The Secret Letter

by Debbie Rix

  Magda nodded. Käthe and Pieter sat quietly, listening politely, following the conversation as well as they could.

  ‘He recuperated for a few weeks and then re-joined his squadron. He was determined to go back, even though his leg was pretty badly mangled. And then a couple of months before the end of the war he was on a raid over Hamburg… and was shot down. He was killed pretty instantly, we were told.’

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Magda finally said. ‘That he got home safely, but then still died.’ She began to weep silently.

  ‘He told us what you’d done for him,’ David said, looking at Magda’s parents. ‘You were all so kind. He always said that after the war, he’d go back and find you. I promise that was his intention.’

  ‘I wrote to him,’ Magda began, ‘after the war. I couldn’t risk it before, in case the letters were intercepted. Now I wish I had. He died not knowing how much I cared, or even about Michaela.’

  ‘Your letters were finally passed to my mother. It took a while, I’m afraid, for them to find us – we only received them a few weeks ago.’

  Magda nodded.

  ‘I can’t pretend it wasn’t a shock,’ he went on. ‘To find he had a child. My mother was very upset – very cross with him in fact, that he had left you in the lurch, so to speak.’

  ‘No,’ Magda said. ‘No, you mustn’t think that. He didn’t know about the baby. And we loved each other very much. We always talked about him coming back after the war. That’s why I went on writing. I suppose I hoped…’

  ‘When my mother read the letters,’ David continued, ‘she insisted I came here to find you, and tell you, personally, what had happened to Michael. She would like to help – with the child. Anything you need… anything at all. She’d like to meet her too one day – if that might be possible.’

  Upstairs, Michaela woke and began to cry. Käthe left the room, returning a few minutes later with the sleepy child in her arms.

  David gasped slightly when he saw her.

  ‘Oh! She’s so like him.’

  ‘I know,’ said Magda, holding out her arms for her daughter. ‘I chose the right name, don’t you think – Michaela?’

  She sat Michaela on her lap, facing David.

  ‘This is your uncle, Michaela,’ Magda said gently. Michaela looked up at her mother, her eyes wide. ‘This is your daddy’s brother…’

  Michaela grinned and held out her chubby arms to David, who picked her up, fighting back the tears. She snuggled into his neck, and he breathed in her scent.

  ‘She’s beautiful,’ he said.

  ‘We think so,’ said Magda.

  ‘We’d love to be part of her life,’ he said. ‘If you’ll let us?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Magda. ‘You are already part of her life.’

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  London

  May 1951

  Imogen was waiting for Freddie at the foot of the dark oak staircase of The Royal Academy. They had arranged to visit the summer exhibition and afterwards they planned to have tea at Fortnum & Mason followed, perhaps, by a drink and supper.

  ‘Let’s see how we feel,’ Freddie had said the previous evening. ‘If the job interview goes well, I might feel like celebrating.’ They had married a few months earlier, and moved down to London. Living in a boarding house on the edge of Hampstead, they were both looking for jobs.

  Wearing a dark emerald-coloured coat and matching hat, Imogen waited anxiously for her new husband to arrive. She had been thinking about him all day, worrying about his interview. If he could just get a job, they stood a chance of finally getting a place of their own. As she flicked nervously through a catalogue of the exhibition, she noticed a dark-haired man watching her from the other side of the grand entrance hall. She looked away, but when she turned back he was still there, studying her. It was rather disconcerting, and yet he somehow seemed familiar.

  ‘It’s Imogen, isn’t it?’ He said, walking towards her. He had faint accent – German, she thought.

  ‘Yes. That’s right. I think I know you – I just can’t remember why.’

  ‘My name is Karl. I met you a few years ago with my friends in Hampstead. In The Spaniard’s pub.’

  ‘Oh yes. I do remember you now. Of course… Karl. My friend Joy – she rather liked you.’

  ‘Oh,’ he blushed. ‘I thought it was Werner she liked.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right! She did hold a bit of a candle for him, until she found out about his wife.’

  ‘Ah yes. Werner and his girlfriends. He was always rather, how should I say, liberated.’

