This Shining Land

by Rosalind Laker

  Gina dropped the darning into her lap, her startled eyes meeting her daughter’s gaze. Quickly she glanced in her husband’s direction to make sure he was still sleeping and had not overheard. Then she straightened her back, once more in control of herself. “I can honestly say that Karen and I have not discussed the matter at all. There’s no need. Her poor little face gave her away after she had spoken to Sergeant Müller the day he returned. In exchange for her friendship he’s prepared to keep word of your father’s recovery from the military authorities.”

  “Oh, my God!” Johanna’s whispered exclamation sprang from the depth of her compassion for Karen, not through consideration for the sleeper in the room. “Father doesn’t know that? Why haven’t you told him?”

  “He might do something foolish.”

  “Give himself up, you mean?”

  “I prefer not to think about it.” Gina squared her shoulders as if there were an almost unbearably heavy yoke across them, her face hardening until the skin strained over her cheekbones. “Karen’s virtue is expendable. Your father’s life is not.”

  Johanna was at a loss for words. There seemed nothing to say in reply to the primly expressed and utterly ruthless statement that had been made.

  When Karen returned from the dance in the early hours, she found Johanna waiting up in Chinese cotton pyjamas, the faded rose colour showing that they had been bought in prewar days. “Why aren’t you sleeping? It’s late.”

  “I wanted to talk to you. Let’s sit outside.”

  They went out to the slatted seat where earlier that day Johanna had sat beside Edvard, the only perpetual sound that of the cascading waterfall. Karen sank back on the seat wearily. “I suppose you’ve guessed.”

  “It wasn’t difficult. We’re all in your debt—my parents, my brothers and I.”

  Karen’s voice was without expression. “I don’t want anyone’s gratitude. Carl is not Hitler. Underneath his Nazism there are still traces of the boy I once knew, and at times I manage to forget his uniform. It could have been worse. Much worse. I let him kiss me. I even let him fondle me since he seems to consider that’s a fair part of the bargain.” She appeared quite detached from what she was relating as if she had found a means of shutting herself away in her own mind from it all. “That’s as far as it’s gone between us. He cares for me—not seriously, but enough to hope that with time we’ll mean more to each other. I also feel sorry for him. The war has made as much of a mess of his life as it has of mine, except that he doesn’t realise it.”

  “Is there any chance of his being posted to northern or southern Norway—anywhere away from here?”

  “Not at the present time. Anyway, I’m glad you know the truth of it. I couldn’t talk to anyone else as I’m talking to you. I love your younger brother. I’ll always love Erik. I’m waiting for him to come back. If he loves me as I love him he won’t listen to others. The chance that he might turn against me doesn’t make any difference. Edvard is not going to be taken as a hostage as long as I can prevent it.”

  For the first time Johanna saw that, in some ways, her mother and Karen were much alike. In spite of their frail, almost delicate appearance, each was possessed of an intractable will and out of it came their strength.

  It was a relief when the weekend was over. Gina, perhaps fearful that a slip of the tongue from Johanna might give Edvard an inkling of the true situation, was edgy and sharp-tongued, sparing nobody. As Johanna left she decided it would be a long time before she came home again. A weekly telephone call would have to suffice.

  “How did you enjoy your weekend?” Tom asked her on Monday morning.

  “Not much,” she replied, seizing the chance he had given her. “Thanks to you I’m in everybody’s bad books.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She told him of the hostility she had encountered in the valley and of her own parents’ attitude towards her without giving any background details beyond her position as his secretary being unpopular. For some time she had thought it would be prudent to ensure that if she was arrested at any time, Tom could report there was an estrangement between her family and her, which should absolve them from any suspicion. She had not expected to have some minor family friction on which to base the exaggerated estrangement, and that was all to the good.

  “So you won’t be going home for a while?” He was facing her across his desk and the letters from the morning mail she had put in front of him.

  “That’s right.”

  “Sit down a moment.”

