman, Helmut. Can you show me the way?”

  “Just a second,” he said. “I keep this end of the house locked.”

  They walked up a set of stairs, and he unlocked a door and pointed to the bathroom at the end of another corridor. She went in and, as soon as the door was closed behind her, sighed with relief and combed her hands through her hair, taking a minute to collect herself. She hadn’t needed to use it, she just needed an escape route from a path her body seemed to want to take her down. Even though her heart and head were very much against it.

  As she stared in the mirror, she noticed over her shoulder the other door slightly ajar behind her. Curious, she pushed it open. It was indeed Helmut’s bedroom. She walked in and looked around. Even in the dark, it had a strong, masculine presence and more of her gallery’s art pieces on the wall.

  Turning to go, she tripped over something protruding from the closet. Fumbling for a light switch, it illuminated a set of art panels covered by a drop cloth. Her foot, tangled in the cloth, had accidentally exposed a corner of what lay underneath. She started to right everything when the painting at the front of the stack caught her eye. Hesitantly, she pulled back the rest of the cloth to unveil an exquisite oil painting, in vivid color and dimension, of a woman buying flowers in a market.

  She knew it from somewhere. And then it came to her. This was the Rosenthal Madonna, a famous artwork from the nineteenth century She’d studied it at the university. It had been painted by one of the Dutch masters.

  She pulled out the painting and studied it carefully. Maybe it was a copy. The signature looked original. She turned it over; the true masters could always be identified by their age. She ran her hands across the canvas; it had the coarse, heavy feel of the previous century, and the wood frame was aged too, with a little woodworm in one corner. It all spelled out to her that this may well be an original.

  Why was a painting that was so valuable sitting here in Helmut’s bedroom, hidden by a drop cloth?

  Then it hit her. Hard. An icy feeling clenched her throat. A feeling she did not want to accept.

  They’d all heard stories of art being taken, looted from Amsterdam, and sold off to the Germans for a tenth of the price or moved to Göring or Hitler’s collections. Was Helmut dealing in illegal paintings and taking them out of Amsterdam for the Reich?

  She covered up the canvas again and returned to the bathroom with a sickening feeling. Everything suddenly made sense. This was why Helmut was doing so well through the war. This was why his father was gone so much. They were helping the Nazis pillage Amsterdam’s art; it was the only thing that made sense.

  Elke thought about past conversations she’d had with Helmut, days where he was gone, supposedly visiting clients in France or Germany or Austria. He was smuggling art out of Amsterdam. Maybe “smuggling” was not the right word. Blatantly stealing it right from under everyone’s noses. Apparently being paid handsomely for his time in the process.

  Trying to control the anger coursing through her body, Elke marched back down the corridor, down the stairs, and straight past Helmut, who was still looking out the window. He tried to say something to her, but she shut him down. “I should get back, find Mr. Van den Berg. I am sure there are many people we need to connect with.” Elke could not keep the ice from her tone, but she held back her real fury. She did not want to let Helmut know what she’d found out about him. She needed time to process this new information. Her heart and thoughts were racing. She had always suspected there was something about Helmut, something she could not quite put her finger on. And now she knew.

  Elke found her boss and stayed close to him for the rest of the evening. Even though Helmut made a couple more advances toward her, she managed to brush him off with one-word answers before leaving early, feigning a headache.

  On the way home, she didn’t mention what she had found out to Mr. Van den Berg. He was so enamored with Helmut and had known his father a long time. However, inside she was livid and just grateful that she had not gotten involved with him. It was appalling how some people were making money on the backs of the Jewish people, and at the same time stripping their country of its wealth and beauty. She felt foolish that she had not known before. Now it all seemed obvious. All the signs were there. She would be much more careful in the future.

  Chapter 29

  On St. Nicholas Eve, Josef sat at his kitchen table, grading papers with Dantes on his lap, when there was a soft rap at his front door. His heart leaped. Michael. It had been days since his disappearance, and Josef had missed his young friend’s company more than he would have expected. Hurrying through his house, he pulled open the front door with expectancy.

