Beyond the Storm
Diana Finley
‘Phenomenal… Beautifully written and emotionally charged. I cried… Outstanding. ’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars An epic tale of love, war, and the secrets we keep… Anna Feldman is born in Vienna just as war breaks out; war will come to shape her entire life. But as Anna moves from Austria to Palestine, England to Germany, one thing will remain a constant: the weight of the secret she keeps. This is the story of Anna, the people she loved and the people she lost – and a heartbreaking choice which changed the course of her life forever. For fans of Dinah Jefferies and Heather Morris, Beyond the Storm captures the bravery and strength of a life lived through a century of conflict, and our unending capacity for hope and love. Previously published as The Loneliness of Survival. This edition contains editorial revisions. Readers LOVE Beyond the Storm! ‘Amazingly written… Highly recommend!’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars ‘Excellent read… Didn’t want it to end. ’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars ‘So beautifully written. An excellent book… An emotional read… Perfect. ’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars ‘A lovely story that draws you in… Highly recommend this book. ’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars
About the Author (#u805016d8-7033-5b43-b5eb-87bb05104e00)
Diana Finley was an ‘army child’, the youngest child of her British officer father and Jewish Viennese mother, who met in Palestine during World War 2. Diana was born in Germany, where her father was posted after the war. The family moved to London during the Sixties. At eighteen, Diana spent nearly a year living with nomadic people in a remote part of Afghanistan – a life-changing experience.
Back in England, Diana got a job for Macdonald Educational, writing and editing information books for children. On their honeymoon, she and her husband found a small house high in the hills of Northumberland, and decided to move their lives there from London. The north east of England has been their home ever since.
Diana trained as a Speech and Language Therapist at Newcastle University, and worked for many years in Northumberland, specialising in supporting autistic children and their families. In 2009 she published a professional book on autism.
In 2011 Diana completed an MA in Creative Writing with distinction, which helped to forge her decision to return to her first love of writing, and become a full-time writer. The Loneliness of Survival, her first book, drew loosely on the experiences of her parents, but it is written as a novel and not a memoir. It was published in 2014 by Indigo Dreams, a small independent publisher. Her second book, Finding Lucy was published by HQ at HarperCollins in 2018. HarperCollins are currently re-publishing The Loneliness of Survival under the new title of Beyond The Storm.
For more about Diana’s work visit www.dianafinley.com or find her on Facebook (@DianaFinleyAuthor (http://www.Facebook.com/DianaFinleyAuthor)) and Twitter (@diana_finley (http://www.Twitter.com/diana_finley)).
Praise for Diana Finley from readers: (#u805016d8-7033-5b43-b5eb-87bb05104e00)
‘A thought provoking read’
‘Couldn’t put this book down’
‘I found myself eagerly turning the pages’
‘An enthralling tale of love, hatred, secrets and joy’
‘I absolutely drank it all in and wished there was more’
‘Captivating from beginning to end … the characters were beautifully drawn’
‘Diana Finley is perceptive in her character building and of domestic and everyday situations’
Beyond The Storm
DIANA FINLEY
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published as The Loneliness of Survival,
This edition published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019
Copyright © Diana Finley 2019
Diana Finley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © October 2019 ISBN: 9780008348335
Version: 2019-07-31
Table of Contents
Cover (#udd570e51-2cdc-5bf8-8e3c-0dd183f5461c)
About the Author
Praise for Diana Finley from readers:
Title Page (#ua05703e0-1fc9-5192-bd7e-a2449d63eea0)
Copyright (#ucaf418be-a88b-5f0b-acd1-3afe95e8e1d0)
Dedication (#u683ded9a-b3e3-5152-88e4-1b78a4afffa1)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Acknowledgements
Extract
Dear Reader … (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher
To my parents
Chapter 1 (#ulink_5a5a42d8-1acd-5761-bd0b-4e686a63ddcb)
2014
She squeezes her eyes tight shut and then opens them wide. As on other mornings, she wonders if perhaps she is dead, and exactly how she would know. The sun has not fully penetrated the maroon silk curtains, but creates a rosy pinkness in the gloom of the bedroom, which could be taken as heaven. A moment later the clatter of the drinks trolley in the corridor convinces Anna that it is not heaven, and that she is still alive. She remembers that today is her hundredth birthday.
The continuous preparations have become more than a little irritating, but she’s tried to keep quiet, to accept it in good humour. Tomorrow is the great day, they kept reminding her, making a ridiculous fuss about it. As though one day makes such a difference, even this day. Doreen had done her usual ‘popping in’ and asking if Anna was excited. She said yes she was, just to please her.
‘But don’t make too many advance preparations. After all, I might die in the night.’
‘Anna! Honestly, shame on you!’
‘There’s no shame in death. What a waste of effort it would be, and such a disappointment for the other residents.’
Doreen didn’t like that.
‘You’re a terrible pessimist, Anna.’
Such a fool. Did she think optimism would ensure eternal life?
‘Not at all. I’m not a pessimist – just a realist. We all have to die. In fact, at one day before my hundredth birthday, the chances must be quite high.’
‘Oh, Anna, do try to be more cheerful. We’ll all have a lovely day tomorrow.’
Well, she has survived the night and ‘the great day’ has arrived. Eve appears soon after morning coffee. She settles Anna in the wheelchair in a quiet alcove off the main lounge, making sure the maroon cushion (matching the curtains) at her back is plumped up, her shawl symmetrical, and her skirt smoothed over her knees. On the wall opposite is a large mirror with a gilt frame, slightly chipped in places. Anna rarely examines herself in a mirror these days, but in this position she has little choice. The mirror is barely a metre away and shows her entire body, in cruel detail.
