by Jenny Lecoat
The sun slowly arced around to the west, and as it did so the mass of people and the baked paving stones beneath their feet intensified the heat of the day, shimmering off the quayside in distorted waves. By the time the first boat began to board, the Germans’ rifles were primed and aimed at the crowd, ready to stop any last-minute rebellion. The singers’ voices, hoarse as they were, grew louder and more defiant. And at that moment Hedy was struck by a single, powerful certainty. Kurt’s suspicions were right: everything that had happened in the last two years had simply been a rehearsal. The real Occupation was only now beginning—a new, bitter wind was blowing in. Soon, perhaps sooner than anyone imagined, everything was going to change. At that moment and with great clarity, Hedy understood that she was no more than a cork bobbing on the surface of the harbor, waiting to see where the current would take her.
She took a deep breath and bellowed out the final chorus of “Pack Up Your Troubles,” and her voice traveled out across the water and into the void.
EIGHT
1943
The clock on the wall showed 5:55. Hedy tore the last sheet from her typewriter and placed it on the pile of finished reports. She scanned the room, noting the position of every staff member, calculating their precise stage of departure; she knew all their habits well enough by now. Bruna, the tall girl from Munich who always brushed her hair for two minutes before leaving, presumably to impress her endless succession of boyfriends. Rosamund, Miss Vogt’s pinch-lipped favorite, who always lingered by the supervisor’s desk in the hope of soliciting a compliment on her day’s work. Smelly Derek with his stench of mold, who fussed over his station each night before putting on his jacket, obsessed with leaving everything perfectly tidy. It was vital that Hedy chose exactly the right moment to transfer the petrol coupons from her desk to her coat, just when everyone was distracted. Pretending to look for something in her bag, she waited for her moment. Then, as Derek bent over to tuck the dust cover under his machine, Hedy moved, deftly slipping the coupons into her inside pocket. Another sweep of the room told her that, as usual, no one had noticed. Projecting an air of calm indifference, she took her bag from the back of her chair, collected her coat, and strolled out into the dusty exterior of the compound.
Walking toward the exit gate she kept her eyes ahead of her, as always. It was rare for her to catch a glimpse of Kurt at this time of day—normally he was over in the warehouses, doing the last stocktake of the day—but they had long ago agreed that they should never be seen speaking to each other at work. On the occasions when they did pass each other on the pathways, both of them would look the other way or, in Kurt’s case, manufacture a conversation with a colleague as a sleight of hand. Hedy had never trusted anyone at Lager Hühnlein, but now she viewed everyone as a potential enemy. People could be seen whispering in quiet corners of the canteen, in the shadows of filing cabinets or outside toilet cubicles—rumors about spies and collaborators, about imminent Allied raids and possible German reprisals. It was impossible to separate cynical German employees, who genuinely wouldn’t have cared if you stole an entire desk from under their noses, from secret police operatives snooping for information. Even harder to tell the difference between resistance-minded locals and those who would sell their own grandmothers for a cash reward. The only safe option was to keep your mouth shut at all times and, if asked anything, profess complete ignorance.
Last year’s fears of a new, more repressive phase had proved all too correct. Paranoia was now the default mood of the German authorities. Rations had been cut for several months as “punishment” for the sinking of German ships, and a number of local people, including a recalcitrant canon, had been sent to punishment camps for listening to the BBC news. Worst of all had been the announcement made one cold, wet day in the early spring that, in retaliation for an abortive British commando raid on the sister island of Sark, a further two hundred islanders were to be deported. Neither Hedy nor Kurt needed to be told that this latest seizure would be certain to include the few remaining Jews.
