The Secret Letter

by Debbie Rix

  ‘Magda,’ she replied, putting the bowl back on the floor and covering him with the quilt. ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘Michael,’ he replied.

  ‘Well Michael – I’ll bring you some food now, then you must sleep.’

  Downstairs in the kitchen, Käthe rounded on her daughter.

  ‘You will get us all killed. Do you understand what you have done?’

  ‘What else could we do?’

  ‘Leave him there. He’d be a prisoner. He’d get medical attention, it would be fine.’

  ‘Do you really believe that? I don’t. If the Hitler Youth had found him, they would have shot him for target practice.’

  ‘Magda… don’t be ridiculous,’ said Käthe.

  ‘You don’t understand, Mutti. You don’t know what they’re like. I cannot stand by and watch someone being murdered, like an animal. He’s a human being, Mutti – like us.’

  Käthe finally relented, but she spent a sleepless night worrying that his presence in the house would put them all in danger. Over breakfast the following morning, she suggested, once again, that he should be put out into the barn.

  ‘I beg you not to do that, Mutti,’ Magda pleaded. ‘It’s a crazy idea – he’s far more likely to be found out there.’

  ‘Well,’ said Käthe reluctantly, ‘if he stays, then we must have some rules.’

  Magda nodded.

  ‘He must never come downstairs at all,’ Mutti insisted, clearing their plates away. ‘We can’t run the risk of someone turning up and finding him here.’

  ‘It will be all right,’ Pieter said phlegmatically to Käthe, ‘as long as he stays upstairs.’

  ‘And he never must be left alone in the house,’ Käthe added, putting an apple cake on the table.

  ‘Why?’ asked Magda.

  ‘Think about it… if someone comes to see us when we are all out in the fields – a friend, or the post boy – they might go upstairs, looking for us and they’d find him.’

  ‘All right,’ said Magda. ‘One of us stays here at all times.’

  ‘And I’m not cooking for him, either,’ Käthe said gruffly.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Magda, eagerly.

  ‘You!’ said Käthe. ‘You can’t even boil an egg!’

  ‘I’ll learn,’ said Magda. ‘You’ll see!’

  Later that morning, when her parents were out on the farm, Magda slipped silently into Karl’s room and stood gazing at the tall red-haired young man lying peacefully in her brother’s bed. She had hoped he would be awake so she could give him a piece of apple cake and find out a little more about him. But he was fast asleep, his eyelashes fluttering wildly, his good hand protectively holding his broken arm. He would be their secret, she decided – their act of kindness in this terrible war. She would protect him and bring him back to health. It was what Karl would have wanted, she felt sure. She left the cake on the floor by the bed and slipped out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  St James’s, London

  March 1944

  At 7 p.m. Imogen tidied her desk and put the cover on her typewriter. She knocked on the Admiral’s door and peered around it.

  ‘Just off now, sir… if that’s all right?’

  ‘Of course. I had no idea it was so late. Off you go. See you tomorrow.’

  Coming downstairs into the main hall, she noticed a tall young man waiting at the reception desk. He was wearing an American army uniform.

  ‘Ah Miss Mitchell,’ the desk clerk said, ‘this gentleman is here to see Admiral Spalding. I wonder if you’d be so kind as to show him up. Lieutenant Andersen has an appointment – it’s in the book. ’

  ‘Of course,’ Imogen said, wondering why the Admiral had not alerted her to this meeting.

  She led the man up the stairs and along the corridor to the Admiral’s office.

  ‘I’m sorry if I interrupted your evening,’ he said, gently. ‘You were obviously on your way out.’ He gestured towards her coat and hat.

  ‘That’s quite all right. I’ve got nothing planned – except a long hot bath,’ she laughed. ‘The Admiral’s office is just this way.’

  While the two men had their meeting, Imogen got on with some office work. About nine o’clock, with her stomach rumbling and her mind wandering to the bath she hoped to have, the door to her boss’s office opened. Lieutenant Anderson emerged, closing the door quietly behind him.