She stares at her reflection. How tired she looks. And old – so very old, she realises with shock. Her face is small, almost childlike. The flesh, now pale and sallow, has loosened around the jaw, forming two soft jowls. The skin around her eyes has darkened, as if perpetually shadowed by fatigue. Yet, Anna notes with satisfaction, she remains scarcely lined. Always small, she seems to have shrunk into an almost gnome-like form, her body engulfed by the wheelchair. Her legs, discoloured and blotchy from poor circulation, dangle above the floor like a child’s. Her hair has been set in neat waves. Anna is very particular about it – very particular about physical appearance in general. People these days seem happy to look totally ungroomed. Anna tuts out loud to herself at the thought.
‘Mmm?’ says Eve. Anna shakes her head. The hairdresser comes every Thursday and Anna rarely misses an appointment. Her thick, dark curls were once admired by all. Even now, she notices, much black hair shows through the white. She turns her head from one side to the other and looks round to Eve with a soft sigh.
‘I’m getting so grey now.’
Eve laughs. ‘Don’t you think you’re entitled to have some grey hair at a hundred?’
The only image of herself Anna allows to be displayed in her room is a studio photograph arranged as a present for Sam, soon after they first married. In it, Anna looks film-star beautiful; her hair is sculpted in Forties’ style, her skin pale and smooth as milk. She gazes aslant at the camera from darkly sultry eyes, a faint, enigmatic smile on her lips. Even now, over seventy years later, it is how she likes to picture herself.
The staff fuss around Anna. Eve crouches by her mother’s chair, always ready to be her interpreter. Anna knows she’s on show, expected to be the life and soul of the party, but she can’t hear, can’t make out what people are asking her.
Doreen looms over Anna, stroking her hand.
‘Are you having a nice time, Anna dear?’ she shouts.
Anna smiles uncertainly up at her, glancing at Eve for reassurance, working out what response is needed.
‘Very nice party, thank you,’ she says. Or rather, ‘sank you’. She’s never lost her accent, even after all these years.
Doreen grins and nods. Behind her a nervous-looking young man is shifting from one foot to the other. Doreen stands up and grabs him by the arm. She pulls him down to the level of Anna’s chair.
‘Anna, this is Simon. He’s a reporter with the local newspaper. They’re doing an article about very old age.’ She speaks slowly and enunciates every word clearly. Anna grits her teeth. As though talking to a half-wit. She frowns at Doreen.
‘Simon would like to ask you a few questions, for the paper!’
Anna shrugs and turns to the young man.
He squats in front of Anna, notebook in hand. His knees crackle. Even she can hear them. From beside Anna’s chair, Doreen gesticulates to remind him to speak loudly.
‘Hello, Mrs Lawrence. How does it feel to be a hundred years old?’ he bellows.
Anna searches his face and considers the question.
‘Well …’ she says, ‘I do feel very old. A hundred is very old, but so is ninety-nine, and ninety-eight. I’m not sure I feel much different just by being a hundred. In fact, it does not feel real to me. Of course I know I am a hundred, but it’s as if it is happening to someone else.’
Simon scribbles furiously, then glances at her eagerly.
‘Do you have any secrets of long life you would like to share with our readers?’
‘It’s no secret. One minute you are young – like you. You think you will always be young. Of course, young people cannot imagine ever being old. But time goes on and on. Suddenly you are not so young, and you come to realise you will be old one day too, if you are lucky enough to live. And now … well, to be a hundred is extraordinary, for me too. Really it is too long to live.’
Anna slumps back in her chair, breathing fast after this lengthy speech, as if exhausted. Simon has been writing with concentration. He looks up.
‘So … so you don’t have any health tips for others, who might want to … er … live as long as you?’
Anna stares at him.
‘I used to walk a lot. I never learned to drive. My husband wanted to teach me, but I didn’t want to learn. Maybe that helped. I walked everywhere – well into my eighties. But people didn’t think so much about healthy eating when I was young. We ate anything we could and were glad of it. After the First World War, when the Allied Forces occupied Vienna, they allowed one child from each family to come to a soup kitchen to be fed. Of my sisters, I was the skinniest, so they sent me. I was only four or five years old. My sisters were so jealous! T’ja, we were all hungry. But I was terribly ashamed, even at that age, to have to stand in line with all the poor children and accept charity – charity from the enemy! I hated that soup kitchen. Vah!’ She pulls a face and shudders in horror, as if finding a disgusting, wriggling creature crawling on her body.
Anna pictures the hall with its queues of children, Kaethe pushing her forward, muttering in her ear: ‘Smile at the gentlemen, say thank you.’ There at the high table she could hardly see over, soldiers had ladled out hot soup into her proffered bowl, grinning and saying words she could not understand. She had glared at them, those foreign soldiers. She wouldn’t smile, even though Kaethe had pinched her arm and hissed at her.
Anna looks at Simon. He shifts his gaze from her to Eve, as if unsure whether her revelations should be included in his article. He smiles and nods.
‘You’ve always eaten a lot of fresh fruit and vegetables, haven’t you, Mum?’ Eve puts in loudly.
‘Oh right, fresh fruit and vegetables.’ Simon writes it down. ‘OK. And what did you think about your birthday card from the Queen, Mrs Lawrence?’
‘Well of course, it’s what she does. It’s a tradition. Once, maybe she wrote them all herself, when there were not so many people who lived to over a hundred. Now there are too many of us! I expect she has her assistants to help write and send them all. It doesn’t mean much to me. I prefer the cards I was given by my family and by people who care for me.’
Simon appears disappointed by this reply. Anna is quick to occupy the pause in the questioning.
‘Have you worked long for this local paper?’ she asks.
‘No, about three months actually. It’s my first job after graduating.’
‘And you hope to work for one of the bigger papers one day? The Daily Mail, or The Guardian perhaps?’
Simon laughs and seems to relax for the first time during the interview. ‘Well, that would be very nice, but right now I’m happy to be working for my little local rag – and talking to you, of course.’