  She obeyed, wondering what was coming. Always spruce in his appearance, he smoothed his already smooth hair back over his ears with the palms of his hands and then cleared his throat. “There’s something I’ve been mulling over for quite a while. Well, ever since you came to work for me, in fact. I’d like you to hear me out before you give a decision either way on what I’m about to put to you.”

  “I’m listening.” She was puzzled.

  “I’ve put aside my employer’s hat now and I’m speaking to you as family and as a friend. You remember my wife, don’t you? After all, you must have been twelve or thirteen when she died ten years ago.”

  “I was thirteen and I remember Ingrid well. She was so vivacious, always fun to be with. Naturally we didn’t see her often.”

  “That’s just how she was. A wonderful hostess at the parties we used to give. I still miss her, particularly out at my home when I entertain at weekends. Would you be prepared to act as my hostess? You’re young and beautiful and it would make all the difference to my guests to have you there. You’d not be bothered by any of them, I promise you. You’d be under my cousinly wing, as the saying goes. I’d make that clear.”

  She had heard that he entertained high-ranking Nazi personnel and her first reaction would have been to give an outright refusal if she had not remembered in the nick of time what it might lead to on behalf of the Resistance. Deliberately she played for time, wanting to be entirely sure of the situation. “I’m not certain I understand about the cousinly wing. Are you saying you would let your guests think there was something between us in order to give me protection?”

  “Something like that.”

  She laughed protestingly. “Tom! You’re remarkably old-fashioned. I haven’t come straight from the farm. I did work in Oslo and I can look after myself.”

  “As you wish.” His smile was amused and indulgent. “It’s simply that I have your well-being at heart. I spoke from the highest motives, I do assure you.”

  “I didn’t think otherwise. What would you want me to do? Arrange menus? Organise your household? Book a band for dancing? I’m sure you have a list of women to invite when the occasion demands.”

  His eyes narrowed between his sandy lashes. “You have the hang of it exactly. An excellent housekeeper, whom I’d had since Ingrid’s last illness, left as soon as German officers began coming to the house. Her replacement has been far from satisfactory. You could reorganise everything and appoint whom you liked.”

  “Give me a few days to think it over.” She needed to consult the Resistance.

  “Naturally.” He appeared to think that he must add extra inducements. “I’d see my way clear to let you have time off whenever you needed it. We’d arrange the work to let you leave early when necessary. Sometimes there’s only one or two officers at the weekends. At others a whole crowd will come for a party.”

  She shook her head firmly. “You mustn’t get the idea I’d be prepared to get caught up in your domestic arrangements on a grand scale. I’m a secretary first and foremost, but as your cousin I’d get the house in running order for you and then things would go smoothly anyway. Once that was done, I’d only be at the house for social occasions.”

  He was satisfied, convinced that what he wanted of her was as good as accepted. There had not been a day yet when he hadn’t been pleased with her secretarial work and attractive appearance. Moreover, from the moment the weather had permitted, her beautifully tanned legs had come
bare of all hideous coverings, adding to her charming appearance. He was always being asked about her by the officers in the building, for she had not been many weeks in his office before she gained a reputation of being impossible to date. One or two had even become a trifle too curious, not exactly suspecting her of being disloyal to the Third Reich, but wanting to know about her background to a degree that he did not welcome since his own was linked to hers. To bring her into his social life would quash any speculations about her. “It’s going to do a lot for me if you will do all this.” He chose to become more confidential. “I’ll tell you now that you’d be helping me towards a special goal. I hope to get into government eventually. That’s why the contacts I make now will be exceptionally useful later on.”

  “But you’d have to join Quisling’s Nazi party for that,” she said without thinking. Then she realised instantly from the way he was regarding her that he was already a member and she was angry with herself. It showed her how she had been lulled into forgetting briefly that in spite of their thoroughly agreeable business partnership, he was totally linked to the enemy.