  He was surprised to see Hannah Pender standing on his doorstep. For a moment his heart raced with the fact she was at his house, but in equal measure it sank with the disappointment that it wasn’t Michael.

  Apparently reading something in his expression, she enquired, “Professor, did I come at a bad time?”

  Josef beamed. “No, no, of course not, Mrs. Pender.” Then added in an extremely odd tone, “What a nice surprise. Please, come in.”

  “Call me Hannah,” she insisted, with a smile.

  He pushed his spectacles nervously up his nose as she stepped inside, and they stood together quietly in the hallway. Hannah looked around. “How nice and, um… tidy,” she finally decided on, apparently attempting to break the silence between them.

  As she stood close to him, he felt a thrill run through his whole body. There was something strangely intimate about having her here in his space, away from the safety of their day-to-day visits with her desk between them. His heart appeared to want to thump its way out of his chest and his mind raced with what that might mean.

  She turned to him and for a wild second he wanted to kiss her, passionately, take her in his arms and for one moment experience her in that way, pulling her in tightly and losing himself in her soft lips and warm curves, her marriage be damned. It was as he was wrestling with his conflicting emotions that she spoke. Her caring eyes disarming him. Her words tumbling out in a jumble.

  “I’m sorry to come to your house in this way. Normally I would give this to you at work, but as you know, we are closed now for the holiday and this book came for you and I wasn’t sure if it was important.”

  He felt disappointed; for the briefest of moments he thought she might feel the same way about him and was coming here to confess.

  “Oh,” was all he could squeeze out under the weight of his crushed feelings as he attempted to calm his heart as it drummed in his ears like a brass band.

  She handed him a package. He looked down at it curiously, then, with the full weight of remembrance, recognized it must be the other book of poetry he had ordered for Michael from the library. He’d planned to watch his young friend’s face light up when he realized that Josef had listened to him about all the poets he loved.

  Josef took it from her, reluctantly.

  Hannah read the expression. “I’m sorry. Was I wrong to bring it over? Should I have waited until after we were open again?”

  “No, no, of course not,” Josef responded, overcompensating. “It was very kind of you.” He tried to collect himself.

  A nervous hand checked her hair as they stood side by side for a few moments. The air was statically charged between them and he had no idea what he was supposed to say or do.

  The hallway clock chimed the hour, and they both glanced toward the elegant hands before returning their mutual gaze to the floor.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?” he finally asked.

  “Oh, no, I can’t stop,” she burbled. “I was just, um, well, had to bring the package and everything. I’m just out doing errands and… you know.”

  Opening the door herself, she exited. Then abruptly stopped, hovering on his top step. She turned to him, squared her shoulders, and took a deep breath.

  “I also brought you this,” she a
nnounced, thrusting another gift into his hands. “It’s Christmas banketstaaf. It’s not really the original recipe, of course, you know how hard it is these days, but a friend had a Red Cross parcel and there were powdered eggs, and flour and I had a little almond paste and so forth.” She stopped to catch her breath before adding quietly, “I thought you might like it. Happy Christmas… Professor.”

  Josef stared down at the wrapped gift in a basket. He was taken aback and found himself stuttering in response, “Um, thank you, Mrs. Pender. I mean Hannah. That is very… er, kind of you. For you to come to my house, from your house, and cook this and bring this to me and to think of me…” He sounded ridiculous, he thought to himself. Why was he babbling on like an idiot?

  Hannah saved him. “Well, I’ll be going. I have a lot more to do.”

  She went down one more step and then turned again.

  “Just one more thing.” Her faced flushed. “I know this is last minute, but would you care to come to my home on Christmas Day? It would just be the three of us. A very simple affair, but in times like this… well, we all need company. I thought you might be interested in sharing some Christmas cheer with us, and you’d be very welcome.”