‘What else do you want to know?’
‘Where do you come from, Mrs Lawrence, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Where do I come from? That’s a hard question. Originally, I come from Vienna, as I just said. Then the Nazis came to power and things got very difficult. We could not stay in Austria. So I escaped to Palestine with my first husband, Jakob.’ Anna pauses, picturing their arrival at Haifa for a moment. She looks back to Simon. He is staring at her, his pencil frozen above his notebook.
‘Ja, poor Jakob. That was a hard time, a bad time. Then later I met my second husband, Sam. Sam was an Englishman. An Englishman through and through.’ Anna smiles and then sighs deeply. She feels Eve tapping her arm. Her eyes settle back on Simon.
‘What did you say your name is? I didn’t hear.’
‘It’s Simon.’
‘Simon. Simon, it’s a good name. I called my son Shimon just like you – my first son.’ Anna focuses steadily on a spot on the wall beside her, as though an image of her son might suddenly appear there.
‘Shimon was born long, long ago. But he was taken away. I could not keep him. I did not see him for many years. It is a terrible thing to be separated from your own child, terrible. As if a vital part of your own body is torn from you. I should never have agreed to be parted from him, but I had no choice, you see. So many years ago, so many years.’ She leans forward towards Simon. ‘It is strange to see your children grow old. That is one of the curses of being a hundred. No, it is not all wonderful, you know.’
Simon swallows audibly and shifts his position. Anna pauses and glances at Eve, who strokes her mother’s hand and nods encouragingly at her.
‘Much later, after Shimon, came Ben. He was Sam and my first child together. He was born in England during the last months of the war. At the end of the war Sam was posted to Berlin, so then Ben and I moved to join him in Germany. To Germany! Just imagine – into the arms of the enemy! That’s where Eve was born,’ she says, looking at Eve again. ‘We were in Germany for many years. We came to England when my husband retired.’
‘You’ve had quite a disrupted life then, Mrs Lawrence.’
‘Yes, you could certainly call it disrupted.’
Doreen appears with a glass of sherry for Anna, a drink she dislikes.
‘I think that’s quite enough questions!’ Doreen says, patting Simon’s shoulder. ‘People are waiting. The mayor’s arrived. We should move Anna into the main part of the lounge. We have to get on with the ceremonies – and everyone’s dying for a slice of Anna’s cake!’
Simon leaps to his feet. He bends over Anna’s chair and gently shakes her hand.
‘Thank you very much for talking so openly to me, Mrs Lawrence. I’ve really enjoyed meeting you. I’m sure people will be fascinated to read about your story.’
‘Hah! For you it may be a story, Simon. For me, it’s my life.’
He nods and backs towards the edge of the room. Anna is wheeled out of the alcove. Eve’s brother Ben has been hovering near the doorway of the large residents’ lounge with his wife, Nadia, and their three adult children, Charlie, Guy and Alma. Eve’s husband Richard stands talking to their two sons, Mark and Adam. Milling around the adults’ feet is a variously sized army of children and toddlers. Anna’s beloved daughter-in-law crouches low, admiring a bead bracelet held up by one of the little girls. She turns and smiles warmly as Anna is pushed in, bringing a lump to Anna’s throat. Alma holds the baby in her arms – Anna’s latest great-grandchild.
‘You look fantastic, Mum,’ Ben says. ‘Happy birthday!’
‘Thank you, my darlings. It’s lovely to see you all.’
She beams at her large family gathered around her. She searches the room anxiously. Are they all here? Not quite all, someone is missing. Where is he?
The children are ushered forward. Each child is embraced in turn, and each gives Anna his or her small present and card, watching intently as she struggles to unwrap it. She exclaims dutifully over every bar of soap and handkerchief, every photo frame and box of chocolates. Alma deposits the baby on Anna’s lap. He looks round uncertainly at his great-grandmother, his lip quivering. Anna smiles at him and strokes his soft curls. The baby notices a piece of shiny wrapping paper on Anna’s lap. He grabs it and becomes absorbed in crumpling it. The threatened tears are held at bay. Anna admires the baby’s eyes and marvels at how advanced he is for four months. She allows Simon to photograph her for the paper, surrounded by her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He promises copies for the family to keep.
A large platter is brought in with the cake, shaped as the figures of 100. A murmur of approval and anticipation rises from those residents who are sufficiently aware of the proceedings to notice. The cakes are ablaze with a hundred lit candles. A discordant rendering of ‘Happy birthday to you’ is sung while Anna blows out the candles, eagerly helped by the children. Small pieces of cake are distributed to all the residents and visitors. The children sit on the floor at Anna’s feet, with their paper plates and exhortations not to make a mess. Every now and then she smiles at one of them or pats a head. How sweet they are, so innocent. She struggles with remembering exactly which child is which.
The voices murmur on and on. She watches her children and grandchildren talking to one another. Every now and then one of them catches her eye and smiles or gives her a little wave. Anna is unsettled. She scans the family, knowing it is incomplete, waiting. The young people have gathered in a group at one side of the room and are laughing together uproariously. Anna smiles to see them. Then she sighs. Sam should be here. If only he could have seen his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. How he would have loved them. Sam always loved to grow things, but he never knew what a wonderful family he had grown.
Glancing out of the tall Edwardian window, Anna notices the sweep of a rainbow glowing against the pale wet sky of late afternoon. It makes her think of her mother suddenly, her poor mother, so long gone. ‘Find the rainbow, Anna,’ she used to say, ‘and then run towards it.’ Just a feeling, like a dream, an echo, from all those years ago. As the light fades from the sky outside, so too does the rainbow, leaving Anna with a strange emptiness, a sadness. Many of the residents are nodding in their chairs, if not actually sleeping. The smaller children are growing restless. Anna is ready for the peace of her own room.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_741f8af1-0c29-519e-93f9-4c6db4103766)
1945
Sam and Anna arrive in England in March 1945. After nearly six years of war, the country is in a dreary and depressed state. The first thing Anna notices is the greyness, the dark and gloom. They spend a few nights in London, where Sam takes pleasure in pointing out the sights to her: St Paul’s Cathedral, the Tower of London, Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. They avoid the worst of the bombed areas. Almost constant rain gives the blackened buildings an oily gloss.