  ‘Good, you’re still here,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘I was hoping you would be.’

  ‘I thought I ought to stay,’ said Imogen. ‘He sometimes likes to dictate notes after a meeting.’

  ‘He’s a lucky man. I wondered – if you don’t mind me asking – if you’d already had dinner? If not, would you like to join me? I could eat a horse…’

  She blushed, flattered to be asked out. ‘Not sure I can rustle up a horse,’ she quipped, ‘although having said that, judging by the meat we usually get, it probably is horse.’ She laughed. ‘I’d be delighted to join you. Thank you. Not much waiting for me at my digs – I’ve missed supper now. Just give me a minute to make sure he doesn’t want anything else tonight. I’ll see you downstairs, shall I?’

  Outside in the street, the weather was unseasonably warm.

  ‘I’m staying at a little hotel just round the corner,’ he said, ‘we can get supper there.’

  As they entered Brown’s Hotel in Albemarle Street he was greeted by the receptionist.

  ‘Good evening Lieutenant. How are you this evening?’

  ‘I’m well thank you. We’re just going to the dining room – I hope it’s still open.’

  The wood-panelled dining room of the hotel was arranged with small tables covered with white cloths. It was discreet and elegant, and Imogen instantly regretted not having put on her lipstick before leaving the office. Since starting work in St James’s she rarely had the chance to eat out. A Lyons Corner House with Joy was usually about as glamorous as it got.

  Settled at the table, Imogen inspected the menu. It seemed impossibly luxurious to someone who had only eaten rationed food for the previous four years.

  ‘Gosh,’ she said, ‘what a choice! Potted shrimps… I can’t remember when I last had those!’

  ‘Well, have them now,’ he said. ‘Have whatever you want – it’s the least I can do. It’s all good – simple, but excellent quality.’

  The Lieutenant poured Imogen a glass of red wine.

  ‘How lovely,’ she said, taking a sip. It was soft and warming. ‘I’m rather ashamed to say I’ve hardly ever drunk wine – my father’s more of a whisky man.’

  ‘Well I hope it’s good,’ said the Lieutenant. ‘It’s a good vintage.’

  ‘Thank you… it’s delicious. Now, I can’t keep calling you ‘Lieutenant’. What’s your name?’

  ‘Benjamin. But people usually call me Ben.’

  ‘And I’m Imogen – or Ginny to those who know me.’

  He raised his glass to her. ‘Great to meet you, Ginny. I’d have been eating all alone, yet again, if it wasn’t for you.’

  ‘So you live here? How lovely. Is that normal for American officers?’

  He smiled, and sipped his wine.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, blushing, ‘I didn’t mean to pry. I know one’s not supposed to ask questions these days. Pretty much everything that happens at our office is top secret too.’

  ‘Yes. I’m afraid that applies to me too. All I can say is that I’m with the American army and I’ve been sent over here to do a piece of work for the Allies. That’s about it.’

  ‘Right,’ she said, nervously. ‘It makes conversation a little difficult, doesn’t it? What did you do before… before the war?’

  ‘I was at college in Washington, and then grad school – Yale – where I read law. My folks come from Virginia. My father is a diplomat. As a kid we travelled quite widely – all over Europe in fact.’

  ‘That must have been wonderful,’ said Ginny, tucking into her potte
d shrimps.

  ‘Sure,’ he continued. ‘We lived in Paris, Geneva, Rome, of course… and further afield. We had a spell in the Middle East. But when I was older, I was sent back to school in the US so I only went to these places in the holidays. When I left Yale I was trying to decide what I should do, when the war came along.’ He refilled their glasses. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Oh well, not quite so exciting I’m afraid. I was brought up in the North East of England – a place called Newcastle. My father and mother are Scottish; she was a teacher before she married, he’s an engineer, so we’ve travelled a bit too – but not to quite such exotic locations. Carlisle for a bit, and the Dartford Tunnel I seem to remember, when I was very little.’ She laughed nervously. ‘Then we moved back to Newcastle, and when the war started I was still at school, so I was evacuated to the Lake District.’

