But she had had to leave them this afternoon, she could not have another baby, she had to get rid of it. Perhaps Joe would be late back from work, she would get home and he wouldn’t know anything was wrong.
It must have seemed like a golden opportunity to Joe. An opportunity that wouldn’t occur again in a hurry. He hadn’t believed the story about an old university friend and he wasn’t sure what it was she was up to, but this was too good an opportunity to miss.
“Josie, take your brothers out into the garden.”
“But Daddy....”
“No ‘buts’. Do as you’re told. Now. And don’t come back inside until you’re told to. I’ll call you when you can bring them in.”
Monika lifted the boys out of their high chairs and went to carry them out to the garden, holding her hand out for Josie to hang on to as they went. What could Joe have in mind? The children hadn’t finished their tea.
“Not you, Monika. I want a word with you.”
She put the boys down. She knew better than to cross him.
“Now Monika, its my turn.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s my turn. With you. You don’t belong to Charles and the German, it’s my turn now.”
It took a few moments for Monika to realise what he was saying but then the look in his eyes reminded her of the past.
“That’s not true!” She tried to think of a way out of this. She had to keep him talking. She must not let him do what she knew he was going to try to do. She tried to make sure the kitchen table was between them.
“Of course it is. Everyone knows what you and those two perverts get up to. Now I want some of it.” All the middle class façade he had wrapped around himself for the past 8 years was gone.
He was too quick for her, darting round the table he grabbed both her wrists with one of his hands and with the other reached under her skirt. She remembered thinking that he seemed very skilled at practically undressing her with only one hand. He was very strong. She struggled to free her arms from his grip. He was unzipping his trousers when she managed to free one of her hands – she reached back behind her, desperately trying to find something to hit him with – she had to distract him – there had to be something....
She had been raped too often during the war, she had been forced too many times, to let it happen again – after all those years of peace and happiness she would not, could not, let it happen.
Her hand found the handle of the bread knife.
She swung her arm round in a wide arc the blade facing forwards. His shirt offered no resistance and the blade slid into his side. It jarred in her hand as it glanced off a rib and dug even further into his body. She let go of the knife as his grip weakened. He let her go.
He had cut himself many times, on the boat. Fishing hooks, blades and thick canvass needles had stuck in his legs, arms and hands. He knew that it was essential to do these things without thinking of the pain. You just did it. You worried about the pain later. He reached round and gripped the knife and pulled it out of his body. The pain in his side and in the palm of his hand took his concentration for just long enough for Monika to squeeze past him. She headed towards the door, reaching down to pull up her pants as she tried to run.
But even with the pain, perhaps even because of it, Joe was quicker. He pushed her out of the way swearing at her. Vicious fucking bitch’ was all she could make out as he headed through the door and into the garden.
“Oh my Christ – the children!”
She ran after him – she must save the children from him – God knows what he would do to them.
He still had the bloody knife in his hand.
By the time she reached the garden he had the three babies in a bear hug in his arms, Josie was struggling and had got away from her father. The young girl was staring at the red stain spreading rapidly across his shirt and the knife still held in one of his hands. “Aunty Monika?” Josie, frightened and confused, started to cry.
“Is everything all right there?” a voice came from the neighbour’s garden, the thick hedge preventing him from seeing what was going on.
“Absolutely. No problem – just the children playing up a bit while they wait for their mummy to get home.” Joe sounded almost normal.
“Good, good, try to keep the noise down old chap – it’s such a lovely evening out in the garden.”
“Shut the fuck up.” He did not shout, he did not want the neighbour to hear – but he said it with sufficient menace to silence Monika and Josie.
He was walking quickly out of the side gate clutching the three young children in his arms. They saw him turn right, towards the sea.
Josie bent down and picked up the knife her father had dropped. “No!” screamed Monika as she grabbed it out of Josie’s hand and ran inside to the phone.
“Come quick! Come quick! He has taken the children. He has gone mad!”
“What do you mean ‘he has taken the children’?”
“He’s taken them to the sea.”
Max had answered the phone and immediately decided to divide resources. There was no time for explanations – he realised the gravity of the situation.
It was a good thing he had answered the phone, time would have been wasted if Charles had done so as Monika had spoken in German – a language she had not used since she had come to England 22 years before.
“Charles, go to the quay. Joe has taken the children.”
“I am going to the house – Monika is hurt. No Charles, you go to the boat, take Carl with you – stop Joe from taking the children on the boat. Run!”
The brothers had quite a way to go – the quay was far nearer Joe and Susannah’s house than it was to Sandhey – there was no way they could get there first. But they had to try. It would be quicker to run along the beach than to drive.
They ran.
When Max reached the house Monika was standing by the kitchen table. Josie was standing behind her, holding onto the hem of her skirt with her thumb in her mouth, as she had done when she was a young child.
Taking in the bloodied knife on the table in front of Monika and the tears in her dress, Max did not take long to read the situation pretty accurately.
