In many ways the second time, although horrifying, was easier. I think because I understood it more. I saw her die. I watched my mother die. We were on a street close to our house in New York. It was a rainy Saturday and she and I were running errands. We had just come from a pharmacy across the street. She realized she had forgotten the things we had bought, and, without thinking, she ran back, into the path of a car, slipping in the rain. Although I hated her for running so stupidly across that street, I knew she hadn’t done it to hurt me. She hadn’t meant to leave me.
I knew by then that although I wasn’t her perfect ideal of a daughter, she was beginning to see me for myself. She was, I think, beginning to like me.
Now I lay on our bed, Christian’s and mine, in our dark room, too tired, too numb to cry. I had lost him too in my childhood, but it had been a natural parting. But this, this was insupportable. That he should die because of one evil man’s lust for power was impossible. Why I was so sure he would die, I don’t know. I just felt it.
Images from that June weekend, images he had told me about, of firing squads and guns, haunted me. A stake chewed up by bullets, a wall splattered by blood, made me cry out and sit up. Who had told me that? David. David had told me. No, Brian.
Oh, God, I thought, don’t let him hurt him. Please don’t let him hurt him.
I lay down again, turning on my side, my face coming to rest against his pillow. I reached for it, smelling him on it, but I couldn’t cry. All I could do was rock back and forth, thinking, Please, don’t let him hurt him. Please-don’t-let-him-hurt-him. Until, finally, I fell asleep.
Sydney was there when I awoke, with a tray of soup and bread- and-butter sandwiches, along with a strong cup of tea, which she made me drink.
“Don’t talk,” she said, “just eat. You’ll be amazed at how much better you’ll feel. And, Sally, there’s still the baby.”
“It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want the baby without him.”
“Sally. You know you don’t mean that. Don’t say that. Eat.” And so I did, not noticing how my rash statement had upset her.
It was early evening by then and I went downstairs with her and sat with her and Mrs. Bushmuller in the sitting room, until Daddy and some other men, Consul General Bushmuller, I think, certainly Mr. Bancroft, who had been in Daddy’s study, joined us. My father had gone that afternoon to see Goring, who, while sympathetic, hadn’t promised much.
The problem was, as my father tried to explain to me, that Christian was a citizen of the Reich and not under the embassy’s protection. The American ambassador really had no business concerning himself with the fate of a German native, the Reichsminister had told him.
“But he’s done nothing wrong,” I protested. “What are they accusing him of—crimes against the state, or some such nonsense?” Daddy believed Heydrich had arrested Christian because he had found out Christian meant not to return from London. I couldn’t tell my father the real reason Heydrich had Christian arrested again, and, actually, I didn’t know. I didn’t really know what had happened the night before, or was it the day before that? Was it that that dream perhaps wasn’t a dream? I think I understood without admitting it that I’d been drugged.
“Aren’t Germans supposed to be so logical?” I blurted out. Everyone looked at me as though I were crazy. Maybe I was. “There must be something we can do.”
“I know, Sally. I know. Please, we’re doing everything we can. Believe me, I want that young man safe and well almost as badly as you do. I’ve grown fond of him and I’ve come to admire his courage.” Daddy sat next to me, not touching me, but sitting close. “I don’t want my grandchild to be without its father any more than you do.”
“Can I get you anything, dear?” Mrs. Bushmuller asked.
“No, I’m fine, thank you,” I replied politely. "Well, we’ll go then,” her husband said. “If you don’t need us any longer?”
“That’s fine. It seems all we can do is wait,” my father said, rising to walk them from the room. I remained, hunched forward on the sofa, thinking.
“The trouble is,” I said to Sydney, sitting across from me on the opposite sofa, “I haven’t been able to think clearly.”
“It is a shock.”
“Yes. I felt like I was the one getting beat-up.” I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to block the image. I jumped up and walked to the fireplace. “The worst thing is, I can’t help but think I could have easily saved him, prevented the whole thing.”