Anna is thrilled to visit some of the famous places she has read about, but never dreamt of experiencing. Yet it’s a relief to move out of London to Sam’s brother and sister-in-law’s home in Surrey. At least there are green fields and trees, and towering skies. After the intense light of the Middle East, the brilliance of the sunshine, everything here looks washed out and monochrome. Even on sunny days the sky appears hazy and milky rather than blue.
‘If only we could go to Berlin together, Sam. Surely you could put in a request, in the circumstances? Why do we have to be apart, now of all times?’ She strokes the solid curve of her belly. Even as she says it, Anna has doubts. Could she really live in Germany? It’s a ridiculous, horrible idea. Yet, how could she possibly not live wherever Sam is?
Ten days later, Sam goes ahead with the first waves of Allied troops to Berlin. Over the coming months he sends Anna long accounts of the devastation and hardship he encounters there:
… the scene greeting us was one of utter desolation and despair. Berlin is totally destroyed. I know you feel little sympathy for the Germans, and why should you? Yet one cannot help but feel compassion for these people, most of them innocent civilians – victims of the war and of their own regime. Some live in the remains of their ruined homes, without doors or windows, often without complete walls. Others simply live on the street. There is no fuel, almost no food, and no security. Our Russian allies behaved abominably – like Mongol invaders in fact. Women of all ages have been abused and humiliated, and often their only means of support now is to sell themselves to their very abusers, in exchange for scraps of food. Young children forage like rats in the ruins and fight over any filthy crusts they may find. Old people are abandoned and left to die. It breaks my heart – but one can’t dwell on the individual tragedies. There is so much to do to get systems up and working again: water and food supplies, shelter, transport, education, and on and on …
Anna, in England, is left to the mercies of Sam’s family, who offer her refuge dutifully, if perhaps reluctantly. Humphrey is all right. Tall and stooped like a much older man, despite being younger than Sam, Humphrey can be affectionate and funny. His blue eyes sparkle and his lips twitch when he makes some pointed comment and waits for a reaction. Anna does not always understand his humour; she supposes it to be of a very English, dry and ironic variety. She likes Humphrey and, though never completely sure of him, she believes he likes her.
Constance, on the other hand, is prickly and easily offended. Anna does not know exactly why Constance seems to find her so threatening; perhaps it is the child she is expecting? Yet Constance has three beautiful daughters of her own. At ten and eight, the older two are away in a boarding school, only seeing their parents for occasional weekends and in the holidays. It seems a horrible practice to Anna. Why have children, only to send them away? The youngest daughter, a little girl of three, is largely in the care of a nanny, known in the family as Nanny Lawrence. The child is brought into the drawing room after tea, prettily dressed, to be admired and caressed briefly and then returned to the nursery. Looking at the little girl, Anna is reminded of Rachel and their times together in Haifa, her lap a void longing to be filled. After a while, little Camilla learns to come to her for hugs and silly games, until Anna is scolded by Nanny Lawrence for spoiling the child.
She tries hard to understand Constance, to learn her expectations and fulfil them. Certainly, Constance does not consider it her role to bridge the cultural gulf between them. As Sam’s wife, it is for Anna to adjust to her new situation, to learn the rules. Constance sees herself as keeper of Humphrey’s reputation as a respected GP. She is ever alert to any threat to his position in the community. Anna knows that despite nearly two months of guidance and schooling in social etiquette, Constance finds her a frustratingly slow pupil. How strange it is, this English world of respectability and suppressed outrage.
In Humphrey and Constance’s library Anna finds a copy of Alice in Wonderland. She thinks as a children’s story it will be simple and may help her with colloquial English. The language turns out to be far from simple, yet it fascinates Anna, parodying as it does this very world of saying one thing and meaning something quite different. As she soon learns, Constance is an expert in this field. When by chance they meet a neighbour or acquaintance in the street or in a shop, Constance seems so delighted to see her, so warm and friendly. She admires her outfit, enquires after the health of the husband, enthuses over the achievements of the children. Yet, a few moments later, when they go their separate ways, Constance begins a terrifying assassination. She ‘wouldn’t be seen dead in that suit’; the husband is definitely not ‘top-drawer’ (Anna has to ask Constance to explain these expressions); the children are ill-mannered and dull.
Anna is well aware that she makes Constance anxious, afraid that Humphrey may be shown up by his brother’s strange foreign wife and her unpredictable ways. Anna does not believe Constance dislikes her. In her way, she seems quite fond of Anna, but it is the uneasy affection one might have for a half-trained dog, which though appealing, could at any moment slip its collar and run riot.
Constance and Humphrey continue to entertain whenever they can – ‘after a fashion’ as Constance puts it. Small dinner parties are a regular occurrence at the Lawrence household.
‘It’s important to try to uphold our pre-war standards,’ Constance maintains to Anna as they prepare for one such evening.
Charles and Susan Jennings settle themselves at the table. Anna has met Susan before; Constance had taken her to a ‘coffee morning’ at the Jennings’ house the previous week, where cups of weak coffee had been served, bitter with chicory. Susan is a blonde, middle-aged woman with a pale, washed-out complexion. She has a habit of shaking with little spasms of giggling whenever she makes a contribution to the conversation.