“Oh my dear girl! He didn’t try to...”
She nodded, her eyes dull, her face as lifeless as it had been when they had looked out over the unterseeboot 25 years earlier.
“Did he...”
She shook her head, lifting up the bloodied knife.
“Is he badly hurt? My dear child we need to know. If he has gone on a boat with the children and he is wounded.... it will be dangerous.”
She shook her head, then nodded, then shook it again then cried out “I don’t know! I don’t know! He mustn’t harm the children! Oh the poor children!”
“What about the ‘poor children’ where are they? What is happening?”
Susannah had arrived home.
Carl and Charles reached the quay to see the children crammed into the skiff with their father who was rowing out to the fishing boat. He was not making a very good job of it as he was obviously hurt. He was favouring one side, the boat was not travelling in a straight line.
They watched with the dawning realisation that the boat was not making headway and had been caught in the current of a channel in the incoming tide.
It was not making any progress, it was being swept along – Joe had no control over it – he was fighting the oars so hard he was not even trying to hold onto the children.
Charles yelled at a man in a boat completely unaware of what was going on “Help us! We’ve got to get out there!.
“No way. Tide’s running. They’re gone”
“Jimmy, for fucks sake it’s your brother!” Carl had recognised the fisherman.
“No room.” With no redundant words Jimmy pushed Carl away from his boat and pushed off into the water.
Charles and Carl watched Jimmy rowing strongly, swiftly catching his wounded brother. They saw him trying to lift
the young boys to safety from the tiny skiff, yelling at Joe to stop trying to row. He was taking no notice. Jimmy said afterwards that it seemed like Joe just had to get away. He was trying to row with his right hand – his left arm was useless now the full impact of the knife wound was making itself felt. Jimmy had had to lean on the skiff to grab the children, then it just careered over, throwing Joe into the sea.
He had grown up within spitting distance of the sea, he had been a fisherman, made a living from the treacherous waters; but he could not swim. His survival instinct made him try to do some kind of doggy paddle to keep afloat but he was hurt. His left arm would not work properly, his head went under. His brother tried to reach him but watched helplessly as he was swept out of reach.
He hadn’t stood much of a chance once he was in the water.
Chapter Thirty-Two
They all sat around the fire, specially lit even though it was July.
Susannah’s thoughts she spoke out loud. “Do you think he remembered when he saved me? Do you think he thought about me as he was swept away? Do you think he remembered saving me?”
“Did he ever think of anyone but himself?”
The police were gentle when they interviewed Susannah but she couldn’t help their investigations. She had been out all day.
It was Monika they were hard on.
Monika had been looking after the children as she frequently did. The deceased had come home early. No, she didn’t know why. No, there was nothing ‘going on’ between her the deceased. Monika would not allow such a thing. Had the deceased come home knowing his wife would be out in order to have an assignation with her? Why would he try to assault Monika? Did Monika encourage him? Had Monika led him on? Why had she stabbed him? Was it a lovers’ quarrel? He loved his children he would not harm them, would he?
Monika tearfully made her statement, haltingly, with Max standing with her trying to help her. She seemed to have forgotten all her English. She spoke in an almost unintelligable mixture of languages, part French, part German and an Austrian dialect she would have sworn she had entirely forgotten.
Max, increasingly concerned, translated for her. He would have been better making her speak in English as the policemen had already made up their mind that ‘the foreign bit’ had murdered her lover after a quarrel sparked by his refusing to leave his young family and set up home with her.
Monika’s mind had had enough and as the questioning continued she could only cry, looking from person to person in the room, not taking anything in.
It was left to Max to try to sort the police out. He told them they were wrong. There had been no relationship, Monika was simply looking after the children. She was an old friend of the family and had been the young widow’s nanny. The deceased had attacked her for no reason and, when she had wounded him defending herself and the children, he had run to the sea.
Was there any way they could not believe one of the most eminent men in the district?
Even though he, too, was foreign.
The ladies at their coffee mornings and the newspapers had a field day.
“It must have been the wife. She was mad with jealousy because she had found out he was having an affair.”
“It was the wife but she was depressed, who wouldn’t be after having three children in as many years.”
“He was trying to murder the children and the nanny saved them.”
“It was the nanny, she wanted him for herself.”
“It was self defence, he was trying to rape her.”
The two local papers were divided, one decided that Monika, the mysterious foreigner, had wormed her way into their life and was definitely not the innocent victim she made herself out to be. The other paper decided that Susannah was the guilty one, driving her hard working husband to despair.
It was a difficult time for everyone.
Max tried to keep Monika’s and Charles’s spirits up but it was difficult in the face of the hostility they met. No one who knew them personally believed that there was anything untoward between the occupants of Sandhey, but the great majority who didn’t were sure there was something ‘odd’ about the household.