“How do you mean?” Sydney asked. I hadn’t told her about Christian and Heydrich and me and the things that had happened.
I turned to look at her, cool and impeccably clothed in a rose- colored dress, smoking a cigarette. She looked tired too.
“Can I have one of those?”
She raised her eyebrows, but got her case out of her handbag and held it out to me. I lit a cigarette with the silver table lighter.
“Are you okay?” I asked, then wrinkled my nose at the cigarette. I wasn’t inhaling, but the activity, as small and useless as it was, helped. “You look tired.”
She shook her head. “I haven’t wanted to tell you, to add to your worry.”
“Sydney! What? You’re not sick, are you?”
“No.” She leaned forward and snubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray and calmly leaned back again, brushing nonexistent lint off her skirt. “I lost the baby.”
“Oh, Sydney, I’m sorry.” I sat next to her. “I’m so sorry.” I put my arm over her shoulders.
“This wasn’t the first time.”
“Oh, Sydney.”
“Yes.” She smiled sadly. “I don’t know if I can bear to try again. Although Brian says it’s because of this country. Nothing good can grow here now, he says.”
“So, are you leaving?”
“How on earth did you guess we were?”
“I’m not usually so insensitive to other people, just now.”
“Darling, I understand. Really I do.” She put her arm over my shoulder. “Brian’s being transferred to the East, Delhi, I should think.”
“That’s so far away.”
“Yes.”
“When are you leaving?”
“By Christmas. We’re going to England first, to see my parents.”
“Oh, Sydney. I’ll miss you so. Is it a good job for Brian?”
“Yes. He’s very excited about it. He loves India, spent several years out there already.”
We sat for several minutes in silence, my arm over her. I felt a great deal of comfort from her presence, her support. She had been a rare friend to me, nonjudgmental and accepting of me, and I knew that I’d probably never have a better friend.
The door opened and my father came back in the room. He stopped when he saw me. “I didn’t think you smoked, Sally.”
“I just started,” I said, smiling at him.
“My influence, I’m afraid,” said Sydney.
“Hector is going around to talk to Reichsfuhrer Himmler tomorrow morning. He just telephoned to say he was able to make an appointment.” Hector was a German in their foreign service, with whom Daddy had developed a friendly relationship.
But I was staring at the remains of the cigarette; I had an idea. “I remember Heydrich saying Hitler has just returned from Berchtesgaden. Has he?”
“Yes, he has.” My father stood up. “Sally, you’re not going to approach Hitler?”
“No, Daddy. Not yet. But there’s someone else who might be able to help. If she’s here.” And I changed my refrain to: Please, let her be here. “How do we find Eva Braun?”
Sydney had heard my story of meeting the little blonde in Munich and she stood up too. “Do you think she would help?”
“Could she help?” asked my father.
“If I can find her, I’ll ask her.”
“Brian will know,” said Sydney, already on her way out of the room.
“Don’t tell anyone, will you?” I said, looking at each of them, thinking of w
hat Heydrich would do if he found out about my flanking movement. Sydney contacted Brian and he called her back in record time with the confirmation that a Fraulein Braun was staying at the Chancellery. And when Sydney wondered out loud how I could contact her, Brian suggested that I simply telephone.
We all looked at each other stupidly when Sydney relayed Brian’s suggestion to us. My father led me into his study, with Sydney following. Daddy’s secretary was just hanging up the phone.
“Get the Chancellery, Bancroft,” my father directed. “Please ask the operator to connect my daughter. Use her maiden name.”
“Yes, sir,” said the young man, mystified. When the connection was made, he held out the receiver to me without a word.
I took it. A polite man’s voice asked me what he could do. “Hello? This is Sally Jackson Mayr. I wonder if I might have a word with Fraulein Braun?” I covered the mouthpiece with my hand. “He’s put me through, without a word.”
“Hello?” It was a woman’s voice.
