by Lyn Cote
“Good-bye,” Ilsa said, weeping. “Write soon.”
“I will. Love you.” And Gretel hung up. She embraced Bette, glad to have someone to share this moment with, someone who loved her.
“I knew they’d be thrilled to hear from you,” Bette said at last. “Drake called my parents today and they’ll be writing you, too.”
“I’ve been without family for so long.” Gretel hugged herself and continued weeping. “I regret cutting off communication with Ilsa, with you. But the war . . .
“Why don’t you fly home with me after the trials are over?” Bette invited.
Gretel tried to grin, wiping her tears with a handkerchief. “You Americans, you think money grows on trees.”
Bette shrugged. “If you don’t think Drake would gladly pay your fare—”
Gretel held up both hands. “Stop. I can’t.”
“Why not? Wouldn’t you like to visit them?”
“I don’t think I will ever go back to America.” Gretel was able to take a deep breath once more. “My life is moving in a different direction.”
“What direction?” Bette asked.
“Palestine.”
Bette couldn’t speak for a few seconds. This was one answer she had never expected. “Palestine?”
“Yes, I want to walk where the prophets walked. I want to see the land of milk and honey.”
“Can you get a visa?”
Gretel shrugged. “I didn’t get a visa when I came back to Europe. I don’t intend to ask anyone’s permission for this trip either,” she added with an imperious lift of her chin. “I’m a Jew and I’m going to live or die in Palestine. I didn’t come back to Germany to stay. Frankly, I can’t stomach the people.” Gretel’s lip curled in disdain. “I remember how they screamed for Der Fuehrer.”
Gretel’s loathing came through clearly and it struck a chord in Bette. How could Hitler—one man—destroy so many lives? “But what kind of future can you have in Palestine? The Arabs won’t welcome you with open arms. You might even be deported.”
Gretel shrugged again. “Nazis didn’t stop me. Arabs won’t either.”
The next evening after a call from Souers in which he gave her his coded reply to her telegram, Bette waited in the same spot for Gretel to come out among the other interpreters. Gretel appeared and came directly to her. “Come with us,” she invited again. “We’re going to a small café for supper.”
Bette nodded and walked beside her friend. Listening to the strangers all chatting in a mixture of English and German, Bette tried to keep calm. Inwardly, though, she hopped from one foot to the other like a child awaiting a treat. Souers’s reply to her coded cable had come swiftly and she knew what she needed to do. Would Gretel agree?
After supper, Bette invited Gretel back to her hotel again. Gretel had obviously recognized the urgency in Bette’s eyes and agreed. In the room, Bette did something different than she had last night, but very necessary tonight. She went over the room with her eyes and then in places with her hands, feeling under lampshades and behind the lone picture frame. Perhaps she was being too careful. But in her work, could one be too cautious? She turned to Gretel. “We need to talk.”
“What were you doing just now?” Gretel asked, staring at her, her brows drawn together.
“Before I broach a certain topic, I needed to know that no one had planted any listening devices.”
Understanding smoothed Gretel’s forehead. She grinned. “I thought you said that you were a spy ‘before and during’ the war.” Gretel lifted a quizzical eyebrow.
Bette grinned and then became serious. “I thought I retired, but then Curt asked for a divorce. The OSS was dissolved after the war. Now I’ve been recruited by the new Central Intelligence Agency.” She sank down on the end of the bed and folded one leg under her self-consciously. Gretel was the first person from her “real” life she’d ever told about her secret life. “I was sent to Europe to observe and make contacts.” Barely taking a breath, she went on, “You hated Hitler. Do you hate Stalin?”
Gretel’s reply came instantly. “Yes.”
“Because of your Resistance days, you have contacts in Europe, which may be useful to me and to the CIA. Souers checked with some reputable Resistance contacts and you were known to them. And of course, I vouched for you. Now, Gretel, would you be willing to give me names, places, and passwords that will introduce me to your friends in the former Resistance? I believe the people who fought Hitler may also fight Stalin. And my boss agrees.”