Monika’s history was raked over, everyone in the office was interviewed about how she came to be in this country and what her relationship with the Donaldsons had been. Her papers were investigated for irregularities. The policeman who conducted the interviews made it clear he didn’t like foreigners. “Bloody foreigners. Should have stayed where they were. We don’t want them here.” “Anyone who speaks German must be German,” he was heard to say “and I spent six years of my life fighting them. I’m hanged if I’m going to be nice to them now.” “I don’t know why we’re wasting all our valuable time, it’s obvious they killed that poor bloke. We don’t know why but we’ll find out.”
The police had a particular interest in Max’s relationship with Monika especially when they found that he had sponsored her arrival in England after the war.
They felt there had to be more to it when their enquiries about Max met official silence and the Chief Constable became involved.
Monika was looking after the Parry children at their house, so when the Inspector called at Sandhey to explain their conclusions he was shown through to Max, who received him in his study. Although quite elderly he was still an impressive figure behind his leather-topped desk. He did not stand when the policeman was admitted. He did not ask him to sit.
Eventually the Inspector spoke. “We will not be pressing any charges. “He did not want to say “Sir”.
“Miss Monika …”
“Mrs” corrected Max.
“Mrs Monika …” he looked down at his notes very obviously even though he had interviewed her several times and was undoubtedly very familiar with her name “Heller. Mrs Heller need have no concerns about any charges relating to the death of Mr Joe Parry.”
“You accept then that it was self defence?”
“We will not be pressing any charges.” The policeman hesitated rather too long for politeness. “Sir.”
“And Susannah?”
“She is not your responsibility. Sir. We will let her know our decision in person.”
“I beg your pardon, Inspector.” The uplift in his voice seemed to question the rank of the officer with whom he was dealing. “I beg your pardon, but Mrs Parry is very much my responsibility. You should know that her father gave her into my guardianship before he died. Both Mrs Parry and her brother, Charles, are very much my responsibility.”
“Oh yes,” the policeman said not really bothering to keep the smirk from his voice “Oh yes, of course, Mr Charles Donaldson is also your ‘responsibility’ isn’t he?”
It was difficult to see how much more rude he could have been.
Max realised that the policeman wanted him to lose his temper. He had been in this position many times before – it was a normal way of getting people in an interview, or interrogation, to reverse their roles. The weaker gets the stronger to lose his temper.
Max stood up. He spoke very quietly.
“Am I to understand from what you say that you have listened to rumour and innuendo and that you have allowed that rumour and innuendo to cloud your judgement as a police officer? Is that what all this investigation into my ward’s husband’s death is all about?”
“I expect you to know my standing in this community.” Max continued with just a hint of veiled threat in his voice “I expect you to treat me with respect due to that standing. I do not expect to have to remind you that not all bachelors are queer, and that not all people who care for their fellow human beings have an ulterior motive. You have put this household through a very difficult time simply because of your prejudices. I could have gone to your superiors as soon as the incident occurred and ensured that there was no proper investigation if I, or anyone in my household, had had anything to hide. But I did not. I have a great belief in the British Justice system that even your grubby behaviour does not shake. I have said enough. Ple
ase now go.”
Max realised that he had said too much, he had not lost his temper but he had said too much. He knew what people said about him and had been saying for years, but the strain of seeing people he cared for being put through so much anguish and uncertainty because of prejudice was too much for him.
It was one of the reasons he had left Austria 40 years earlier.
Carl, not being able to resist listening in on this interview between Max and the Inspector, found answers to some of his questions and gained something of an understanding of what Charles felt for this strange old man.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Susannah was very ill after the events of that dreadful day. The delay over an inquest and the uncertainty over police action did not help her state of mind so she came to stay with her mother and me at Millcourt.
She did not want to see her children. She didn’t want to talk of the events of that day.
Susannah and Alicia were surprisingly generous to each other. Perhaps they both realised the other’s vulnerability.
I had worried that Susannah would blame her mother, blame all her misfortunes on Alicia’s abandonment of her family.
But she didn’t.
I thought perhaps Alicia wouldn’t recognise how disturbed her daughter was.
But she did.
Alicia had one last chance to be a mother to her daughter – and she did try, increasing her drug dose to what I considered to be dangerous levels to help give her sufficient strength to support her daughter. They had some catching up to do.
So they listened to each other’s problems and answered some of the other’s questions. I believed that she had forgotten the visitors at Millcourt the night before the incident but I prayed anyway that Alicia would not mention or disclose the identity of the friend Charles had been with when they had tried to save Joe and the children.
This was not the time for Carl and Susannah to meet again.
I would sit reading, listening to music and smoking whilst they talked or rested together. I couldn’t help but reflect that these were the same rooms where Susannah had had whooping cough and Alicia had not been here to nurse her – having left for Switzerland the week before. These were the rooms where Monika had held sway. It hadn’t been that many years ago. 22 years. A lifetime in some ways but in others, especially to someone nearing 60, it seemed like no time at all.
The Last Dance Page 31
