by Debbie Rix
‘All right – I’ll wash it tonight.’
She gazed up at him, and he leaned down and kissed her lips – tenderly, softly at first.
‘I hope that was all right,’ he asked.
‘Absolutely,’ she said, reaching up and wrapping her hands around his neck, pulling him towards her. He kissed her again – a long lingering kiss – and Imogen felt herself melting into his body, inhaling the scent of his skin.
‘I don’t want to let you go,’ he whispered into her hair.
‘Neither do I,’ she said, ‘but I really ought to go in.’
‘Can I see you tomorrow?’ he asked.
‘I’ll be at St James’s all day.’
‘Maybe we can have supper again; would you like that?’
‘I would, thank you.’
He wrapped his greatcoat around her, an act of such tenderness that it brought tears to her eyes, and they kissed.
‘I really must go in now,’ she said, dreamily.
‘I know. Just not quite yet…’ He kissed her again, and then again.
Reluctantly unwrapping herself from his arms, she ran up the stairs to the front door and turned around. The collar of his greatcoat was up around his ears. He looked dark and somehow mysterious, she thought.
‘Goodnight,’ she called out.
‘I’ll be seeing you,’ he said, striding away down the street. As he turned the corner of the road he looked back and waved.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Färsehof Farm
March 1944
A few days after Michael had been brought to the house, Käthe and Magda were preparing lunch in the kitchen, when there was a knock on the door. Opening it, she found two soldiers standing in the yard.
‘We’re looking for a missing British airman,’ the first soldier said. ‘Have you seen anyone nearby… perhaps hiding in the barns?’
‘No,’ said Käthe, nervously. ‘Why would we?’
‘The plane down the road. It’s a British Lancaster bomber. There are six dead but there’s one crew member missing. ‘
‘How do you know?’ asked Magda, peering over her mother’s shoulder.
‘Because there should be seven bodies and there are only six.’
‘Perhaps one of them jumped out,’ Magda suggested.
‘No, there are still seven parachutes in the plane. Someone got away.’
Magda shrugged her shoulders and retreated back inside, praying that Michael, who was still asleep in the room above, wouldn’t wake up and make a noise.
‘Well, keep a look out,’ said the second soldier.
‘We will,’ Käthe said, brightly.
Käthe and Magda watched anxiously through the kitchen window, as the soldiers wandered into the dairy.
‘You see, Mutti,’ whispered Magda, ‘the barns are the first place they look – he’s safer in the house.’ Her mother glared at her.
‘We would all be safer if he was not here at all,’ muttered Käthe.
The soldiers continued to search the outbuildings – checking the machinery barn and inspecting the yard, before finally walking back down the track towards the main road.
When they were sure the soldiers had gone, Käthe rounded angrily on her daughter.
‘What if they had insisted on searching the house?’
‘Well they didn’t,’ said Magda defensively. But she knew her mother was right to be worried. If they decided to come back and search inside, they would be bound to find him.
When she took Michael his lunch, she found him struggling to swing his legs out of bed.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘I heard,’ he said. ‘They’re looking for me. I have to go.’
‘No!’ said Magda. ‘You can’t go yet.’ She sat down on the edge of his bed. ‘Your leg is too weak – you couldn’t walk ten metres.’
‘But it’s not safe for you. It’s not fair.’
‘Don’t worry about us,’ she said handing him a plate of bread and cheese. ‘I know,’ she said, suddenly leaping to her feet. ‘We’ll take you upstairs to the attic. There’s a hatch in the eaves that leads to a smaller secret attic. My brother and I used to hide up there all the time. If you drag a piece of furniture, or an old box in front of the hatch, you’d never know it was there. It’s a bit cold, but at least you’ll be safe. Could you climb a ladder do you think, if we helped you?’
‘I think so… just about – yes.’
