Now she was going to shut up. She swirled the goulash gravy into her mashed potatoes, but she had lost her appetite.
Captain Bartoš gave a little cough. “Did your father mention that President Beneš is coming here next week? The men are very excited.”
Lena avoided eye contact with Father for the rest of the meal and tried to make small talk with Ernst. Inside, she was seething, reliving the argument in her head, running through all the counterpoints she could have offered if they had not been in such a public setting. Of course she and her friends had been stunned by the Hitler-Stalin pact. It made no sense. Coming on the heels of the revelations about the atrocities and show trials in the Soviet Union, it was completely demoralizing. But that didn’t mean they should abandon their dreams of changing the world.
She recalled the slums she’d seen from the train coming through Birmingham, the rows of crumbling terraced housing, the grimy poverty. No one should have to live like that. There were plenty of resources to go around in this rich country. Just take a look at this place, the castle and its splendid grounds. It was fine as an army base, but the thought that in peacetime it would house just one family: what an outrage! Ernst had told her before dinner that Lord Somebody-or-Other who owned it was now confined to a mere ten rooms in the east wing. Ten rooms! What made him any better than the people who lived in the slums?
At one time, Lena had placed so much hope in the socialist system that the Bolsheviks were creating. It was incomprehensible that they were now allied with the Nazis, but Otto maintained it was a strategic move on Stalin’s part, to buy more time. She hoped that was true. Not that Father would have accepted that argument. But she didn’t want to fight with him in public. Angry as she was, it didn’t seem right to insult him in front of his men.
She would have to find an opportunity to tell him she was married. Father had asked her nothing about her life in England, how she’d arrived here, whom she was with. And he still hadn’t noticed her ring. She’d been hiding that finger as much as possible—tucking the left hand into her pocket or covering it with the right. Her identity card still had her maiden name, and she’d been presented to everyone as Miss Kulkova. But she would have to tell Father soon.
Captain Bartoš had noticed when they were first introduced, before dinner. Father stepped away to converse with another officer. Lena lifted her hand to chase a stray lock of hair, and she saw the captain’s eyes rest on the ring. She was standing in the sunshine, and it must have caught the light. A look of confusion crossed his face.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I thought I heard your father say you were Miss Kulkova.” He kept his voice low; Lena didn’t think anyone else had heard. She had no choice but to throw herself at his mercy.
“I haven’t told my father yet,” she whispered.
Captain Bartoš nodded and smiled.
They emerged after dinner and stood in a small group, taking in the view from the terrace. The lake shimmered in the evening glow; beyond lay the throng of tents. A fish flashed into sight, before disappearing again below the surface. To the left, a row of tall poplars cast long shadows across the gravel driveway circle.
“It’s beautiful,” Lena said. “Can we walk a little before it gets dark?”
“Yes, yes,” Father said with a vague wave. “Go ahead. Ernst can show you around.”
“Please, come with me,” Lena said. “We need to talk.”
“I don’t see what else there is to say, Lena. You know we’ll never see eye to eye on these matters.”
“I’m not talking about politics. There are other things. . . .” She made a move toward the lake. “Can we go this way?”
He followed her down the driveway. Ernst, too. Their feet crunched on the gravel. They passed a green Bedford lorry stacked with crates; two young officers were inspecting the contents. Father peered inside.
“Good, good,” he said, with a nod of approval. He turned to Lena. “Finally we’re getting some decent weapons. At one time, our army was one of the best equipped in Europe. But we left it all for Hitler.”
“Father,” Lena said. She would just have to come right out with it. “I have to tell you something: I’m married.”
“What?”
“I got married.”
“When was this?”
“Oh . . . last week.” She couldn’t bring herself to say “two days ago.”
“Last week? When you already knew I was coming over here?” His voice rose several decibels. “You couldn’t have waited to ask my permission?”
“Father,” she said, trying to keep calm. “I am twenty-one years old. I don’t need your permission.” She aimed for a path that led around the field containing the tents.
“Who’s the lucky man?” Ernst asked.
“Otto,” she said. “Otto Eisenberg.”
“Not that communist you associated with in Prague,” Father said. “What’s he doing over here?”
“He’s doing what everyone else is doing: running away from Hitler.”
“He’s German, isn’t he?”
“Yes. He was almost arrested in Berlin in ’33.”
“Why on earth did you do this, Lena?” Father said. “This is not a good time to think about marriage, with the war and everything. You should have waited until you had discussed it with me.”
“This can’t be a good time to be married to a German,” Ernst piped in.
Lena clenched her fists and dug her fingernails into her palms. She stopped. Father and Ernst continued for another two steps and then turned to look back at her. She was not going to put up with this. She had not come all this way to be insulted. She was a grown woman, and she deserved some respect.
“For your information, it was Otto who found a way to get me out of Paris just before the invasion,” she said. She could feel her voice quivering. She was determined not to burst into tears. “And I married him because I love him,” she heard herself say. “You could just wish me well, instead of always having to criticize everything I do.”
“Yes, but . . . ,” Ernst said.
He sounded just like Father. “Not you, too,” she shouted.