Frantic, they discussed options. The Jersey authorities, Hedy asserted, would be useless; she adamantly refused Kurt’s suggestion to interfere on her behalf, arguing that it would be sure to arouse suspicion and put them both in greater danger. Finally, in desperation, Hedy approached Feldwebel Schulz, who sulkily agreed that in the light of her work at the compound and the difficulty of replacing German-speaking employees, he would request an exception be made in her case. It seemed a meager hope. For three weeks she had lived in dread, her nights tormented with fitful sleep, her days broken by stomach cramps and diarrhea. Several times Kurt delivered news of another Jewish arrest or disappearance (clearly some had gone into hiding with friends, a dangerous solution in Hedy’s view), always reassuring her that the longer she escaped attention, the more optimistic they could be. Other individuals, he pointed out, were being deliberately overlooked if Field Command deemed it expedient to do so. But his pallor, and the way his fingers trembled as he lifted a cup to his lips, gave his real feelings away.
No formal decision was ever announced. But by the fourth week, with arrests petering out, they began to suspect that this particular storm had passed. Perhaps Schulz’s request had been accepted, or maybe Hedy’s refusal to attend the College House interview the previous year had caused her name to drop off a list. Whatever the reason, it seemed that, for now, life could return to whatever currently passed for normality. Till the next time.
By the summer, she and Kurt felt sufficiently confident to return to their tiny acts of sabotage. Shut away in the privacy of Hedy’s flat, they would entertain each other with their stories: of how Hedy had deliberately placed over seventy audit sheets in the wrong files, a mistake impossible to trace back but which took two hours for the administrators of Block Three to correct. Or how Kurt had purposely ignored the faulty wiring connections of a young mechanic in his charge, causing the truck to break down on its first girder delivery of the morning. They never fooled themselves that such actions made any real difference, but the laughter they shared in repeating them had a caustic edge to it, and stoked their yearning for revenge.
On nights like that, their lovemaking often had a cold, urgent undercurrent, as if sex was the one channel where their rage could be safely expressed. At other times the boyish gentleness of Kurt’s touch brought Hedy to tears. She felt shame for ever doubting him. Never had she known anyone so kind, so utterly himself. She loved his attempts to supplement her weekly supplies with whatever he could bargain for at the military stores, the way he gleefully passed on any news of in-fighting or incompetence in the local administration. Best of all were the times he was able to create an excuse at his billet and stay the whole night. Then they would have long whispered conversations into the early hours, reflecting on how Hitler had risen to power and how Europe might prevent such collective delusion ever recurring. Because, as summer turned to autumn, bringing with it the fall of Italy, they became ever more optimistic that the Allies would win. All they had to do, Kurt reminded her, was survive, and see the end. Worn down by his certainty, and recognizing how many bullets had already been dodged, Hedy had recently begun to believe that some kind of future might be possible.
The sky was darkening as she set off down her usual route, following the lane toward the main road, then along St. Aubin’s road toward First Tower. Her new secondhand coat, a successful barter made by Kurt for some French candy, was a vast improvement on her old one, which had worn away to threads and buttons, but constant undernourishment meant she always felt the cold. Her mouth watered at the thought of the small piece of fish she had purchased at huge expense from her friendly fisherman the previous day. She’d also managed to save a swede and a few potatoes from the previous week, and Kurt had given her a small candle he’d stolen from his billet. Tonight she would eat like a queen.
She was just passing the arched gate of the old Sun Works tea-packing factory when a hand on her shoulder c
aused her to cry out. Spinning around, her first reaction was relief that she saw no uniform. Then, as she caught a proper view of the man’s face beneath his cap in the half-light, relief was quickly replaced by fear. She recognized him even before he began to speak, the strength of the accent jerking Hedy straight back to the café where she and Doctor Maine had sat over a year ago.
“I know about your little sideline. Do us a deal and I’ll say nothing about it.”
Hedy swallowed, her mind racing. Quinn, that was the fellow’s name. Was he talking about the coupons? How could he possibly know? Was he bluffing? She tried to arrange her face in a way that suggested innocence and confusion. “I don’t know what you mean.”
The Irishman now had a tight grip on her arm. Hedy glanced about but there was no one else on the street. He had chosen his moment carefully, and at that second she realized he had probably followed her all the way from work.