When her father came in from the fields, he agreed to help move Michael upstairs. Pieter climbed into the attic and, holding onto Michael’s stronger arm, hauled him up, while Magda pushed and guided from below.
Once he was installed, Magda arranged the bed for him in the tiny space, and blacked out the window in the main attic that overlooked the yard.
‘Otherwise someone might see a light from up here,’ she explained. ‘At least now you can have a candle at night.
Over the next few weeks, she spent as much time with Michael as she could. Up in the attic, away from the main house, they felt secluded, as if they were in a world of their own. She found an old rug and laid it on the floor. Amidst the old packing cases she created a little nest for them both. She set a bowl and jug of water next to his bed and brought him all his meals. Climbing up the attic ladder with a basket of food in one hand, she would haul the small chest of drawers away from the hatch and crawl through into the dusty space. While he ate, she would sit on the floor next to his bed and they talked. Her English soon grew more fluent, as he taught her new words and phrases. But gradually she came to realise that if he was ever going to escape successfully through Germany, he would need to learn her language.
One evening she arrived with supper for them both, along with two glasses of beer.
‘I thought we could share our meal,’ she said, putting the food and beer down on the floor.
‘That would be lovely,’ he said, hauling himself up in bed. ‘I do get a bit lonely up here.’ He winked at her and she giggled.
‘But,’ she said firmly, ‘We are going to speak in German.’
‘How?’ he said, sipping his beer. ‘I can’t speak a word.’
‘How will you escape then?’ she asked logically.
‘You’re right, of course.’ he said.
‘Let’s begin with something simple. I’ll teach you how to order a beer and a ham sandwich.’
Later, when the lesson was over, and she was packing their supper things back into the basket, he reached over and held her hand.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘That’s all right.’ She stood up, stooping in the low-ceilinged space. ‘We’ll do some more tomorrow.’
‘Do you have to go now?’
‘I ought to,’ she said, reluctantly. ‘My parents…’
‘Yes of course,’ he said.
‘I suppose I could stay a bit longer.’ She put the basket over by the hatch and knelt down on the rug next to the bed.
‘That doesn’t look very comfortable,’ he said. ‘Sit next to me.’
‘All right.’ She sat down on the narrow bed.
‘Tell me about your brother,’ he said. ‘Did he join up when the war began?’
‘No, he’d already moved to England. He hated our government and everything they stood for. I agree with him. I joined a revolutionary movement myself – the White Rose in Munich. They were students, and they tried to stand up to Hitler, but they were all executed last year.’
‘You are an extraordinary girl,’ said Michael. ‘Full of surprises. How did you manage to avoid being captured?’
‘Luck, I suppose. I was interviewed by the Gestapo. But I told them I didn’t know what the White Rose were up to – and they believed me.’
He lay back on his pillow, and gazed up at her. ‘You are one of the bravest girls I’ve ever met. The bravest girl, come to that.’
‘No I’m not,’ she said, blushing. ‘I’m just… what is it that you say… “bloody-minded”.’
He la
ughed. ‘Yes… you’re bloody-minded all right. I’ve never met anyone so stubborn and wilful.’ He suddenly sat up… and kissed her. She had only ever been kissed by Otto – an experience that she had found repulsive. His kiss had been suffocating, but Michael’s kiss was soft and gentle. It made her feel as if she was alive. She had wanted to go on kissing him forever; to lie in his arms and feel his smooth body next to hers. Was this what love really felt like, she wondered?
‘Magda,’ he said, pulling away. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t take advantage of you.’
‘Take advantage… what do you mean?’
‘I shouldn’t have kissed you. Apart from the morality of the situation, you’re too young.’
‘I’m nearly eighteen.’
‘But your parents… what would they think?’
‘What’s it got to do with them?’
‘You’ve all been so kind to me, I shouldn’t abuse that kindness.’
‘But I liked it,’ she said, childishly.
‘So did I,’ he said, sinking back onto his pillows. ‘Now be off with you. Go on – back downstairs.’