Her husband Charles is Humphrey’s senior partner – a large, noisy, red-faced man. He sits on Anna’s right. As usual, Constance insists on placing Anna at her right-hand side. Anna is aware that this is not to favour her; it is not intended as an honour. On the contrary, Constance feels the need to keep a sharp eye on her, perhaps give her a meaningful prod or surreptitious kick under the table, or whisper advice under her breath. When Anna absently strokes the growing sphere of her belly, Constance indicates her disapproval with an audible exhalation through clenched teeth, accompanied by a hard stare.
Everyone’s attention is on Humphrey, carving a scrawny chicken bestowed on him by a grateful patient. Little gifts like this are not infrequent and are an important supplement to the rations. Charles Jennings leans close to Anna, speaking softly in her ear in a manner both confidential and flirtatious.
‘You look most charming, my dear. Splendid dress. Brightens up this drab weather no end. Just what we all need.’
Anna smiles at his looming face, suddenly uncertain how to respond. She glances round at Constance, who purses her lips and gazes about the table. Is this another of the sarcastic and indirect remarks she finds so confusing? Suddenly she feels that her red dress – so painstakingly sewn on Yael’s machine from a pair of cotton curtains in preparation for her pregnancy – stands out vividly and inappropriately. It is also more suited to the Palestinian climate. She rubs her bare arms. Since arriving in England Anna has suffered constantly from the cold, not so much outside – Sam’s mother has given her a thick woollen coat of her own, and one can put on several layers – but in the damp, unheated houses.
‘Honestly, I don’t know how you two manage it,’ Susan says, with a giggle. ‘Even in these hard times you always put on a splendid table, with everything so smart and spick and span!’
‘Spick and span, eh? I nearly had to come to the dinner table unshaven tonight!’ Humphrey is passing plates to his guests, each with a tiny portion of carved chicken. ‘Not a drop of hot water left.’ Humphrey smiles at Anna in a knowing manner, like a kindly schoolteacher who has caught out a favourite pupil in an unexpected misdemeanour.
‘Oh dear …?’ Anna says sympathetically, even as she senses uneasily that she has not fully understood the significance of the remark. Constance frowns at Humphrey, shaking her head faintly. It is truly a marvel, Anna thinks, how Constance can maintain a rigid smile on her lips, while frowning with the rest of her face.
‘I know you’re still not used to just how scarce the hot water is here,’ Humphrey blunders on. All eyes around the table are now alternating between Humphrey and Anna, as though following a tennis match. ‘I mean, in ordinary times it’s fine to fill the bathtub to the brim, but … er … right now, with fuel shortages … well, there’s not much to go round, is there? But then, how should you know that, eh? No matter though, no matter.’
Humphrey’s remarks hang in the air like a chill fog. Anna is unsure if she is expected to reply, but a hard knot of anger rises in her chest and hammers against her ribs.
‘Humphrey, are you telling me that I used up all the hot water in my bath? Because I think that is very rude of you to say, when I am a guest in your house!’
The high timbre of Anna’s voice remains, like an echo, repeating her last words to the gathering over and over. Humphrey looks aghast at her, his mouth frozen half-open.
‘I dare say you’re right … yes, quite right. I do apologise, Anna. No offence intended,’ he says after a pause.
Constance takes Anna’s hand in hers, as if she means to comfort her. Her plump fingers close around Anna’s wrist in a steely grip.
Anna’s heart is pounding, the sound of it surely filling the room. She longs for Sam. Where is he? Why has he left her with these people? An uncomfortable hiatus is smoothed by the entry of Jenny, the Lawrences’ cook, carrying vegetable dishes that she serves to everyone in turn, oblivious to the atmosphere. Conversation proceeds jerkily for a time. Humphrey winks at Anna across the table. Of course she smiles back. She resolves to speak to him later about the water issue. People here seem to talk in such a roundabout way about important matters, circling the crucial point but never quite articulating it. She is sorry to have upset Humphrey. He seems to be so kindly disposed towards her. But is he? She desperately needs allies. Certainly, she does not want to disturb the newly restored calm. A murmur of conversation rises falteringly from the table.
‘Funny lot, we British, aren’t we, my dear?’ Charles is leaning over to Anna amiably again. ‘So how do you think you are going to like living in England, eh? What do you make of it?’
‘Bloody awful weather,’ she replies without hesitation.
Cutlery stilled, there follows a stunned silence. Anna understands instantly that she has committed another social sin. Charles and Humphrey exchange glances and explode into great snorts of laughter. Susan titters behind her napkin. Constance glares thunderously.
‘Where exactly have you learned such an … idiomatic phrase, Anna?’ Humphrey asks.
‘From the milkman, Humphrey. That is what he said to me this morning, when I opened the door.’ She glances round the table, hoping for some means to redeem the situation. ‘I am trying hard to speak English as it is spoken.’
‘Well done, Anna! Jolly good. You’re certainly learning to speak English as it is spoken!’
‘However,’ Constance adds, ‘it is important to learn from the right class of person, darling.’
* * *
To Anna’s relief, Sam has arranged for her to go into a small private nursing home for the birth of the child. At first she wonders whether Humphrey, as a doctor, expects to attend to her himself – how dreadful that would be. But it turns out he has simply recommended the nursing home as the best in the area. Labour pains start one Sunday afternoon. Constance times the intervals efficiently. Anna’s bag has been packed for some time. Humphrey drives her to the hospital. A receptionist greets them, explains that a room has been booked for Anna and asks if she can manage to walk there. Anna says she can.
‘Better leave you in their capable hands, my dear. Just follow instructions and you’ll be fine. Remember, it’s all been done before. Natural process, and all that. All the best to you. Constance will be in to see you tomorrow, no doubt.’ Humphrey kisses Anna uncertainly on the cheek and turns to go. For a moment Anna almost calls him back, begs him to stay with her.
She has a small private room, very plain, very white. She feels totally alone. A brisk midwife comes in to examine her. She washes her hands and returns to the bed.