  Josef was tongue-tied, her invitation completely taking him off guard, and he didn’t know how to respond. His heart leaped at her invitation, and then reality stepped in. What if Michael was to come back and needed him? And did he really want to share the day with Mrs. Pender and her husband? A happily married couple, no doubt. With crushing realization it dawned on him: this was why she had come, and this invitation that had come out of the blue was because Hannah felt sorry for him, and that stung him more harshly than if she had rejected him. Without Michael, he suddenly felt vulnerable, more alone than ever. For years now there had been someone. Someone to talk to, someone to care for, and he had gotten used to it.

  Josef looked down at her expectant eyes and took in a sharp breath.

  “Thank you, but I can’t.”

  Her pleasant face fell in dismay. He felt instantly regretful, but before he could add any more to his apology, she marched off down his path, waving a hand at him over her shoulder, adding, with what seemed like forced merriment, “No problem. I just thought I would ask on the off chance.” Then she called back behind her, “Have a lovely Christmas.”

  “Thank you for the gift,” Josef shouted toward the echo of her shoes moving down the street.

  Back in his kitchen, he opened the basket and was delighted to see the sweet-smelling loaf. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been given such a treat. He placed it in his larder and undid the string of the other package, unwrapping the book of poetry. Sitting down at the table, he turned the pages and started to read the poems. As he did, he fought the picture of Hannah’s expectant face looking up at him, her kind, caring eyes, her curvaceous body moving fluidly away from him down his path. And the surprising warmth he had felt just being close to her.

  Chapter 30

  On Christmas Day, Josef sat again on his own in his kitchen. The framed picture of Sarah that he had taken from her locked trunk now sat in pride of place on the table. He put the poem that Michael had written for him next to it and quietly spoke to the photograph, a habit he had acquired since the loss of Michael.

  “It’s Christmastime, Sarah, and I know you loved this time of year. Unfortunately, I don’t have your skills at decorating, as you can see.” He smiled, his hand circling the sterile room. “Michael wrote me a poem. Remember, I told you about him? The young man I was taking care of? He wrote me a poem for Christmas. Can you imagine? If you were here, I know you would be laughing, heartily. Remember how much I used to hate poetry? Well, let’s just say poetry is now following me around. Some strange fate keeps bringing it to me. I am beginning to think it’s maybe a message from you, with your wild sense of humor. You are still hoping that maybe I’ll grow to love it one day, as you’d always said I would.”

  Dantes jumped onto his lap, and Josef read an excerpt from Michael’s poem aloud to Sarah and his cat, pausing on his favorite part.

  “… Your quiet strength a reminder that the wind finds its voice not in tranquility, but in the roar of a stormed-lashed sea.”

  “Imagine that, Sarah. To see me as strong. You were always the strong one in my eyes. But now I have been able to be strong for someone else.”

  Chapter 31

  Just after Christmas, as Ingrid sat at her desk putting away her things for the evening, Vi accosted her. Ingrid was feeling particularly blue. To celebrate the season, she had planned a very extravagant party at Heinrich’s apartment, which had to be canceled at the last minute because of Heinrich’s work commitments, and she had ended up spending Christmas Day alone.

  Vi perched herself on the corner of Ingrid’s desk, her smile dazzling. “Where are you going?”

  “Home,” Ingrid responded flatly.

  Vi playfully crossed one leg over the other. “That sounds like fun. Will Heinrich be there?”

  Ingrid shook her head. “He’s coming home late every night at the moment.”

  Vi jumped down from the desk, took Ingrid by the shoulders, and swiveled the chair around to face her. “Then why don’t you come with me?” she proposed mischievously. “Let’s go out and have some fun.”

  Ingrid glanced across to Heinrich’s office door, which was now permanently closed. She knew if she disturbed him to ask, he would only be angry with her, as he so often was these days.