  “I joined when I put my old life behind me,” he said with a shrug of his thick shoulders. “That’s how I got the position I hold here. It wouldn’t have been mine otherwise. I’ll not press you towards membership yet, because my guess is that you’re not quite ready. I understand the pull of old loyalties, because I went through all that myself.” He felt he was cementing the goodwill between them as never before. “It’s good that we can be frank like this with each other. I want you to stick with me, Johanna. You could move to Oslo with me later on. How would you like to be secretary to Quisling’s successor at some time in the future?”

  She managed a little laugh. “Ask me again at a later date. I think you have a long way to go yet.”

  “I have indeed.” He had one more thing to ask her and gestured her to remain seated when she would have made a return to work. “I’d appreciate it very much if you would accompany me to a party in the officers’ mess this evening. We need only make a brief appearance, staying for about an hour or two, but it would be a beginning for occasions to come. You see, it has been noticed that you definitely discourage German company.”

  She was startled, realising her blunder. That was an aspect of her position she had not considered. Her smile came as quickly as her answer. “I’m choosy, Tom. I don’t go out with small fry.”

  He chuckled at the echo of his own words. “Wise girl. Then you’ll come with me this evening? Good.” He made the arrangements about picking her up in the car.

  Back at her desk, she gazed unseeingly at her typewriter and released a long breath. Things were starting to move at a fast pace and in a direction she had not anticipated.

  Astrid, who never showed surprise at anything, taking events completely in her stride, asked the vital question. “What are you going to wear?”

  “That’s the problem. Tom said the women dress up and the only evening wear I’ve ever possessed was left behind in Oslo. I’ll have to do what I can with a white dress and a spray of roses from the garden.”

  “I think I may be able to help you. Let’s go to my bedroom.”

  Johanna followed her upstairs. Astrid opened the door of a clothes closet and rummaged towards the back of it. “You may find something here.” She pulled forward the skirts of several evening dresses in shades of coral and pink and grey and green, threads of silver shining and gold beadwork glistening. “What about these? They should fit you and we’re both about the same beanpole height.”

  “They look fantastic. Let me try them on.” Johanna was already pulling off her dress over her head. Astrid took out a dozen evening dresses from a larger number in the closet. Each one was in a cotton cover that fastened with snaps and all were immaculate. She uncovered chiffon, crêpe de Chine, georgette, raw silk and metallic fabrics. “Clothes have always been my extravagance,” she admitted, “and until the Occupation I went regularly to Oslo and Bergen, attending the theatre and banquets held by a number of associations to which I belonged.”

  Johanna could easily have decided to wear the first one she put on, but the excitement of seeing so many pretty gowns after three years of deprivation was intoxicating. She paraded in each one as though she were modelling along a catwalk in a Parisian haute couture salon. Astrid, sitting on the side of the bed, applauded like a potential customer. They thoroughly enjoyed themselves and it was only lack of time that prevented Johanna from going through the whole of Astrid’s collection.

  Tom drew up outside the house on time. He had, on occasion, attended parties in the commandeered section and was familiar with the address. He got out of the car and had reached the gate when Johanna came down the path from the side entrance, having glimpsed his arrival. Afterwards he thought that if he had been a youth again he would have gaped at the delicious sight of his cousin. She was wearing a simple but superbly cut dress of crêpe de Chine in a colour that reminded him of cool, ripe pears and which showed off her slender, small-breasted figure. Her hair, newly washed, swung like golden silk and was fastened back at the right temple by an ivory barrette. She wore no jewellery and carried a filmy shawl that trailed from one hand.

  “Hello, Tom. I knew you’d be punctual. Is this your car? Splendid, isn’t it.”

  He dashed to open the door for her and she slid into the seat. As yet he had said nothing to her. Getting in behind the wheel he found his voice. “It’s a nice evening.”

  “Grand.”

  As he reversed and drove back towards the road, he anticipated the effect she would have on the gathering they were to attend. A broad grin spread across his face.