Lena spun around and retraced her steps toward the officers’ mess, where she feigned a headache and asked to retire early. She was shown to a small room with a cot and a washstand, right off the officers’ meeting room. She lay awake, listening to the sounds of laughter next door, before exhaustion finally overtook her and drove her into a deep sleep.
The following morning, Ernst rode with her in the army lorry to take her back to the station. It was much cooler, and a haze hung over the valley. The lorry was noisy and creaky, the seat uncomfortable. Ernst chatted with the driver, a sergeant from Plzeň; Lena couldn’t hear their conversation over the roar of the engine. She tried to remember how far it was into town. It had seemed close on the motorcycle the day before, but now it was taking forever.
She was glad that half her family was here in England. But she couldn’t help feeling as if it was the wrong half. She was furious with Father, and the way Ernst had to agree with everything he said was pathetic. She understood their journey had thrown them together, but couldn’t he see that Father was being unreasonable?
It was Máma and Sasha whom she missed most, now more than ever, with a raw craving. The arguments themselves conjured up memories of fights at home, of Máma’s attempts to smooth things over, and Lena’s retreat to Sasha’s bedroom to cuddle her and read a bedtime story; she could almost smell Sasha’s soft skin now, feel her leaning into her, hear her laughter. She thought of Máma and Sasha stuck in Prague, tried to imagine what their life was like. Máma would be worried about them all. Lena must try to get a letter to her, make inquiries about the Thomas Cook arrangement.
At the station, Ernst offered her a hand as she jumped down from the cab. They stood on the curb, half a meter apart. He rearranged the cap on his head.
“How long will you be based here?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Wh
o knows?” Now he fiddled with the collar of his tunic. It was as if he were playing dress-up in a costume that didn’t fit.
“I don’t know when . . . if I could afford to come again,” Lena said.
He nodded. “I understand.”
“So.” They seemed to have run out of things to say. “Take good care of yourself.” She gave him a quick hug.
“You too.”
She entered the station. She was ready to go home. Home? Yes, home to Upper Wolmingham. That was her home, for the time being, at least, a place where she could be herself and be among people who saw the world as she saw it. She had told her father that she loved Otto. Was that true? It had just tumbled out. Yet she and Otto, and Peter and all the others—they were all in this together. Otto an orphan, estranged from his brother, Peter an only child, his parents quite elderly already; there was no news from them. Lotti worried about her mother, who had been in poor health for many years. Emil was separated from his brother; no word from Josef since the letter from Lithuania. All they had now was each other. Otto was right about that. She had escaped Paris and he had escaped internment, and they had each other. And the beautiful village, and the warmth of Muriel’s family. That was home.
Lena returned to Oak Tree Cottage four trains and many hours later. The evening was warm, the back door open to the sweet, still air. She could see the others in the back, but Otto was on the sofa, reading. He jumped up immediately and pulled her into a fierce, urgent hug that took her by surprise.
“How was your father?” he asked.
“Otto, what’s wrong?” she said at the same time.
Otto picked up The Times and pointed to a headline: ARANDORA STAR TORPEDOED.
“I don’t understand,” Lena said.
“Read it.”
Lena quickly scanned the page. The Arandora Star, loaded with 1,500 enemy aliens, internees being deported to Canada, had been struck by a German U-boat off the coast of Ireland. Seven hundred were confirmed drowned.
“I think people I knew from the racetrack were on that ship,” Otto said. There was a tremulous quality to his voice that Lena had never heard before.
“What?”
“People were being sent off. No one knew where, but there were rumors.”
Lena looked again at the article. “But it says here only confirmed Nazis were deported.”
“I don’t believe it. They were selecting people completely at random.” He pulled her head onto his chest. “Remember that young boy I told you about? Karl was his name.” He made a guttural sound in his throat, as if he were about to say more but the words were ambushed there. He ran his fingers through her hair. Lena yielded to a new wave of tenderness. Otto wasn’t perfect, but he was here with her, and she didn’t want to be alone. She looked up into his eyes. There was a new vulnerability in his face that perturbed Lena and charmed her at the same time.
“I could have been on that boat,” he said, his voice choking. “They called me, but I gave my place to Karl so he could be with his father.”
They went out for a walk in the indigo twilight, strolling hand in hand toward the recreation ground. The swallows—or were they bats?—swooped between the trees, the vibration of their wings a parting chorus for the fading day. Lena looked across the field to the woods beyond, to the distant spire of the church at Elminghurst peeking over the treetops. The view was familiar, but something in the landscape had shifted.
CHAPTER 26
SUSSEX, AUGUST 1940
Lena walked to the shop to get bread. She opened the door—and literally bumped into Eva. They both gave a startled cry.
“Eva! Dobré nebesa! What on earth are you doing here?”
“I was just asking directions to your house,” Eva laughed. She adjusted a gray and mauve hat that was perched on her head at a jaunty angle.
“I thought you were coming tomorrow.”
“I came a day early. To spend more time together,” Eva said. “I hope that’s all right.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
“You don’t sound so sure.”