Gretel walked to the window and peered out into the twilight. “I will—for a price.”
This surprised and interested Bette. What would Gretel want? “What is your price?”
“Safe passage to Palestine after this trial is over.”
Bette considered it. Smuggling Gretel into Palestine and providing her with forged documents would be child’s play for Souers. “I don’t think that would be a problem.”
“Then we have a deal.” Gretel walked to her and offered her hand.
Exhilarated, Bette shook it firmly and then leaped up to embrace Gretel. It felt so good to have someone she loved know the truth, one who understood what she did. Both of them had forged lives that neither could have predicted. “It’s hard to believe that we were those two young girls who used to sleep in the small bedroom upstairs at Ivy Manor, isn’t it?”
Gretel squeezed her close. “We were always different, yes, but together in spirit. Let us begin.”
Bette stepped back, surprised. “Tonight?”
“Yes.” Gretel’s hands became fists. “What if I am hit by a car on the way home tonight? One thing I learned in the Resistance: never leave anything until tomorrow because tomorrow may never come.”
Nodding soberly, Bette went to the small, scarred desk and sat down. “You’ll have to speak slowly because as you give it, I’m going to take down your information in a shorthand that only I know.”
Gretel followed Bette and pulled up the chair and sat. “I will give you names, places, and passwords—everything. And I will send word for my friends to expect you.”
Bette’s hand cramped. Gretel had kept her busy scribbling for almost an hour and a half. Bette tapped the sheaf of ten pages of coded notes on the desktop. Gretel rose. “I must get home and sleep. If I stay out any longer, my roommates will be suspicious.”
Tired but still elated at her progress, Bette followed her to the door. Gretel’s information would give her a place to start, access to a great many eyes and ears that the CIA would put to work. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the lunch recess.”
A brisk knock came at the door. Both Gretel and Bette froze. Bette shook off the feeling that something awful was waiting for her on the other side of the door. Still, she went to her bag and pulled out a small, cold pistol, which she slipped into her pocket. I am a journalist here, reporting on the Nuremberg trials and I have papers to prove it. And Gretel has a new German passport and is an interpreter. Bette opened the door.
Ted Gaston sauntered in and took her into his arms.
She was so shocked that he kissed her before she could push against his arms, stopping him. “Ted!”
“Guten Abend, mein Herr,” Gretel said, watching everything with an interested eye.
Unabashed, Ted looked up and smiled. “Same to you, Fräulein.”
Bette pulled free of Ted’s arms. “Gretel, this is my friend Ted.”
Grinning, Gretel offered her hand to Ted. He shook it and smiled. “Fräulein, you were just going, I take it?”
“Ted,” Bette objected, flushing with embarrassment.
Gretel chuckled. “I will see you tomorrow, Bette.” With a broad smile, she picked up her purse and walked out and closed the door behind her.
Bette scanned Ted. He was tan and lean and grinning—nothing like the dour or wasted men she’d watched in court today.
Ted gathered Bette into his arms once more. She couldn’t take it all in—his appearing out of the blue. A rush of pleasure ma
de it impossible for her to form words. She knew she should tell him no. And yet, being in his arms felt so . . . wonderful. “Why are you here?” Her mind scrambled for a logical reason for his being here. “Is the FBI operating in Germany now?”
Ted grinned. “Of course not. I had some vacation time and decided to tour Europe.”
An unwelcome thought: he must know about Curt leaving her. Did he think she’d have an affair with him now that they were a continent away from prying eyes? Bette shook her head at him, leaning back from him. “That makes perfect sense. Europe’s so scenic now after a world war.”
Ted chuckled. Before she knew what he was doing, he was kissing her again. Her mind went back—all those years ago—to that evening in New York City when he’d first kissed her. The passing of time had no effect. Ted’s kisses and touch were just as enticing now as they had been then. Her pulse raced and she thrilled as he lowered his lips to her neck.
