Irene, watching him carefully, could almost read his mind.
“I know I’ve put you to a lot of trouble Ernst,” she said contritely. “You probably have plans for the vacation.”
“I have no plans other than to try and find out what has happened to Stella. But you see that means I have to be careful too. Jewish sympathisers are in almost as much danger as the Jews, so it may be that I cannot be of much help to you either. I am working during the day in the library at the university preparing my thesis. But don’t worry. A lot of non-Jews feel as I do. But we must operate by stealth. It is the only way. Later, if I can, I will have a short vacation with my parents in the mountains, but not just yet.”
Irene rose and began to pace restlessly around the room.
“It’s very good of you, Ernst, but I think I’d better try and telephone my husband. He’ll be able to tell me where Bart Sadler has his apartment.”
“I doubt if he’s still in Germany. All the foreigners are getting out. I tell you what, I’ll see if I can find someone who is leaving by car to take you.”
“I have put you in an awful position Ernst. I didn’t mean it to be like this. I didn’t know it was so bad. I was very foolish to disregard my husband’s advice and come to Berlin on my own. But I can’t stay here with you. It’s not fair.”
“You dare not go to a hotel either. You can’t remain on the street. You must stay here for the time being and then we’ll sort something out. But Irene,” he pointed a warning finger at her, “you must be very careful. Don’t move from this place. It is an area where you are known. The fact is that there is no one you can trust in Berlin any more.”
The telephone rang and Alexander leaned across his desk and picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“There’s a call for you, sir. I think it’s from abroad,” the girl at the switchboard said, then, “Oh sorry they’ve rung off.”
“It might be my wife,” Alexander cried. “Keep the lines clear for God’s sake.”
“Whoever it is has been trying to get through for some time. I think it was your wife, a lady with a foreign accent.”
“Did she say anything?”
“She kept on saying ‘hello’, ‘hello’, ‘hello’ – as though she couldn’t hear me. The crackle on the line was very bad.”
“Then keep the line clear. Don’t let anyone come through and if it is her, make sure we are not disturbed.”
“Yes, sir,” the girl said obediently.
Alexander sat back in his chair, his face grey with frustration. Europe was hurtling towards war: Hitler had closed the border with Poland; Britain and France had reaffirmed their pledge to go to Poland’s assistance; and his wife of only a few weeks was somewhere in Berlin.
It was a late afternoon in August and Alexander, already in uniform as an officer cadet, had come into the office to discuss a few problems with Pieter Heering the chairman of the great Martyn-Heering world business empire of which Alexander’s adoptive father, Prosper Martyn, had been a co-founder. The company did business all over the world and its fleet of merchant ships would be valuable to the British war effort.
The door opened and Pieter came in, pausing on the threshold when he saw Alexander’s face.
“Any news?”
“She’s trying to get through to me. I can’t tell you how worried I am, Pieter.”
“I can see that, my boy.” Pieter sat down and ran his hand wearily over his face. Close to retirement he had hoped to pass on the burden of the chairmanship to Alexander in the next few years. Now the prospect seemed remote. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Of course our rep in Berlin is no longer there to be of any help.”
“I shall have to talk to Bart Sadler.” Alexander put his hand out to the telephone and then withdrew it. “No I want to leave the lines clear.”
“I don’t think Bart Sadler is in the country. No one seems to know where he is. Now, Alexander,” Pieter pointed to a thick file he’d brought in with him, “a lot of things need a decision today. I really don’t know how I’m going to be able to carry on without you. I am worried about my family in Holland too.” He looked gravely across at the younger man. “This is indeed a terrible time for all of us.”
The telephone rang again and Alexander snatched the receiver.
“I think I have your wife, Mr Alexander.”
“Hello, hello,” came the unmistakable but very faint voice of Irene at the other end of the phone.
“Irene,” Alexander shouted. “Are you all right? Where are you?”
“I’m all right. I’m in Berlin. But Alexander I am without a passport. It has been taken by the authorities. Alexander ... I am so afraid ...” and with that the line went dead.
Alexander sat for a few moments gazing at his desk. When he raised his face he looked more haggard than ever.
“She’s in Berlin ... without her British passport, I ask you!”
“What happened to it?”
“She says the authorities took it. What chance has she – a German Jew – without it?”
Sam Turner had been transformed in recent years from an unhappy, rebellious adolescent to a pleasant, willing and capable young man. He had only discovered in the last few years that his natural father was not the vicar of Wenham, but Bart Sadler, a man he had always been taught to regard as notorious, and who had apparently been his mother’s lover in the second decade of the century.
It had been a great shock to an already turbulent young man, but the opportunities offered by his real father were enormous and he had embraced them enthusiastically. He had been trained as a builder, so he was of a practical turn of mind, but he had also discovered a talent for mastering facts and, especially, figures.
He moved in to live in his father’s large mansion, Upper Park, and the two soon became inseparable. When his father was away on business, which was frequently, Sam took over.