“You know. Those petrol coupons, the ones you’ve been filching away.”
Hedy’s heart sank. Had Quinn spoken to someone in her office? Had someone there seen her after all? Did he know there were coupons in her pocket right now? She decided it was worth one last throw of the dice. “I don’t understand.”
The grip of his hand tightened, his fingers now biting through her coat and hurting her skinny arm. “I think you do. You get them for your doctor friend.”
Hedy felt the blood drain from her head. “Nonsense.”
He squeezed her harder and Hedy whimpered. “I’m not stupid. My girlfriend knows there’s coupons going missing from your office.” Bruna, Hedy thought. Bruna, that Bavarian bitch, whose romantic interests were clearly now stretching beyond the German NCOs to include OT employees. “Then I remembered—you and the doc together that time. I knew there was something going on. Guilt written all over you.”
“That’s ridiculous.” It sounded like a lie.
Quinn smirked. “Don’t worry. I’m saying nothing. All I want is a cut. Couple of coupons a week and your secret’s safe.”
Hedy stood as still as she could, hoping that a lack of resistance would calm him, quickly trying to calculate the best way out. She could give him two of the coupons right now and get away from him, which was what her body was begging her to do. But she reminded herself he was a mercenary. The man had no loyalties, and any fool could see where this kind of blackmail would lead. Two coupons today, ten next week, a hundred the week after. Either she would be caught by Vogt, or she’d fail to deliver and Quinn would betray her anyway. Her only chance was to close this down now.
“I’m sorry, but you’ve made a mistake.” She looked him straight in the eye, rebellious. “I’m just a translator. I don’t steal. I’ve nothing to give you.”
Quinn stared at her with impotent impatience. Clearly he had not envisaged this reaction and was at a loss where to take it now. Hedy could hear the blood pumping in her ears, and fought to keep her thinking clear. If she was right, Bruna’s accusation was likely based on suspicion rather than certainty. And it had often occurred to Hedy that other people within the office were probably stealing too. If Quinn took Hedy’s word now, perhaps he would walk away and try his luck elsewhere. For a moment she thought she sensed a retreat. Then fury blasted from him. “You’ve got some nerve for a Kraut bitch, you know that? Well, they’re all going to know about you now, and you’ll be sorry. You’ll see how sorry.”
Hedy felt his clutch release, then he was gone as quickly as he’d arrived, bounding up the road toward First Tower in a loping run. Hedy leaned back against the painted wooden gates of the factory, unable to stand unsupported. Rivulets of sweat ran down her chest between her breasts, though she was cold and shaking. All thoughts of home and dinner had now evaporated. There was only one coherent thought in her mind. It was all over.
* * *
She sewed the final stitch, cut the cotton with her teeth and held the coat up in the dim light of the apartment to examine it. It was good workmanship—her mother would have been proud. Provided you didn’t feel or press the hem, no one would ever guess there were items concealed there: her toothbrush (impossible to replace now, and the thought of not brushing her teeth, even with the crushed cuttlefish “toothpaste” of recent months, repelled her); the bundle of notes from behind the skirting board, finally stepping up to its rightful role; her mother’s precious letters. She shook the coat a little—as she hoped, nothing moved or called attention to itself. She considered taking the small bag of essentials she kept packed, at Kurt’s insistence, under her bed. But she quickly realized that the risk of walking through town with such an item, inviting searches and questions, was too great. In any case, she needed to remain as small and unobtrusive as possible.
She remembered herself and Roda preparing to escape across the Swiss border all those years ago, and tried to recall everything her sister had said. “Money for bribes”—that had been her mantra. Anything else could be acquired later. It was funny really, Hedy mused; everyone in the family always thought of Hedy as the sensible, hardheaded one and Roda the romantic one who would fuss over girlish possessions and crack under pressure. But it was Roda who organized, chivvied and made all the harsh decisions, even volunteering to drive them through the mountains on those treacherous roads. Now it was Hedy’s turn to show what she was made of.