Reluctantly, she got off the bed, crawled through the hatch, looked back at him, and blew him a kiss.
‘Good night Magda,’ he said, firmly.
The following morning she laid his breakfast out on the floor and sitting on the edge of his bed, poured him a cup of coffee from a flask. She had picked some early spring primroses and put them in a little jam jar next to his bed.
‘They’re pretty, spring must be coming,’ he said, hauling himself up on the pillows.
‘It’s already April,’ she said, laughing. ‘You’ve been with us for four weeks now and the landscape is changing every day. That’s what you notice when you live on a farm. It’s such a beautiful day outside, and you haven’t seen the sun for so long – I thought I’d bring some to you.’ She smiled shyly.
‘Tell me what you’re going to do today,’ he said, sipping his coffee.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’ve already done the morning milking and when I leave here, my father and I will be sowing new crops, now the weather is warming up.’
‘I wish I could help you,’ he said. ‘I feel so useless lying here, while you’re all working. And I’d love to learn to milk cows.’ He laughed. ‘I was brought up in the country – not on a farm, but I love the rural life.’
‘It’s harder than it looks,’ she said. ‘In the middle of winter, when your hands are frozen and you’re trying to milk the cows and you can’t even feel your fingers – then you wish you were anywhere but living on a farm.’ She laughed.
He glanced shyly at her, taking in her blonde hair, her slender arms.
‘You don’t look strong enough for farm work,’ he said. ‘You’re so… delicate.’
‘Delicate!’ she said, leaping to her feet. ‘I’ll show you how delicate I am. Give me your strong arm, not the broken one.’
‘What?’ he asked. ‘What torture do you have in mind now?’
‘Arm wrestling… come on. Or are you scared I might beat you?’
‘Right,’ he said, handing her the cup of coffee, which she put on the floor. She pulled an old wooden crate nearer to the bed, and while Michael sat on one side, she knelt on the other. She nearly managed to bring his arm down, but he pushed back at the last minute and slammed her arm down on the crate. Laughing, they collapsed back on the bed.
‘Kiss me again,’ she said coyly.
‘Magda…’ he stroked her cheek. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes – of course I’m sure.’
‘Magda,’ he whispered into her neck. ‘I adore you – you do know that, don’t you?’
‘And I love you, Michael,’ she murmured, overwhelmed with joy. ‘I know I’ve only known you for a few weeks, but I really love you. I want you…’
He kissed her again, lying her down on the narrow bed, stroking her limbs, her face. She felt her body burning up with desire for him.
Afterwards, they lay together for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms.
‘Magda,’ he began.
‘Don’t say anything.’ She lay in the crook of his arm, her head resting on his chest. His skin smelt sweet and she felt safe and warm.
‘Magda. Look…’
He shifted his weight onto his strong arm, lifting himself up onto one elbow. He gazed down at her.
‘I’m not sure we should have done that. You’ve been so good to me – you and your family. You saved my life, and I’m so grateful. But I want you to understand something… whatever happens, I do love you.’
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I know. And I know, also, that you have to leave one day. I understand.’
‘Do you? You’re such a wonderful girl. You’re so wise and mature. Your brother is doing his duty back in England. And I must do mine. When I’m strong enough to get away, I must try to get back to my unit somehow.’
‘What is your plan? Where will you go? You can’t walk all the way back, can you?’
‘I can walk part of the way – at least into Switzerland. Lake Constance is not that far away, is it?’
She shrugged. ‘A few hundred kilometres.’
‘Oh I see. Well, I could take a train, or a bus? You’ve taught me how to buy a ticket.’
‘But you have no map.’ She was clutching at straws, putting obstacles in his way.
‘I do have a map, as it happens.’ He reached over and pulled out a silk handkerchief from his flying jacket pocket, printed with a map of Europe.