‘I was led to believe this was your first child, Mrs Lawrence.’ She studies Anna’s face with a quizzical frown.
‘I’m not sure what you were told. I had … I lost a child. Some years ago.’
‘Ah, yes. I understand.’
Anna looks at her. No, you understand nothing of me. The midwife comes back to examine her again every half hour or so. She offers little further conversation and even less comfort. The pains grow in strength and frequency and Anna is moved to a delivery room next door.
After an agonising, momentous struggle, a boy is born, a beautiful, perfect boy. As Anna holds him, breathes him in, and kisses him, over and over, the tears released become a flood, and will not stop. She is convulsed with weeping. She weeps for all the years gone by, for all that has happened and all that cannot be undone. The midwife clucks disapprovingly and urges her to stop – she should control herself for baby’s sake. It might upset him. She has a fine child and should be grateful. She needs to be calm for baby.
Constance visits them the next day. She admires the baby and hugs Anna and tells her how proud and happy Sam would be. She mentions that she and Humphrey have taken some blankets and cooking utensils to the rented rooms to which Anna and the baby will be moving on leaving hospital. After she goes, Anna spends hours gazing at her sleeping son. The nurses come to show her how to change and bath him. They handle his small body with detached efficiency. The baby abandons himself to their firm hands. He stares at the ceiling light. When being bathed, his fragile limbs stiffen and then relax. Anna is told to ‘put him down’ immediately after his bath or feeding him, to establish a routine. As soon as the nurses leave the room, she picks the baby up and presses him to the hollow of her neck. She inhales his blissful smell. He nuzzles against her and roots around for her breast, his soft mouth open and urgent.
The following day Constance brings Mother to see her new grandson. Mother holds him and kisses his tiny fingers. She looks up at Anna and shakes her head, her expression anxious, as always.
‘He’s so like Samuel as a baby, dear, that same little worried face.’
She unwraps a parcel of exquisite tiny garments she has sewn and knitted. Anna leans forward and embraces her mother-in-law. Mother stiffens in her arms, looking at once alarmed and delighted. Constance says they have wondered what the baby will be called.
‘Sam and I agreed Benjamin for a boy – Ben for short,’ Anna says.
‘Benjamin,’ says Mother. ‘That’s unusual. Is it Jewish?’
Chapter 3 (#ulink_baaae73d-d10b-521b-8918-c78e2d7592a0)
Sam
The behaviour and manner of Dr John Quentin Lawrence reflected the beliefs and attitudes of the Victorian era during which he was raised. Dr Lawrence was respected and trusted, but not greatly liked. He was regarded as a stern and severe man, who believed in hard work and frugality. He married Winifred Wainwright, a parson’s daughter, not for her good looks – she was on the thin side with a long face – but for her humble and compliant demeanour. He knew he would be able to rely on her to make a good doctor’s wife, and to uphold his values.
Despite her complete ignorance of the physical side of marriage until her wedding night, Winifred was pregnant with their first child. She woke early one morning with violent pains, which she knew to be contractions. She breathed quietly, so as not to wake her husband. She bit her lip and dug her fingernails into her palm. When the clock reached quarter to seven, she allowed herself to speak aloud.
‘Good morning, John. The time for the child has come.’
Dr Lawrence opened his eyes and looked at his wife in confusion for a moment. Then he felt a brief flutter of excitement. Dear God, let it be a son. Any further child can be a daughter if it must, but let this be my son. He remembered his list of home calls and sat up.
‘I will ask Alice to fetch Mrs Roly to attend to you. Are you feeling quite well, my dear?’ He was not in the habit of calling Winifred ‘my dear’.
She gasped and doubled up, her body consumed with pain. There was something almost indecent about such a physical experience, one that was totally outside her control. After a few moments she straightened and flexed her shoulders.
‘I believe I am. The pains are quite close together.’
Dr Lawrence regarded Winifred approvingly. It was just like her not to make a fuss.
‘Good, good – then perhaps you won’t have to endure them too long, Winnie.’
Dr Lawrence dressed quickly and rang for Alice. The girl could not conceal her excitement at the task she was given.
‘Ooh, I’ll run all the way to Mrs Roly’s, sir.’
‘All in good time, Alice. Before you go, kindly lay out some breakfast for me. I’m due at my first call shortly.’
Samuel James Lawrence was born some hours later, on 24th March 1902. After the last patient had left his evening surgery, Dr Lawrence paid his wife and first-born son a visit. The small east bedroom had been prepared as a lying-in room. Dr Lawrence was relieved to find that all was clean and neat, and quiet. Winifred was sitting up in bed, brushing her hair. Next to her, the infant was sleeping in a mahogany cradle in which, nearly forty years previously, Dr Lawrence himself had slept.
‘Here he is, John,’ Winifred whispered, ‘here’s our Samuel.’
Dr Lawrence peered into the cradle.
‘Splendid. What a funny little fellow.’
* * *
Sam, his younger brothers Humphrey and Albert, and his sister Freda, grew up in the rambling house on the edge of the village of Stonethwaite in Cumberland. Their father’s surgery occupied half the ground floor. During surgery hours, patients waited on hard wooden chairs in the hallway. There were two consulting rooms: one for Dr Lawrence, large enough for minor operations, and a smaller one for Dr Jasper, his junior partner.
At the back was a small dispensary, where Dr Lawrence made up pills and medicines. Stacked on one shelf were glass bottles of ominously coloured liquids: red, green, and brown, each sealed with a cork. Dr Lawrence was a great believer in the placebo effect for simple country people. These bottles contained nothing but sterilised water, some harmless colouring, and a little alcohol added as a ‘pick-me-up’. His patients swore by them.
‘Ah no, Doctor, not the green one; my Betty takes that. It’s the red one ’as worked wonders for my rheumatism.’