  The party was being held at the headquarters of the garrison, a large mansion on the outskirts of the town. Johanna paused with Tom on the threshold of the long room where once civic occasions had taken place. The buzz of cheerful sounds, the clink of glasses being refilled by white-coated stewards and the background music supplied by army musicians on a dais, accordions predominating, did nothing to quell the surge of revulsion that rose within her. She thought she had become accustomed in her comings and goings in the office to the ever-present uniforms and swastika flags, but somehow in a festive setting she was seeing those gathered there with fresh eyes and renewed fury at their uninvited and unwanted presence in her land. As a result her expression closed, giving her an unconsciously distant look that in no way detracted from her allure to those who turned their heads and saw her standing there.

  As the first of the officers broke away to come forward, she thought ironically of the praise Astrid had given her appearance. “You look fine enough to meet the King, Johanna.”

  She had replied, laughing and appreciative, “I wish that were possible. And I mean here, with the Germans gone forever.”

  Now she was about to meet a captain of the Waffen S.S. She had already spotted several others in the same field-grey uniform with the blue-green collars in the room. As he bowed to her, clicking his heels, one part of her mind snapped into the query as to why a crack regiment had been posted to the coastal region of an annexed territory when they were surely most needed at the Russian Front. She accounted it later as a life-saving thought, for it enabled her to raise her face with a dazzling smile. His own showed extremely good teeth.

  “Fräulein. Such a pleasure. What may I get you to drink? Would you like to dance?”

  She danced with many of them, sharing her smiles among them. Deliberately she displayed no interest in discussing anything remotely connected with the Wehrmacht, changing the subject if any one of her partners brought in any reference to his routine, however mundane. She knew that an important rule laid down to men in the Resistance, apart from remaining inconspicuous at all times and never contacting their families, was never to trust women they did not know. It seemed a likely guess that officers of the Wehrmacht had been given the same warning. It was her hope that she could establish herself as part of Tom’s social circle to the point where conversation
s would be carried on without any special thought to her being present. She did not expect to unravel any great military secrets, but she did hope to add to the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle that she was able to pass on from her office papers.

  Tom knew several of the other women at the party, but he did not dance, preferring to concentrate on the amount of liquor available and in talking affably to those he knew, or those whom he wanted to know better. When supper was served he sought out Johanna, wanting to make sure she was all right and not bored. She was no ordinary girl to be excited and swayed by attention. Sometimes he felt she saw through him with a devastating clarity, although if that was the case she would also discern that he had never been proud of the switch he had made.

  He found her in a group of officers who were slightly drunk, highly merry and showing off boisterously in a preening way like the young cockerels they were. Although she was laughing at some quip, he saw an unmistakable flicker of relief in her eyes at his approach.

  “I thought it must be time to leave, Tom.” She had given him no chance to suggest supper. “I have my shawl. Good night, everybody.”

  The young officers were reluctant to let her go, spreading their arms and jostling each other in noisy, good-humoured horseplay. She was amused but determined. She slid her hand firmly into the crook of Tom’s arm and half steered him out of the room. “Aren’t you hungry?” he asked her, thinking with regret of the supper table he had glimpsed through open double doors in an adjoining room. There had been cold roast pork and pink ham and red cabbage and salami and apple strudel among dishes of other good victuals.

  “I had a bite with Astrid before I came.” The sight of the table had sickened her; that abundance of food had shocked her more than being plunged into that unrelieved mass of enemy uniforms. She thought of the hours her own people spent in food queues for almost nothing. Astrid never complained, except in a joking way, and yet was often exhausted by it, frequently reaching a shop door after a long wait as the last loaf or scrap of meat was sold. The most galling sight on the supper table had been a centrepiece of an enormous bowl of oranges. Norwegian children had forgotten the taste of an orange, and some born after the invasion had never known it. She halted abruptly as she and Tom were about to go down the steps of the building into the courtyard. “I would like one of those oranges.” She had thought of a youthful recipient.