  ‘What was that like?’

  ‘Quite good fun, really. It’s a beautiful place… have you been?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘It was a bit lonely at times,’ she went on. ‘I’m an only child and very close to my parents. But well, you know, you get on with it, don’t you? When I left school, I went to university.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’

  ‘Don’t look so surprised,’ Imogen said, bristling slightly.

  ‘No, forgive me. I didn’t mean anything by it. What did you study?’

  ‘Architecture. I’m going to be an architect. But with the war and all that, I had to join up when I was nineteen, so I joined the Wrens. I was a plotter… am a plotter, really. But I got transferred to Admiral Spalding’s staff just after Christmas. To this day, I’m really not quite sure why… why he chose me, I mean. He says I’ll go back to plotting eventually. I do hope so, as I’m a terrible typist.’

  ‘He speaks very highly of you,’ said Ben. ‘Perhaps he doesn’t mind so much about the typing.’ He smiled.

  ‘Well I don’t know about that. All I do know is that I type memos and letters, and make calls to government departments, and really haven’t the faintest idea what’s going on, which is probably just as well as it’s all top secret.’

  When they had finished their dinner, Ginny leant back in her chair.

  ‘My goodness, I’ve not had blowout like that for years! My mother’s a wonderful cook, and she and our maid at home – Edith – they do make delicious meals. But shrimp and beef and… what was that pudding?’

  ‘Îsles flottantes,’ he said.

  ‘Oh! French for floating islands – how clever. I’ve never heard of it, but it was… stupendous. However did they get hold of so many eggs?’

  ‘I guess they have connections,’ he said, smiling. ‘Would you like coffee?’

  ‘Do they have coffee here too?’

  ‘Sure. It’s not the best; it’s not American, but it’s bearable.’

  ‘I’d love some – although I can’t be too late. My landlady is awfully strict. She has been known to bolt the door. Then I have to throw stones at my friend’s window.’

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Belsize Park. Sort of north-east of here.’

  ‘Let’s have coffee in the lounge, shall we, and then we can see about getting you home.’

  As they walked together along Piccadilly towards Green Park tube station, a girl stepped suddenly out of a doorway. Her painted face was momentarily lit up by torch light.

  ‘Want a good time, Mister?’ she said to Ben. He put his arm protectively around Imogen’s shoulder.

  ‘No… no thank you,’ he said.

  ‘What did she mean?’ asked Imogen, innocently, as they walked briskly away.

  ‘Oh… you know.’

  ‘No… I don’t know.’

  ‘Ginny, she’s a “lady of the night”.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Imogen, blushing, grateful for the blackout.

  At the entrance to the tube station she put out her hand.

  ‘Well, thank you so much for supper – I did so enjoy it.’

  ‘You don’t get rid of me that easily,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you home.’

  ‘Oh you mustn’t to do that – it’s miles out of your way.’

  ‘No, really, I insist. I kept you out this late; it’s the least I can do.’

  The tube was surprisingly busy and they were forced to stand, pressed against one another. The train screeched noisily as it lurched violently around a corner, and Imogen lost her footing. Ben, holding onto the overhead strap, put his free arm around her to keep her steady.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, blushing.

  ‘That’s OK,’ he said softly.

  She should have felt uncomfortable, standing in the arms of this stranger, but he made her feel safe.

  As the train rumbled east towards Trafalgar Square, they found a seat at last. Suddenly, as they approached the station, there was the distant rumble of a falling bomb somewhere nearby.

  ‘Oh no!’ said Imogen. ‘Not another one.

  ‘Do we get out?’ asked Ben.

  ‘I’m not sure. I’ve never actually been on a train during an air raid.’

  As the doors opened, there was the sound of an explosion directly overhead and all the passengers poured out of the train, and threw themselves down onto the platform. Benjamin wrapped his greatcoat protectively over Imogen, and they lay together in the dark, listening to the muffled sound of bombs exploding above, and of their hearts beating in time below.