But she had to remember that though Curt had betrayed her, she was still married. And pregnant. She stiffened her resolve. “Why have you come?” she asked in a cool voice turning away her face.
“I would think that was patently obvious.”
Stung, she shoved against his shoulders. “I still don’t do affairs.” Hovering near, he looked into her eyes. She stilled.
“I don’t remember asking you to have an affair with me today.” His voice was casual.
“I don’t—”
“What is wrong with the few kisses between very good friends?”
His kisses meant more than friendship; she knew that much. It was hard to be strong. He felt so good, holding her. And she had been alone for so long. For a few moments, she’d allowed herself to relish the texture of his lips, the scent of his lime aftershave, his desire for her. Curt had rejected her, but this man wanted her. But now she blurted out the first thought that came to mind. “Curt wants a divorce.”
He murmured into her ear, “I know all about Curt.”
She waited for him to toss back into her face all his pre-war warnings about Curt. But instead, he went on holding her. Ted’s touch was a seductive balm to her aching heart, wounded pride. She wanted to close her eyes and let him begin kissing her again, just let it happen. But she made herself push him away. “Tell me why you’ve really come.”
At the end of the next day of the trial, Ted in another well-cut suit waited outside the courtroom for her. Knowing that Ted would seek her out, Bette had dressed with special care in a stylish royal-blue outfit with the new longer postwar skirt. And she couldn’t stop the thrill that went through her when she caught sight of him. Was it just because she was so bruised from Curt’s betrayal? Was she that shallow?
“I see your boyfriend is here again,” Gretel whispered slyly into Bette’s ear. “Maybe he will take you out somewhere for dinner?”
Bette hadn’t been successful in convincing Gretel that Ted was not her boyfriend, that she didn’t want one. And then Ted sauntered over and leaned down to kiss her hello. She turned her face, but his lips still grazed her cheek. Then he glanced up at Gretel. “Will you join us for dinner?”
Before Bette could add her approval to this, Gretel was already moving away.
“No, I don’t want to be a fifth wheel. I’ll see you tomorrow, Bette.” Gretel waved and hurried to catch up with the other interpreters heading for the exit.
Ted tucked Bette’s hand into his arm. “Are the trials interesting?”
Being close to this handsome man unleashed all the lush, very dangerous sensations he’d reawakened the night before. She could resist him, but why couldn’t she prevent her response to him? “Grueling is the word.” Bette took refuge in talking about life on the surface. “It’s very hard to listen to these people try to justify their actions.”
“Then let’s talk about something more pleasant.” He led her down the marble steps through the milling crowd. Voices rumbled, echoing around them under the lofty cathedral ceiling.
“What’s that?” She thought she knew what he’d say, but prayed she was wrong. She couldn’t bear it if he proposed an affair. Though as a rejected wife, she should probably get used to men viewing her as an easy target. Before she’d left, a few in Croftown had already begun giving her lewd glances and suggestive whistles. Again, she wondered why Curt’s betrayal had somehow smeared her reputation, too.
“I think we ought to go to Berlin together,” he said as they shuffled down the stone steps outside the gloomy building. “You’re not enjoying these trials and you’ve probably seen as much as you need to of the people involved and the observers. Why don’t we get train tickets and leave tomorrow?”
His words were totally unexpected. “Why?” At street level, cars honked and people vied for shabby taxis.
“Because I’d like to help you with your fact-finding mission.” He navigated them through the crush and down the street.
“Why do you want to help me?” Even as she hurried to keep abreast of him, she searched his clear-blue eyes for his reason.
“Because I stayed home fighting the bad guys all through the war. Now I’d like a little foreign intrigue.”
“And that’s your idea of a vacation?” she asked in a voice laced liberally with disbelief.
“Well, yes, as long as you’re at my side.” He firmly tucked her blue-gloved hand into the crook of his elbow.
A ragged little blond girl slipped up to them, her grimy open hand held out. “Bitte, mein Herr.”