‘See – it’s pretty isn’t it? And very useful too; and I have a compass. I’m a pilot, Magda – I’ll find my way.’
‘But you’re bound to be picked up, and shot. What would be the point of that?’
‘So what do you think I should do?’ he asked, stroking her hair. ‘Stay here in the attic with you for the rest of the war? However appealing that is, my darling – and believe me Magda, it’s very appealing – I can’t do that.’
Knowing Michael would be leaving in weeks, if not days, they were desperate to spend as much time together as they could. As soon as Käthe and Pieter left the house, Magda would rush to the attic, where they would make love – sad, tearful love sometimes, after which Michael would kiss the tears from her cheeks.
‘I will come back,’ he promised, stroking her cheek and holding her in his arms. ‘Once this war is over, I’ll be back for you. We’ll marry and have children and I’ll help you run the farm.’
Then she would lie in the crook of his arm, inhaling his scent and weeping. It felt as if her heart was being ripped out of her body.
One afternoon in May, while her father was out in the fields and her mother had gone to the village, Magda crept into the attic.
‘Michael. Why don’t you come downstairs? If you’re ever going to escape, you should practice your walking.’
‘Your mother wouldn’t like it.’
‘My mother’s not here. She’s gone to the village and will be gone for a couple of hours at least. It will be fine,’ Magda said, ‘trust me.’
Michael, wearing an old pair of Karl’s trousers and a shirt of her father’s, clambered down the attic ladder. His leg was stiff and ached, but it felt good to be able to stand up straight, and walk, or at least hobble, down the stairs into the kitchen. The rooms in the house seemed so bright compared to the dark attic that he had to shield his eyes.
‘How does your leg feel?’ Magda asked.
‘Stiff. It hurts. But after spending so much time in that little attic, where I had to stoop just to stand up, it feels good – thank you.’
He smiled broadly and held out his arms to her.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘you’d better sit down here. We left your boots upstairs, but it doesn’t matter – my father has an old pair down here by the door.’
‘Are we going outside?’ he asked.
‘Yes – the sun is shining and it’s such a beautiful day.’ She retrieved her father’s old work boots
from beside the front door; Michael sat on a kitchen chair and slipped his feet into them.
‘They’re a bit big too for you,’ said Magda. ‘But you should be able to walk well enough.’ She draped an old jacket of her father’s around the airman’s shoulders and guided him out, and round the side of the house, into the vegetable garden.
‘Sit down here… on this little seat,’ she suggested.
Her father had made the wooden bench some years before. He and Käthe would often sit there together, after they’d finished digging, admiring their handiwork.
Michael closed his eyes, feeling the sun warming his face. Birds sang in the apple trees and bees buzzed gently in the warm air. Chickens clucked contentedly around their feet, pecking worms from the half-filled vegetable beds.
‘It reminds me of home,’ Michael said, taking her hand, and kissing it.
‘You’ve not told me much about your home.’
‘It seems so far away. Sometimes I wonder if it’s all a dream.’
‘Try to tell me. I’d like to know.’
‘Well… we live in quite a large house, on the edge of a little village, near the south coast of England. We can see the sea from the garden. As a boy I used to lie on the lawn and watch the changing colours of the Channel – grey mostly, but in the summer it changed to a beautiful blue that matched the colour of the sky.’
‘It sounds lovely,’ said Magda.
‘We have a vegetable garden too – it’s my mother’s pride and joy. We have an orchard and chickens that run around. She grows asparagus – it’s the talk of the county.’
‘We grow asparagus,’ Magda said brightly. ‘Look… here.’ She crossed the garden, and pointed to the stubbly spears of asparagus pushing through the brown earth.
‘So you do.’ He admired her boyish figure, her long limbs, always a little tanned, even after a long hard winter, her golden hair glinting in the sunshine.
‘Come over here,’ he said. ‘I want to kiss you.’
‘No,’ she replied playfully. ‘Your leg’s much better… you come to me.’