Now he too had his call-up papers and his father was somewhere in Europe which was poised on the brink of war.
Sam and Alexander had never had very much to do with each other. They’d met infrequently over the years at family gatherings. But the two, thrown together by common business interests, liked each other and got on immediately.
“I don’t know where Father is now,” Sam said with a cheerful smile, “but he’ll turn up.”
“You’re sure of that?” Alexander asked. “You’re not worried?”
“Oh, I never worry about Father.” Sam went to a cupboard and produced a bottle of whisky. “Join me, Alexander?”
“With pleasure.” Alexander smiled and began to relax in Sam’s jovial company. They were in Bart’s office on the outskirts of Wenham, a once stately home that had been transformed into a luxurious suite of offices. There were very few staff; Bart liked to keep his cards close to his chest and trusted few people.
“Cheers!” Sam said raising his glass.
“Cheers,” Alexander replied. “Though I must say I don’t feel very cheerful.”
“Tell me what your problem is,” Sam said perching on the desk. He was very like his father to look at: tall, saturnine with hooded brown eyes and a mass of thick black hair.
“Well, my wife Irene, who is a German Jewess, impulsively and against my advice went to Berlin at the end of our honeymoon to try and persuade a friend to leave. She is now stranded there herself without a passport.”
Sam whistled. “How did she lose that?”
“The authorities impounded it. I have no idea how or why. That is all she managed to tell me on the telephone. I don’t know where she is and am only hoping she is able to get through to me again.”
“And what do you want me, or rather, Father to do?”
“I want him to try and find Irene and get her out of Berlin.”
Sam whistled again.
“And you have no idea where she is?”
“No.”
“That is a very tall order, Alexander.” Sam looked grave. “It’s like getting a needle
out of a haystack. I doubt if even someone as resourceful as my father would be able to help you.”
Chapter Three
September 1939
“You can imagine what a bitter blow it is to me that all my long struggle to win peace has failed ... this country is now at war with Germany.”
After the Prime Minister’s announcement no one, gathered round the wireless in the drawing room at Pelham’s Oak, spoke until the silence was broken at last by Eliza.
“I never thought it would happen again in my lifetime,” she said, a catch in her voice. “The last war was supposed to be the war to end wars.”
Carson rose and turned off the wireless. Then he faced the members of the family who had joined him for the momentous announcement.
“Hitler has to be stopped,” he said. “Chamberlain has no alternative.”
“But what does it mean for us?” Lally spoke almost under her breath as if asking a question of herself. “So many of the family are abroad: Connie, Dora and ... Irene in the worst position of all.”
Agnes Wentworth sighed deeply.
“They will all have to be brought back. Connie cannot stay in an enemy country a moment longer.”
Agnes, who had a complicated history, had nevertheless been born a Yetman and was an integral part of the family.
“But she is married to an Italian,” Carson protested. “She is an Italian national. That will protect her.
“Besides, Mussolini has not yet declared war. Officially Italy is a neutral country. For the moment, anyway, she is safe.” Sally Woodville was not at all anxious to welcome her husband’s former wife to the family home where she was already stepmother to her three children.
“If Connie comes over she is welcome to stay with me,” Agnes replied stiffly, “if you do not want her, Sally.”
“It is not that I don’t want her, Aunt Agnes ...” Sally began, while a deep flush stole up her cheeks.
“It is just that she will cause trouble.” There was a hint, a touch of malice in Agnes’s voice.
“We are talking hypothetically,” Carson said irritably. “Sally would certainly not balk at giving my children’s mother shelter from war, would you, my dear?”
“I think I’ll go and rustle up some lunch,” Sally said diplomatically. “I take it you’ll all be staying?”
Without waiting for their reply she left the room and those who remained became silent again. It seemed all too much to bear. All their men were young: Alexander twenty-nine, Jack Sprogett, Agnes’s grandson, twenty-five and Sam Turner twenty-six.
Sam’s mother Sophie and her husband had also come over for the announcement with Deborah, his half-sister and Bart’s divorced wife.
At the age of thirty-six Deborah might have hoped to play some part in the war. Her children were old enough to go to school and she was restless and rather idle since her divorce. She was tall, slim and energetic, blue-eyed, fair-haired but with a discontented expression; a pursed, rather grim set of the mouth which hinted at the unhappiness of much of her past life.
“I think it’s all rather exciting,” Deborah said jumping to her feet. Then, looking round her at the grave faces, said, “At least it’s something.”
“How can you call a war exciting?” her mother asked her. “War is horrible.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think Uncle Carson enjoyed the last one.”
“I didn’t enjoy war,” Carson said tapping his foot impatiently. “I saw too many terrible things, but I know what Debbie means. It does have a quality nothing else seems to have. It’s the comradeship of war that I enjoyed, not war itself. I hope to be able to do something this time, though I dare say they won’t have me in the army.”
“Carson, you have too many responsibilities,” Eliza protested. “I do hope you won’t volunteer.”
“I don’t think they’d have me if I did, but I’ll do something, if it’s only as an ARP warden.”