  ‘Well, that’s one way of putting it,’ laughed Imogen. ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Berlin I think,’ Karl said. ‘And how is Joy?’

  ‘Oh she’s very well. Living in Northumberland and married to a doctor. She’s already got two children.’

  ‘I’m glad – she was a nice girl.’

  ‘And what about you?’ asked Imogen.

  ‘I’m very well. I’m still at university, in Oxford.’

  ‘I remember – you were doing a Masters or something.’

  ‘Yes. I finished that a while ago. But I continue with my research.’

  ‘You never went back to Germany?’

  ‘Oh yes, occasionally. I visit my parents and my sister Magda, and her daughter.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Imogen. ‘So you have a niece?’

  ‘Yes – Michaela.’

  ‘Well,’ said Imogen, uncertain what else she could say, ‘it was lovely to see you again.’

  ‘Yes – and send my love to Joy, won’t you?’ He laughed again and Imogen smiled.

  ‘Yes, of course. Goodbye.’

  He wandered over to look at a display of catalogues near the door and Imogen was left feeling embarrassed and slightly irritated that Freddie was so late. It was awkward standing so close to Karl, but not actually speaking to him.

  Suddenly, Freddie arrived in a rush, his raincoat flapping wildly, filled with apologies.

  ‘Darling, I’m so sorry. But I have great news!’

  ‘What?’ she said, gripping his hands.

  ‘I got the job. It’s a small practice up near Marylebone. I start in a week.’

  She kissed him. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

  ‘Now we just need to get you a job and everything will be perfect.’

  She smiled.

  ‘Shall we get the tickets?’ he said. ‘It’s a wonderful show, I hear.’

  He guided her to the ticket desk, and then took her arm as they went up the grand staircase towards the exhibition. Standing at the top of the stairs, waiting for their tickets to be checked, Imogen turned and noticed Karl was still watching her.

  ‘Just a moment,’ she said to Freddie. She ran down the stairs, opening her handbag as she went, and retrieved a small notebook and pencil.

  ‘I was just thinking,’ she said to Karl, ‘do let me have your number. It would be nice to keep in touch.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He took the pencil and wrote his number in her book.

  ‘Karl Maier,’ she said out loud. ‘Such a lovely name. And what is your sister called?’

  ‘Magda.’

  ‘Thank you. Are you going to the show?’

  ‘Yes. But I’m meeting someone first,’ he said. ‘We’re going together.’

  ‘Oh well,’ said Imogen, ‘we might see you in there. Goodbye again.’

  ‘Who was that you dashed off to see in such a tearing hurry?’ asked Freddie, as they wandered around the exhibition.

  ‘A man I met during the war. A German, as it happens. He was at Oxford, and fought on our side. He was always rather mysterious, you know, about what he did. Now I think about it, he was probably involved in some sort of espionage.’

  ‘How exciting,’ said Freddie, gazing at a modernist portrait.

  ‘He’s called Karl Maier,’ said Imogen, following her husband’s gaze.

  ‘That name is strangely familiar,’ Freddie said. ‘I knew someb
ody called Maier during the war. A girl – you remember I told you about her? This extraordinary girl I met, when I was on the run. Magda. Yes, that’s right; Magda Maier.’

  ‘It’s the same person,’ said Imogen excitedly. ‘He just told me he had a sister called Magda.’

  ‘Where is this man, Karl?’ asked Freddie. ‘Can you see him anywhere?’ He looked around the crowded exhibition room.

  ‘No,’ said Imogen. ‘He said he was coming to the show with a friend. But I can’t see them anywhere.’

  ‘Could we go and find him?’ asked Freddie.

  ‘But we haven’t seen the show yet,’ protested Imogen.

  ‘We can come back and see the rest in a minute,’ said Freddie, tugging at her sleeve. ‘Please darling. If it is Magda’s brother, I’d love to hear how she is.’

  ‘I’ve got his phone number,’ said Imogen, chasing after Freddie as he ran down the staircase towards the crowded entrance hall.

  ‘Can you see him anywhere?’ said Freddie, frantically looking around.