Apart from the kitchen, the house was always cold, even in summer, the sun rarely having time to penetrate the thick stone walls before the chill of evening returned. On the bitterest winter nights a meagre fire smouldered in the sitting room grate. Bedroom fires were lit only on rare special occasions, such as when Freda shivered and quaked with scarlet fever. Winifred was in charge of the running of the house. It was a house looming with heavy dark furniture inherited from an earlier age. Carpets were worn and soft furnishings threadbare.
Sam had no memory of anything new ever being bought for the house. Even shoes were considered an extravagance, and were kept for as long as possible. As the eldest, Sam sometimes had new shoes bought for him, but only when his toes were firmly pressed against the tips. Shoes were patched and mended, their soles and heels reinforced with crescents of metal. When unarguably outgrown, Sam’s shoes eventually passed to Humphrey, and finally to Albert. Sam’s feet caused him problems for the rest of his life.
Meals were bland and simple, in accordance with Dr Lawrence’s taste. He considered that excessive use of seasoning overstimulated the appetite and the senses, and was to be avoided. Each week, Winifred struggled with the domestic budget allowed by her husband. She made careful lists and opted for the cheaper cuts of meat, which were cooked at length in the Aga until reasonably tender, and stretched with turnips, potatoes, barley and suet dumplings. Certain items not absolutely essential were omitted from the shopping until the following week. She supplemented the family diet with produce from a large vegetable and fruit garden. It did not occur to Winifred to suggest that Dr Lawrence might have increased her household allowance. The children always left the table a little hungry.
While they were very small, the children were taught to read and write by their nanny in the nursery. Nanny Lawrence was a kindly spinster of middle years, from whom the children enjoyed occasional demonstrations of affection. When Sam was nine, a governess arrived and introduced him and Humphrey to the rudiments of history, mathematics and French. Two years later Nanny Lawrence disappeared, despite anguished tears shed by Albert and Freda, then aged six and five. At the same time, a tutor was engaged to prepare the older boys for their entrance examinations. He performed his task with rigour, caning Sam and Humphrey viciously across the knuckles for any lack of effort or application.
The austerity of home life prepared Sam well for conditions at boarding school. He expected neither comfort nor affection, and received none. The battlefields of France and Belgium were rapidly absorbing a generation of young men. Many of Sam’s teachers were old men or survivors of the war, returning damaged and embittered, and resenting their pupils’ untouched youth and opportunity.
Despite its harshness, Sam’s childhood was not without pleasure. His father’s work meant he was rarely present at home, except when occupied in the surgery. The children were expected to entertain themselves, when not actively engaged in schoolwork. They roamed the hills and country freely on foot and by bicycle, slabs of bread and cold tea packed into knapsacks. Sam often helped his mother in the vegetable garden. She was not a talkative woman, but he sensed her quiet fondness for him as they worked side by side, planting lines of potatoes, turnips and carrots.
‘Well done, Samuel. By autumn we’ll be enjoying these.’
When Sam reached the age of seventeen, Dr Lawrence called him into his study for a discussion about his future.
‘Are you considering medicine, Samuel? I have contacts at St Thomas’s, you know. I’m sure they’d take you on, as long as you don’t make a mess of matriculation. It’s a fine profession.’
‘I don’t think I’m really cut out to be a doctor, Father. Not like Humphrey.’
‘Not cut out for it? I don’t know about that. That seems a somewhat flippant way to refer to your future. You do realise we can’t send you all to university, don’t you? If you don’t want to pursue medicine, have you thought about the other options? There’s law or there’s the army.’
Sam longed to escape the constraints of his life. He longed to see the wider world. In 1922, he became one of the youngest officers to graduate from Sandhurst. Dr Lawrence and Sam’s godfather – an uncle in Ireland – shared in paying for his commission, with money long set aside for just such an eventuality.
His first posting was to Ireland. It was not the exotic setting he might have hoped for, but he liked the Irish, and recognised that history had dealt them a poor hand. His commanding officer warned him against this view.
‘Be careful, Lawrence. It’s a mistake to try to see both sides of the argument – or to consider the argument at all for that matter. Our job is to keep order, nothing more. Keep out of the politics.’
In Ireland Sam learned that great charm was not incompatible with extreme brutality. There was a spate of house burnings by the Black and Tans, after which the IRA considered what reprisals against the Protestants might be appropriate. IRA leaders of the local Brigade felt it would be unjust to burn the homes of people not involved directly in anti-Catholic acts. Instead they decided to target Leindown Castle, residence of Lord and Lady Tullycomb. Lord Tullycomb was a member of the British House of Lords and a determined opponent of Irish National aspirations. British officers sometimes stayed at the Castle, and officers from the local garrison – including Sam – were occasional visitors there.
The IRA also selected Leindown for its history of devout Unionism and its longstanding links with the British establishment. At the time of the attack, Lord Tullycomb was away in Scotland on a fishing trip. The only occupants of the Castle were Lady Tullycomb, her daughter Hester, and five servants. The Castle and most of its contents were burnt to the ground in the raid, but no one was harmed.
Sam participated in the subsequent military investigation. He was impressed by Lady Tullycomb’s steadfast refusal to identify the attackers, saying only that they had ‘behaved like gentlemen’. She informed the military that she and Hester had been allowed to identify some of their most treasured possessions, and then ten IRA men had been assigned to carry these objects out of the house. Two armchairs had also been taken outside for herself and Hester to sit in safety and comfort. Sam noted that these chairs were placed in the rose garden, where the women would be sheltered from the sight of their home being destroyed, and where the smell of burning might be masked by the fragrance of the blooms. He was ordered to remove these references from his report, his commanding officer being concerned that the true criminality of the act should not be disguised.