Ted pressed a coin into her hand and moved Bette on. As the child called, “Danke! Danke,” he went on as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “I’d like to continue the discussions that we started in your room.”
She lifted one eyebrow. “What discussions?”
Ted tucked her closer. “Oh, I think our lips were doing a lot of conversing last night, don’t you?”
Bette felt her face warm and she wouldn’t look him in the eye. She should have been stronger last night and stopped him after the first kiss.
They entered the same park where she and Gretel had lunched that first day they’d been reunited; pigeons fluttered out of their way. She had to let him know everything. She couldn’t let him go on thinking that they shared anything but a common profession and friendship. “Ted, I’m pregnant.”
He stopped to look at her again. He looked disgusted and his expression wounded her. What had she expected? Ted wouldn’t want Curt’s child. She’d already told herself that. Holding in the pain of his rejection, she pulled free from him. This isn’t Ted’s fault.
He halted her with a hand on her sleeve. Guiding her back under his arm, he kissed her cheek, then he rested his cheek against her forehead. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He lightly laid his palm on her abdomen and said, “Hey, kid, I’m Ted.” Ted moved as if he were going to kiss her.
Shocked, Bette stepped back, ashamed and aware of people looking at them. “Ted, remember where we are, who we are.”
“Okay.” Grinning, he took her hand into his arm again and began to lead her away. “I asked at the hotel and have found a good little café—”
“Ted,” she interrupted in an under voice, “do you understand why I told you about the baby? I’m not . . . available. Curt wants a divorce, but I can’t face that. And I’m pregnant.” She fell silent, unwilling, unable to put into words her feeling of being mired in hopelessness.
“I get that. I just think that your life isn’t over. Curt’s a fool, but I’m not. Do you really think I came here to take advantage of you?” This time his voice held an edge.
Bette wished she’d kept her mouth closed. “No. I don’t. But I’m sorry about how I behaved last night.” Speaking of these private topics in public made her cringe inside. “I let things get out of hand at first. I was weak. But I’m still a married woman. Even if my husband has dishonored me—our vows—that doesn’t mean that I am dishonorable.”
Ted tightened his grip on her. “You are the most honorable woman I know.” He sounded angry, truly angry. “And I’
ve made it my job to know.”
Her eyes flew to his. “What do you mean? Did you keep tabs on me?”
“Yes.” He began marching her at a brisker rate.
“Why?”
“Do I have to tell you?”
She tugged at his sleeve. “Ted, I can’t let you think . . . It isn’t fair to involve you in my troubles.”
He paused. “Just let it go, Bette. I’m not here to seduce you. Let’s just concentrate on the work you came to do. And let the future take care of itself—for now.”
Bette didn’t know what to say to this. Ted couldn’t be in love with her; he never took anything seriously—not even war. But she’d been honest with him. One thing she’d already decided: she wasn’t going to make things worse by becoming involved with any man, not now and not for the foreseeable future. And if Ted didn’t believe that he was as blind as Curt.
After court the next day, Gretel and Bette stood facing each other at the train station. “I don’t want to leave you,” Bette said.
“I hate to see you go.” Gretel glanced at Ted, who was getting a porter to take care of their luggage. “He’s very handsome,” Gretel murmured into Bette’s ear.
Bette gave her friend a sharp shake of her head. “You won’t break our connection again? You know you can always reach me through the Ivy Manor address.”
Gretel wrapped her arms around Bette. “Don’t worry. I only have you and Ilsa for family in this world. I won’t run away again.”
Gretel calling her family meant everything to Bette. Ted came up behind her. “Time to board.”
Gretel released her. “Go on.” And then she gave Ted a look. “Take good care of her.”
Ted saluted Gretel and swept Bette up the steps onto the train. The charging of the engines roared and all voices were overwhelmed. Bette waved and then let Ted lead her to their seats. A feeling of loss, of being left behind, surged through her, but she made herself smile as she waved through the window to Gretel until she’d left her friend far behind.