  “Come on,” Vi baited. “We’ll just go out and have one drink. He won’t even know that you were out. And you can slip home and be ready to play the perfect fiancée later on.”

  Ingrid smiled. Vi was certainly incorrigible. And there was a side of her that wanted to do something different. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had gone out.

  “There is a place I know.” Vi’s eyes sparkled. “A little, tiny club. Honestly, we won’t be longer than an hour. Put on your shoes and let’s get going.”

  Ingrid looked down at her feet. “My shoes are on,” she said, confused.

  “No, your dancing shoes,” Vi responded, enthusiastically pulling Ingrid to her feet and twirling her around in circles, swing dancing with her.

  Ingrid giggled to herself, thinking, Surely, one drink won’t matter. And Vi was right. Heinrich would never even know that she hadn’t gone straight home.

  “Okay,” she said, “but just one.”

  Vi nodded and grabbed her things.

  Ingrid put on her coat, reminding herself Heinrich was always gone. Out dealing with issues or staying at the office later and later into the evening. Over the last few months, he’d become moody, isolated, and didn’t want to share anything with her anymore.

  It made her feel lonely, and it was nice to have a friend who not only understood her situation but also supported and believed in the same ideals as she did. All of her other friends had dropped away when she’d become involved in the Third Reich. Working in the offices was the only life she had now.

  Following Vi out, she felt smug. Yes, it would do Heinrich good to see how it felt to be left alone, to be the one waiting—if he even made it home before her. And if he didn’t, so what? She would have some fun with this new friend.

  The girls walked arm in arm through the city of Amsterdam, chatting about their workday. Vi led her down a tiny street and winding stone stairs into a dark, smoky bar. Energetic jazz music greeted them on the way down, and the atmosphere was alive and pulsing.

  “I didn’t even know this place existed,” Ingrid remarked, looking around in awe. The room was a hollowed-out brick cavern with black-painted walls and subdued lighting. On a corner stage, a small jazz band played upbeat music to the Nazis that filled the bar—soldiers and officers alike, all laughing, drinking, and smoking together.

  As the girls entered the room, they caused a stir. There were long approving glances in their direction. Ingrid liked how that made her feel. She loved the power that it gave her, and instantly
she felt more confident.

  Vi pushed her way through the crowds, ignoring the wolf whistles and comments as she went. A drunken Nazi stepped in front of her. “Would you like to dance, Fräulein?” he slurred.

  She grabbed both of his cheeks and squeezed them. “Maybe later, soldier, but right now I am thirsty.” She pushed him down into a chair, and his friends around him roared at the display.

  Vi led Ingrid to a little table away from the band, and Ingrid followed eagerly. “Who owns this place?” she asked, taking off her coat.

  “They’re the good Dutch,” responded Vi. “They believe in what we are doing. Not everyone in Holland is a traitor.”

  A wiry little Dutch woman wearing a starched white apron arrived at the table to take their order. She greeted them enthusiastically. “I’m so glad that you came here, ladies. Thank you for the work that you’re doing for the war. I know we will soon have a victory. Heil Hitler.”

  “Heil Hitler,” Vi responded earnestly. “And we would have anything fabulous you’ve got to eat.”

  Ingrid blinked in confusion. “They have food?”

  “Don’t ask where they got it,” Vi said conspiratorially “And two very stiff gins,” she added to the order.

  Ingrid tried to stop her. “I don’t drink hard alcohol.”

  “You will tonight. It is Christmastime. Have a glass of gin. You look like you need it.”

  After the waitress had left the table, Vi sat back on her seat and eyed Ingrid with interest.

  “You have never told me much about yourself,” she said, pulling a cigarette from a silver case with her long red fingernails and extending one to Ingrid, who took it. “Are you from Amsterdam?” She lit the tips and snapped the case closed.

  “Yes, but I moved around a lot.” Ingrid became pensive. “My parents died when I was very young.”

  Vi blew out a plume of smoke. “I’m sorry, that must have been very hard for you.”