“Fraulein Braun?”
“Yes? Who is this?”
“Sally Jackson. I don’t know if you remember me, but we met last spring in Munich, well, in the ladies’ room . . .”
“Oh, yes, of course, the accident with the glass of water.” She laughed, sounding so happy and carefree, I could have throttled her. “How are you, Fraulein?”
“Well, actually, I’m married.”
“You are? How lovely. I know. To that young SS man, the handsome one, yes?”
“Exactly right. We’re expecting, too.”
“Congratulations.”
“He’s a Hauptsturmfuhrer, Fraulein, at the SD, a loyal, hardworking man.”
“He sounds perfect. But, Frau Mayr, if everything is so great, why are you phoning me? I gather it’s not just to say hello,” she said somewhat archly.
“You’re right, Fraulein. I’m sorry. Fraulein, I hate to bother you in the evening, but it is about my husband that I wish to speak.” I turned my back on the other people in the room. I barely noticed that they were leaving, so completely was all my attention focused on the voice on the telephone.
I explained, as briefly as I could, the situation, leaving out any direct condemnation of Heydrich, although I lied and told her that he had told me that he had Christian locked up.
“General Heydrich,” she said softly. “I met him. Once. I did not like him.” She laughed.
“Well, you’re a better judge of people than I.”
“Oh? But, Frau Mayr, if the Hauptsturmfuhrer has done something wrong . . .”
I debated for a fast second if I should tell her of Heydrich’s proposition to me, and since the entire conversation was a gamble, I did so, briefly, without any details.
“And,” I added, “Fraulein, I had been a guest at his home, met his wife and child. Did you know he has a little boy and that his wife is expecting another?”
“Frau Mayr,” she said, “you have given me an idea. I think I know someone who would like to make some trouble for the Terrible Twosome.” She laughed and added: “Heydrich and Himmler. That’s what we call them. I will ask this friend this evening—he is coming for supper—and then I will call you back.”
“Oh, thank you, Fraulein.”
“It will be late. The Fuhrer likes to stay up very late and I will not bother him with this matter. You understand?”
“Yes, of course. I would rather you did not. Thank you.”
“Good-bye,” she said and rang off.
I walked into the hall. Everyone was there and I smiled at them. The silence was intense. “She’s going to help. She remembered me and she doesn’t like Heydrich and knows someone else who doesn’t and who could do something. She’s going to call back. She’s going to help.”
“Thank God,” said my father.
I sat heavily in a chair, suddenly exhausted. “Please, everybody, we can’t do anything more right now. Why don’t you go home, Sydney?”
“Are you sure, Sally?” she asked.
“Sure. Go tell Brian what’s happened and I’ll phone you when Fraulein . . . when my friend . . . calls me back.”
“Okay,” she said, and took her leave.
Daddy dismissed his secretary, and the two of us settled down to wait for the phone call.
It came around two in the morning. I was in my pajamas and robe again, seated in the big leather chair in the study, trying to read a novel. Daddy came in with a cup of hot chocolate for me. “Shouldn’t you try and sleep?” he asked.
“I’ve heard Hitler stays up till three or four in the morning.”
“Yes. I’ve heard that as well.” He sat behind his desk and opened a file, closed it, opened his date book, closed it, and finally just sat.
“I’ve been thinking about Mama,” I said. He didn’t say anything, but I could sense that he was listening. In all the years since my mother died, my father and I had barely mentioned her. “I’ve been thinking how much I miss her.” I bent my head. “I wish she were here, but I’m kind of glad she’s not became she’d be so disappointed in me.”
My father was silent for a long time. I had finished my chocolate before he spoke, in a voice I had never heard before, soft and warm.
“The day you were born was one of the best days of my life. We loved Edward dearly, but you were such a delight. You came at a point when . . .” He swallowed. I didn’t dare look at him for fear he would stop talking. “Your mother and I loved each other, but sometimes things were difficult. She was an extraordinary woman. You must remember that. But when you were born, things were good, we were happy. I was writing my book. She was painting. Your brother was a healthy, lively child, and then there was you. You were perfect. You made everything perfect for us.”