  When the raid appeared to be over, people stumbled to their feet.

  ‘Maybe we ought to stay down here,’ said Imogen, anxiously looking around her.

  ‘No,’ said Benjamin, standing and offering her his hand. ‘Let’s get up there and see what’s going on.’

  Emerging from the tube station, they stumbled into Trafalgar Square. There was a gaping hole on the south side of the square where a bomb had fallen. Nelson’s Column was miraculously unscathed, but a bus nearby lay on its side and Imogen could see bodies lying on the pavement as if thrown out of the bus by a giant hand. Wardens were setting up a cordon around the area.

  ‘We should help,’ said Imogen.

  ‘No,’ said Ben. They could hear ambulances clanging towards them. ‘They’ve got it covered… we should get you home.’

  The bus service had finished for the night, and they were forced to walk, lit only by the moon, up Regent Street and past the BBC in Portland Place. And as they walked, they talked… about their early lives, their hopes and dreams, their past loves. It was as if their shared experience had forged a bond between them.

  ‘So,’ he said, as they walked towards the park, ‘have you ever been in love?’

  ‘Maybe…’ she said. ‘Yes… I think so.’

  ‘Who was he?’

  ‘An old friend. I’ve known him all my life. I thought the feeling was mutual, but now I’m not so sure. What about you?

  ‘I was engaged once. My parents introduced us. She was rich… I’ll say that for her. But money’s not everything and when I joined up, she broke it off.’

  ‘Were you very upset?’ Imogen asked, thinking fleetingly of Dougie.

  ‘Not really… it made me see that she wasn’t the right person. She can’t have loved me very much, can she?’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  ‘So let’s get back to your man.’

  ‘He’s not my man. I thought we had something between us, but when he joined the RAF and went away, he told me to forget him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He said he might get killed, and he didn’t want me to be hurt.’

  ‘He sounds like a good guy – unselfish…’

  ‘Yes,’ said Imogen. ‘I suppose he is. But it’s very hard, you know? I suppose I wanted him to declare himself to me before he went away; to tell me he loved me. But instead, he told me to get on with my life and forget all about him.’

  She wiped a tear from her eye with the edge of her sleeve.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Ben said gently, offering her his handkerchief. �
�This war has made a lot of people do and say things they didn’t know they were capable of.’

  ‘That sounds heartfelt,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘Have you done things you didn’t know you were capable of?’

  ‘Maybe. My life has certainly gone in a direction I wouldn’t have expected when I was law student back in Yale. The thing about war is that it makes you look at life differently, don’t you think? It changes your priorities.’

  They walked on in silence for a little while, as Imogen brooded about Freddie’s last words to her. She felt embarrassed, and angry with herself, that so many months later, he still had the power to make her cry.

  ‘I’ll wash this, shall I?’ she said, holding out Ben’s handkerchief.

  ‘All right, thank you. At least it means you’ll have to see me again – if only to give it back to me.’

  She laughed. It felt nice to be wanted.

  Skirting the edge of London zoo, they heard a curious low grumbling sound.

  ‘What on earth is that?’ Imogen asked.

  ‘A camel, I think,’ said Ben. ‘I remember the sound from my time in the Middle East, as a kid.’

  ‘How extraordinary,’ said Imogen. ‘I had no idea we had camels here, in the middle of London. And during a war too.’

  ‘Have you been to the zoo?’ Ben asked.

  ‘No, never.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll take you.’ He took her hand as they crossed the road. It felt natural and comforting, she thought, and left it there. As they walked on across Primrose Hill, he put his arm around her and she relaxed into his body.

  ‘I live just up there,’ she said, when they got to the end of her road. ‘That large house with the covered porch.’

  He stopped and turned her towards him.

  ‘I’ve had a wonderful evening,’ he said.

  ‘So have I,’ she replied.

  He leant down and tentatively kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘I’d like to see you again,’ he said.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, brightly. ‘I’ve got your handkerchief, remember.’

  ‘That’s right. Well I’m very short of handkerchiefs so it better be soon.’