“ARP!” Hubert Turner exclaimed in alarm. “You think they’ll bomb Dorset?”
From the garden outside came the sound of toy pistols firing and Carson went to the window to see his sons once again engaged in play-acting what, all too soon, many grown-up men were going to enact in reality.
If only children wouldn’t play at war maybe they wouldn’t engage in it for real when they grew up?
Later that afternoon Carson and Sally saw the various members of the family to their cars and watched as they drove away.
Carson tucked his arm through his wife’s and they strolled towards the lawn where the children were playing. Twelve-year-old Netta was taking her pony through its paces in the paddock and for a moment they stopped and watched her.
“She’s happy enough,” Carson said.
“She won’t be going back to Italy will she, Carson?”
“Good God, no! Thank goodness they’re all here. I shall keep them whatever Connie says.”
“Don’t you worry about Connie?”
“Not really.” Carson felt a sudden resistance, a stiffening of her body and looked at her in surprise. “What is it Sally? You’ve gone all tense.”
“I think you should offer Connie a home, if it becomes necessary.”
“Here, with us?”
“She is the children’s mother.”
“I thought you didn’t like the idea when it came up this morning, and you went out of the room?”
“I went to see to luncheon. I admit I was taken by surprise but when I thought about it later I decided it was very selfish of me. After all I know how fond of Connie you were, and if she is in danger ...”
“Of course I was fond of her – once. I was married to her. But that’s all over. You’re my wife now.” And he pressed her arm tightly; but she noticed he didn’t add that she was the one he loved.
Sally Yetman had married Carson Woodville nearly five years before. There had been a fifteen-year difference in their ages; she had been thirty-two and he forty-seven. Yet in many ways Carson had always seemed old. Those who had known him as a headstrong young man, a hell raiser, said he had never recovered from his experiences in the war. He had come back a changed, bitter, sober, but industrious man. He had worked hard to restore the family fortunes mishandled by his father, Sir Guy. He had studied modern methods of farming and increased his acreage so that he was now one of the biggest landowners in the district. He had invested wisely on the stock market. He had never touched a penny of his first wife’s fortune, but he did not live like a rich man.
Sally, a distant cousin, had seemed ideal as a helpmate after Connie left him. But, somehow, the promise offered by their early relationship had failed to be realised. In Sally’s mind this was because Carson had never stopped loving Connie, and had married her on the rebound.
She knew that her failure to have children had disappointed him, as it had her. There had been visits to the doctor and specialists in Bournemouth and in London, but the longed-for baby failed to materialise. But as Carson already had four children – three by Connie and one, Alexander, by a former mistress – she was sure he didn’t feel it as keenly as she did.
People said that if a marriage was in trouble a baby would help to improve it.
In their case they had never had the chance.
Sally had thrown herself into the role of being a good wife to the local squire. She ran the house well and efficiently, she supported all the town’s various women’s associations and organisations, she did her share of flower arranging in the church, she presented prizes at fêtes and gymkhanas. Yet, more often than not she was alone, Carson was busy with his own affairs, complementary but separate.
And so it continued in their private life and they became more and more isolated from each other.
Today, walking arm in arm round the grounds had been one of the rare moments of togetherness, maybe brought on by the sadness, the worry of the outbreak of hostilities. But somehow, in a way she couldn’t completely understand, Sally, for all her activities, felt she had missed out on life.
<
br /> She was convinced that her husband didn’t love her and never had, and somehow this was something you could do nothing about. Love was chemistry and couldn’t be concocted artificially.
Bart Sadler stretched his arms high above his head and gave a deep sigh. There had been times in recent weeks when he had wondered if he would see his home again. He had been on the German-Polish border when war broke out and the German hordes swept over it. Taking a hasty detour he had then found himself in Saarbrucken when French advance troops crossed the German border, but they had halted not quite knowing what to do. Each side was waiting for the other to commence hostilities. Later it was to become known as the ‘phoney war’ because of the hope that diplomatic negotiations would eventually be successful.
Bart’s luck had held and he had offloaded his Jews into the safety of Holland and France and taken a boat for home.
Upper Park was a gracious Palladian residence which Bart had coveted when he returned after the Great War from many years of exile in South America, a rich man. It had belonged to Eliza Heering who, finding it too large for her after the death of her husband, had put it on the market. She had not wished to sell it to Bart because of his behaviour towards Sophie Turner, but by means of a deception Bart acquired the property and Eliza had been loath to forgive him.
Everyone, not only the family but people in general, had hoped that Bart had gone for good, and it was with some dismay and a great deal of reluctance that he was accepted back into the community and began to play a significant part in it as benefactor and member of the town council. With Bart money certainly talked; he soon had a finger in every pie, and his wealth steadily increased.
He further alienated the Woodville family when he married Deborah the younger daughter of Sophie, his former mistress, who had regained her respectability by her marriage to the rector of Wenham.
In Time of War (Part Six of The People of this Parish Saga) Page 4