“She always seemed so disappointed in me.”
“She had high expectations, which life usually could not meet. But I know she adored you. I’m sorry you didn’t feel that. Perhaps it was my fault, as well.” I looked at him. He sat with his hands folded on his desk, his head bent forward.
I put my cup down and started to speak. The telephone rang. I leapt out of the chair and snatched the receiver. My father stood up.
“Frau Hauptsturmfuhrer Mayr?” It was a man’s voice.
“Yes. This is she.”
“A mutual friends of ours, a young woman, asked me to telephone you to tell you this message.” He cleared his throat. “She believes everything will be as you asked.” I sat down, my legs giving out, pulling the telephone with me. “Frau Mayr, are you there? Did you hear me?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, I did. Is there any more?”
“Just this—will you have tea with our friend tomorrow afternoon to let her know that things did turn out?”
“Of course. I’d be honored.”
“Come to the entrance on Leipzigerstrasse at four. I will be waiting for you. And, Frau Mayr, I too will be very interested to hear your news.”
“Thank you. I look forward to meeting you, Herr . . .”
“Good night, Frau Mayr,” he said firmly, not responding to my invitation to learn his name.
“Good night. Thank you.”
I filled in the gaps for my father. He, too, was very curious about who the man on the telephone had been but I was too overwhelmed even to speculate.
“Oh, Daddy,” I said, “we have to leave tomorrow. As soon as he is out. We have to leave. We can’t stay in this country a minute longer.”
“We’ll arrange something tomorrow, Sally. But now you ought to go to bed,” he said, clumsily patting my shoulder. “I’m sure you’re very tired.”
“You too,” I said and got up.
He shrugged, dismissing his own exhaustion, which I could see in his face. “Tell me how you thought of Fraulein Braun,” he asked.
“The cigarette that Sydney gave me. And your reaction, your surprise to find me smoking. In the bathroom of the restaurant, when I met her, she smoked a cigarette. She said something about sneaking it.”
“Fancy that,
” said my father and patted my arm again. “Sleep well, Sally.”
“You too, Daddy. You too.” I hesitated, wanting to say more, but he appeared to be more interested in polishing his spectacles. I turned away.
THE END
I WAS AWAKENED the next morning by Sophie, who was knocking on the door to say there was a telephone call for me.
“Who is it?” I called, jumping out of bed, throwing on my robe.
“Maestro von Hohenberg,” said Sophie.
Maestro? I couldn’t imagine why he would be calling me. I hadn’t seen him since I went to the States. I had sent him a note explaining my situation, although I hadn’t told him I was expecting a baby, of course. But so much had happened, he seemed to belong to another life. I wondered if I would always divide life into before and after the arrest. I was wrong about that, but not by much.
“Please, Sally, would you come visit me this morning? Is it too late to ask?” His voice sounded very old and frail.
“Are you all right? Are you ill?”
“No, no, nothing of the sort. I understand there is some trouble and I would like to talk about it with you.”
“Oh, I think that’s over now or will be soon.”
“Yes? Well, perhaps you could come talk about it anyway.”
He sounded so strange and so insistent, quite unlike his usual self that I agreed. I felt uneasy as I hung up the phone—as though there were a tremor far away that would ripple until it reached me. But maybe this was the way Christian would be released. Maybe Fraulein Braun’s friend had involved Maestro, to keep things more discreet. Maybe Christian was, even now, waiting for me at the salle. I hurried upstairs to dress.
In less than an hour, I was on my way to the fencing salle, dressed in my navy coat over my royal-blue suit with the black velvet buttons. I wore my black velvet hat, just a small round circle, with a long blue tassel in the middle of it that fell down over one ear. I looked cockier than I felt.
The Last Innocent Hour Page 51