“No, of course it’s wonderful. You just took me by surprise.” Lena wrapped her in a hug. “You look very smart.” Eva’s dress matched her hat, the material stiff and starchy, obviously brand new.
Eva gave a nonchalant shrug. “Oh, well, you know.”
“How on earth could you afford a dress like that?”
“I met someone. He treated me.”
“Eva, you’re amazing. I don’t know how you do it. I have to get some bread,” Lena said, taking her by the arm.
“This village is very picturesque,” Eva said. “It’s like something out of a fairy tale.”
Lena switched to English as she led the way back into the shop. “Later, I will show you everything.”
But Eva continued in Czech. “Už jsem to viděla. I walked all the way from the station. I think I’ve seen most of what there is.”
Lena laughed. “There’s so much more! I have to show you the fields and the woods, and wait till you see Muriel’s house! It’s fifteenth-century, really charming.”
Back at Oak Tree Cottage, Lena put the water on for tea. Otto sat outside in the garden with the newspaper, poring over the list of names of people lost on the Arandora Star. The others were out for a walk.
“I went to see my father and Ernst up in Cheshire at the Czech army base the week before last,” Lena said. “My father hasn’t changed one bit. He’s still trying to tell me how to lead my life. We got into one argument after another.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Have you heard anything from your family?”
“No, nothing,” Eva said, as Lena fiddled with the primus stove, trying to turn up the flame. “So, tell me all about your wedding. How did Otto propose? Was it very romantic?”
Lena laughed lightly. “It wasn’t quite like that. We more or less had to get married to keep Otto out of trouble with the authorities here. But we’re happy. He’s being very nice to me these days.”
“He was certainly very keen to get you here.”
“What about you and Heinz?” Lena said. “What happened with those plans to go to America?”
Eva took a deep breath. “I have no idea where Heinz is,” she said. “He was arrested by the French police. About a month before the invasion.”
“Oh my God. Why?”
“Initially on some sort of visa technicality, I believe. But then they discovered one of his schemes. You know, all that black-market stuff.”
Lena carried a tray with a teapot, a bottle of milk, and two thick white mugs into the living room and set it on the floor in front of the sofa. She looked at Eva, waiting for more.
“To be honest,” Eva said, “I lost touch with him just before he was arrested.”
“What do you mean?”
“We had an argument. I went away for a couple of days to see my cousin in Normandy. I came home early.”
Eva averted her eyes and picked up the cat, which was rubbing up against her ankles, and settled him on her lap.
“I came home and found Heinz with Marguerite,” she said. “She was leaving his apartment, looking flustered and shocked to see me. I was livid. I said things I shouldn’t have said, wouldn’t listen to anything she was trying to tell me. I refused to speak to either of them again.”
“Marguerite was with Heinz?”
“That’s what I thought. But she wrote me a note, said it had all been a big misunderstanding. But I refused to see her. Until it was too late.” Eva’s hands began to tremble as she continued: “The Germans were advancing. I went to find her so we could leave Paris together. But she had already left.”
“Where did she go?”
“I’m not sure. I suppose she was heading for her aunt and uncle’s place in the South. That’s what Mme. Verbié said. You remember your Mme. Verbié?”
“Yes, of course.”
“She was very nice to me. By that time, it was difficult to get on any trains leaving t
he city. She found a neighbor to take me in his car. Squeezed me in with his wife and their three dogs and all their luggage. French Jews. I rode with them as far as Poitiers.”
“What happened to Marguerite?”
“I don’t know. It was utter chaos on the roads. There was no way to find her. In the end, I had to save myself and get south as fast as possible. I heard about the Czech army base at Agde, and that there were ships leaving from there for England, and I decided to go there.”
A silence fell between them. Masaryk purred on.
“I feel so bad about this, Lena. I know you must hate me. Marguerite and I always said we would stick together. I let her down. I was being so stupid and stubborn. I just hope she’s safe somewhere in the unoccupied zone.”
Lena placed her arms around Eva and rocked her gently. The cat jumped off with a squawk. Lena said, “I don’t blame you. You weren’t to know it would turn out that way. Everything is shifting all the time. You can’t have an ordinary argument anymore. When you’re ready to smooth things over, the other person could have disappeared. Missing. Like so many.”
The next morning, they woke up to a new decree from the Home Office that sent them into a frenzy. All foreign nationals, so-called “friendly” or not, were to be banished from the “sensitive areas” within forty miles of the south coast. They would all have to leave Upper Wolmingham.
There were to be no exceptions. The good news was that other restrictions were to be lifted. The refugees would be able to work. The powers that be finally realized it made no sense to keep them idle when factories were desperate. The Czech Refugee Office would assign them to employment in essential sectors and help locate housing in London. And the men would be permitted to join the Pioneer Corp, constructing bomb shelters. There were hints that even the British armed forces were a possibility.
Emil was ecstatic. He was determined to fly with the RAF. He fashioned paper planes out of newspaper and aimed them across the room, adding sound effects to simulate the drone of engines and the crashing of bombs.
“You could apply, too, Tomas,” he said.
“Don’t be absurd,” Tomas said. “They’ll never take me with my eyesight.”
When It's Over Page 18