  ‘No,’ said Imogen. ‘He seems to have gone. How odd.’

  ‘Damn,’ said Freddie. ‘I’d have loved to have spoken to him. To find out about Magda, and see if she ever got in touch with Michael.’

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw him. He was walking across the courtyard outside the Academy, his hand outstretched to Karl. He was wearing a dark coat with its collar turned up, and a trilby hat, which gave him an air of mystery.

  Karl said something to him, and Ben turned around and glanced towards the Royal Academy. He looked straight at her; there was a flicker of recognition, a glimmer of a smile, and then he put his arm around Karl’s shoulder, guiding him away from the building and out beneath the arch and onto Piccadilly.

  Over tea at Fortnum’s, Freddie mentioned Karl again. ‘I’d like to telephone that man, Karl. I’d love to know how Magda is. She was such a lovely girl. Very brave but a bit wild.’

  Imogen smiled, and nibbled a scone. She was thinking about Benjamin. Of the way he had looked at her. Of the way he had enveloped Karl, as if he was precious to him – almost like family.

  ‘Magda told me a bit about what her brother was doing,’ Freddie said. ‘Karl was a spy working for the Americans – did you know that?’

  ‘I think I knew some of it,’ said Imogen. ‘I knew he was doing something secret. I didn’t understand that the Americans were running it though, but it doesn’t surprise me.’

  ‘Karl was dropped into Germany to send information back to London. He had a handler,’ Freddie went on, ‘an American guy based here, apparently. She never told me his name. From what I can gather he was part of the American secret service – it was called the OSS back in the war, but it’s the CIA now.’

  ‘I think his name was Benjamin,’ said Imogen.

  Freddie looked up, quizzically.

  ‘I knew him, briefly,’ she went on. ‘I never really understood what he was doing in London. But I think I’m beginning to understand now.’

  ‘How extraordinary,’ said Freddie. ‘That you knew him, I mean.’

  ‘We went out for a while, actually.’

  ‘Really?’ Freddie sat back in his chair and studied his wife. ‘I’m shocked,’ he said, with mock-indignation. ‘We’ve been together for over five years and this is the first I’ve heard of it! I thought you loved me and only me.’

  ‘I did. I do.’ She reached across the table and held his hand. ‘I’ve loved you since the day I met you.’

  ‘So much that you went out with someone else – and a spy to boot?’

  ‘Well I didn’t know he was a spy – at least not then. Besides, you told me to forget you. I thought you didn’t care.’

  ‘How could you think that?’ He picked up her hand and kissed it.

  ‘You stood in that doorway in Newcastle in the rain and told me to “get on with my life”. To forget you. So I did.’

  He smiled. ‘I had no idea you were so literal. So what happened between you and… Benjamin?’

  ‘Not much, really.’ She blushed slightly.

  ‘You’re blushing! Imogen McMasters, is there something you haven’t told me?’

  ‘No. Not really. We went out for a bit and then I gave him up, when we were in Paris.’

  ‘In Paris!’ Freddie said. ‘I didn’t know you were with anyone in Paris. You wrote to me from there and never mentioned him.’

  ‘He turned up out of the blue and took me out to dinner two or three times. He wanted to marry me. Even gave me a ring. Actually, it was some family heirloom or other.’ She fiddled with her own engagement ring – a single diamond on a gold band. ‘He’d planned the whole thing. At first he told me he was a lawyer and we would live in New York. I quite liked the sound of that, if I’m honest. But by the time we met again Paris, he seemed to have changed. He was rather cagey about what he was going to be doing after the war, and suggested we lived with his parents in Washington. It sounded so awful and I realised, I didn’t know very much about him. I wasn’t really sure that I loved him at all. So I broke it off.’

  ‘Well, thank God you did!’ said Freddie, laughing.

  ‘The next day, I got a letter from you – the first one in years. It seemed prophetic. You sounded so… hopeful about us meeting again, and I realised that all was not lost.’

  ‘I could see the end was in sight by then, I suppose. I realised how much I loved you and I was scared suddenly that I might lose you. And it turns out I nearly did.’