The knock on the door froze her to the spot. Could Quinn have raised the alarm in the few hours since his threat? She searched for the small tear in the curtain fabric that allowed her to peek out without being seen, and pressed her eye to it. Dorothea. She leaned back against the bedstead, wondering whether to answer, weighing up the pros and cons of speaking to Dorothea today. Then she moved quickly to the door.
“I just wanted to tell you,” Dorothea began, chattering before she was across the threshold, “an old friend of Anton’s told me today that there’s been a shipment of French cheese. Of course the Jerries have taken most of it, but there’ll be a little on sale in the market tomorrow if you get there first thing.” She beamed at Hedy, so proud of her news, so childishly hopeful of gratitude.
“Thank you. But I won’t be able to get to the market tomorrow.”
“If I take your ration card, maybe I can get some for you?”
Hedy looked at those innocent, pale eyes. She knew she was about to break her promise to Anton, and felt a tug of remorse, but it was too late. The decision was made.
“Dorothea, I’m sorry, but I have to go away for a while.”
“Go away? What do you mean?”
“Something’s happened. They’re going to find out I’ve been stealing petrol coupons.”
Dorothea’s mouth fell open. “You’re still doing that?”
Hedy nodded. “And I can’t take the chance. If I stay here, I’ll be arrested and deported.”
“You want to come over to my house?”
To her own surprise, Hedy gave a little snort of laughter. “I need to go a little further than that.”
Dorothea slumped into the only chair, her face even whiter than usual. “Is Kurt going to help you?”
Hedy hesitated, considering a lie. But she already knew she was going to need Dorothea’s help. “Kurt doesn’t know. I haven’t told him.”
Dorothea’s eyes grew wider with each second. “Doesn’t know? Hedy, you can’t just vanish!” She shook her head in disbelief. “Kurt loves you. And you love him. Don’t you?”
“Which is exactly why I have to do it this way.” Hedy moved around the room, tidying the books, pulling the bed covers straight, trying to keep her hands occupied. “Kurt has a record for coupon theft already. Once they know about this, they could easily connect us. God knows what they’d do to him.”
To her embarrassment, she could see Dorothea was starting to cry.
“No, this is all wrong. Where will you go?”
“I have a plan. But I can’t tell you. It’s better no one knows—
in case they question you.”
“You’re not going to try and get off the island?” Dorothea’s breath was becoming wheezy.
Hedy made a scoffing sound and turned her face away. “That would be foolish and dangerous.”
“You can’t do this alone!”
“It’s all taken care of.”
“Doctor Maine? Is he helping you?”
“No!” Hedy was shocked at the volume of her own voice. “He’s to know nothing about this. That way, if they question him, they can’t prove he was involved in any of it.” She wiped her cold sweating brow with the back of her hand. “It will only be for a while, till things settle down.”
At this point Dorothea broke down completely and buried her face in her hands. Hedy watched her cry, too distracted to reach out, too scared to shed any tears herself. Then she crouched down beside her to get Dorothea’s full attention. “I need you to do something for me.” Hedy took the sheet of paper she had spent so long writing out on her last precious sheet of writing paper, folded several times for want of an envelope. “Please give this to Kurt. I don’t want to leave it in the apartment in case someone else finds it first.”
Dorothea took the note and pressed it to her rasping chest. “Of course. But, Hedy, are you sure? Whatever you have planned, it sounds dangerous.”
“Doing nothing will be worse.” Hedy pulled on her coat and buttoned it up to the neck. “I’m really sorry.”
“For what?” Dorothea looked genuinely confused.
“For dragging you into this. For leaving you on your own.”
“Oh, Hedy, don’t worry about me.” Her voice had a new steeliness. “Just take care of yourself, for God’s sake.”
Hedy put her hands in her pockets to pull the coat more tightly around herself, feeling the weight of its new additions in the hem. Her voice wobbled a little as she forced out her reply: “Of course. Don’t worry, it’s all going to be fine.”