  ‘And all that time,’ Imogen said, squeezing his hand, ‘I thought you weren’t really interested. Then I nearly lost you, when you crashed your plane.’

  ‘I didn’t crash – I was shot down. There’s a difference.’ He smiled.

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘I just hope it was worth the wait – for me I mean. I’m sorry I was such a fool.’

  He leant across the table and kissed her.

  ‘Of course it was worth the wait.’

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Magda’s village

  December 1951

  Michaela darted between her mother and grandmother, hiding in shop doors, giggling as she picked up handfuls of snow, throwing it at passers-by.

  ‘Michaela,’ Magda called after her, ‘behave yourself – come back here.’

  Michaela, her red hair peeking out from beneath her little rabbit fur hat, ran happily to her mother, who took her firmly by the hand. Stopping in front of the haberdasher’s shop in the square, Magda admired the window, filled with bales of red and green fabric – cotton and velvet – and trimmings decorated with snowflakes and stars. In the foreground was a life-size model of Father Christmas on a sleigh pulled by straw reindeer.

  Michaela, enraptured by the scene, tugged at her mother’s hand. ‘I want to see,’

  ‘All right,’ said Magda, ‘we’ll go inside and buy some fabric and make you a new Christmas dress. Would you like that?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Michaela jumped up and down.

  As Magda rifled through the fabrics, the owner – newly arrived from Augsburg – dug out a dark green velvet.

  ‘This would suit her very well,’ she suggested to Magda.

  ‘Fine, thank you. We’ll take it. And I’ll need some buttons, please – those little pearl ones, and some matching thread.’

  As the fabric was wrapped in brown paper, Magda glanced out of the window. A woman wearing a shabby overcoat, her hair greying slightly, walked unsteadily into the square carrying an old-fashioned brown suitcase.

  ‘Who is that?’ Magda asked her mother, pointing to the woman.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Käthe, glancing up, irritably. Michaela was running around the shop, picking up lengths of fabric. Käthe marched over to her and grabbed her arm. ‘Michaela,’ she said, pulling her back to stand next to Magda, ‘stop running around and stand quietly next to your mother.’

  ‘She looks familiar,’ said Magda.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know – probably someone’s re
lative coming to stay for the Christmas holiday. Come on Magda, we must go.’

  ‘That will be two marks,’ said the haberdasher, handing her the parcel.

  ‘Mutti,’ Magda began as they stood outside the shop. ‘There’s something I’d like to show you.’

  ‘We really ought to get home,’ said Käthe. ‘Michaela is tired – that’s why she’s behaving so badly.’

  ‘In a moment. Please. There’s a shop on the other side of the square,’ she said, leading them across the road. ‘It’s empty and up for rent. I’d like you to see it.’

  ‘A shop?’ Käthe said, with surprise. ‘We’ve got a farm to run, Magda. Why do we need a shop?’

  ‘I’ve had an idea for some time… just something I’d like to do. Please, just come with me.’

  The shop was one of the few buildings that had been left unscathed by the bombing. Half-timbered and painted dark pink, it had a steep roof typical of the local architecture, and an oak front door with two large windows on either side.

  ‘Well it’s very pretty,’ said Käthe. ‘But what are you going to sell here – bread and cheese?’

  ‘No,’ said Magda. ‘Christmas.’

  ‘What on earth do you mean?’

  ‘I’m going to have a Christmas shop – somewhere that always sells lovely things for Christmas.’

  ‘But it’s only Christmas in December. What do you sell the rest of the year?’

  ‘I know it sounds mad, but I think people will like it. After all those years when Christmas was,’ she paused, searching for the right word, ‘spoiled. Taken away from us by the Nazis. It will be a joyous place. Somewhere to bring happiness to people.’

  ‘Magda,’ said Käthe, ‘it’s madness. Your father will never agree to it. I’m sorry, but we can’t afford to take a risk like that. We’re just getting the farm back on a firm financial footing.’

  ‘I know,’ said Magda firmly. ‘Thanks largely to me having the courage to borrow from the bank. I have plans for the farm too, but I’m sure this Christmas shop will be a huge success, you’ll see.’