On another occasion, Sam was cycling back to his base following a match at the nearby tennis club, when he rounded a corner and stumbled upon an IRA ambush. A general – a highly decorated hero of the First World War – and his friend, a colonel, together with their wives, were driving in the other direction, in order to play tennis themselves. Seeing signs of an ambush ahead, and unable to turn the car around in time, the general accelerated the car in a desperate attempt to escape. The ambushers opened fire with revolvers, rifles and shotguns, killing the general and the colonel’s wife instantly. The car swerved sideways and crashed into a ditch.
Sam was nearly upon them. He witnessed the event, but was unable to intervene or escape the notice of the attackers. He had no option but to continue cycling. As he reached the rebel road block, unarmed and vulnerable in his white shorts and shirt, he waved his tennis racket in the air. The IRA men, respecting a sportsman, shook their heads and allowed him through unharmed, before making their escape without further bloodshed.
Sam was able to summon help for the injured survivors of the ambush. He was genuinely surprised when his advance through the site of the attack was later referred to as an act of heroism. He had been confident that the rebels had nothing to gain by targeting him too and, in any case, felt he had no alternative but to proceed. Sam’s gentle and courteous manner endeared him to all sides of the conflict. Over time he gained a reputation for being a fair and effective negotiator.
After two years, he made a brief visit home before leaving for India with his regiment. Freda was overjoyed to see her eldest brother. Humphrey had begun his medical studies in London, and Albert was still at school, prior to joining his brother at St. Thomas’s Hospital.
The family had been invited to an evening with the Fairbairn sisters. Dr Lawrence disliked social gatherings. He regarded them as a regrettable but necessary extension of his working role. Winifred felt shy and self-conscious, worrying about the earth that refused to be prised from under her fingernails, and about her outdated gown. Freda was thrilled at any opportunity to leave the house and meet people. She had heard that the Misses Fairbairns’ orphaned niece Charlotte was staying with them, and she hoped to befriend her. Sam regarded the evening as a bit of a bore, but he was quite happy to accompany his sister. Their parents joined the older guests in the drawing room, while Sam and Freda made their way to the sitting room, where younger people were gathered.
Though not vain or self-conscious, Sam was aware that he made quite an entrance; tall and slim in his lieutenant’s uniform. After two years away from home, his shoulders had broadened and he had acquired a confident and easy-going manner.
He and Freda were introduced to Charlotte. She had a pale complexion and fair hair arranged on top of her head. She was wearing an azure blue dress, pulled in becomingly to her narrow waist with a darker blue satin band. Sam supposed she was pretty, yet there was a hardness about her. Her smile was quizzical rather than warm, as if she was about to say, ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’ Sam’s attitude to women was one of gallantry rather than true connection, due perhaps to lack of exposure. He thought nothing critical of Charlotte; only he sensed that experience had made her suspicious of others. Perhaps it was an instinct to comfort and protect her, but he found himself strangely drawn to her.
‘Do you ride, Miss Fairbairn? The weather is so fine at present – I wonder if you would like to go for a ride with me? Not too far, of course.’
She frowned. ‘Distance is no object for Bunty, or for me.’
That prickly, challenging expression again.
‘Bunty is your horse? I’m afraid I was thinking of my bicycle.’
Charlotte snorted. ‘Never been on a bicycle in my life, and don’t intend to try.’
Sam was not an expert horseman, but he had achieved some proficiency in Ireland. Charlotte’s uncle lent him his horse, which was a little more frisky than he would have liked. Charlotte’s Bunty was a fine bay with a serene temperament. Over the coming week, they made several excursions together. Charlotte seemed to enjoy his company. She relaxed and started to laugh more, but there was little warmth in her manner. She remained distant and gave no signal that greater closeness would have been welcomed. Yet, by the time Sam was ready to leave for India, they had agreed to write to each other.
* * *
Sam was completely bewitched by India: the overwhelming heat, the noise, the colours, smells and tastes of it. He wrote to Charlotte of all he experienced. In particular, he told her of his trips to Kashmir: trekking on horseback through hills smelling of pine and rosemary, sleeping under canvas on a camp-bed made up by his batman Morris, and eating delicious fragrant food cooked over an open fire by Rahman Singh. He knew she would like to hear of his equestrian adventures, the sturdy little horses sure-footed on stony screes and steep mountain tracks.
Despite the detailed and vivid descriptions of his experiences, Sam thought little of Charlotte during the long voyage, and for the first weeks in Calcutta. At times he worried about not missing her, but he put it down to the distraction of adjusting to such an alien environment. His head was filled with one new impression after another – there was little room for anything else.
Gradually, he settled in to his rooms and took stock of his life. He became aware of an absence. It was not as if he were lonely; far from it, he was constantly in company. His fellow officers were a mixed bunch, as always, but he found comradeship with Ellis, St John, Cameron and Hailsham. His men liked and respected him. He enjoyed the knowledge that he had created a good rapport with them. His contact with the local people was equally positive. He was learning Urdu in order to communicate better with them. There were regular dinners and dances at the officers’ mess, where he dallied with one or two young women: an English governess employed by a local Maharaja to tutor his children, and the older daughter of the District Commissioner. His senior officer, Major Wellbeck, warned him off.
‘Take care, Lawrence. These girls are after husbands, remember. If that’s what you want, fine. But make the proper approaches.’
Sam felt colour rising up his neck.
‘If it’s just a bit of hanky-panky you’re after, there are always the native women. The adjutant can tell you which is a safe house, so to speak.’
Sam wrote beautiful letters, descriptive, expressive, poetic. As time went on, the tone of Charlotte’s replies became a little softer. The emotional content of Sam’s letters rose in intensity. He was deeply moved by them himself. They were so convincing. How much easier it was to put feelings into writing than to express them face to face.
After a year, he asked Charlotte if she would consider becoming his wife and joining him in India. She wrote back to affirm that she might consider such a proposal, and detailing her precise needs regarding sufficient stabling at their married quarters. She explained that as she had no father to ask the ‘correct questions’, she had to ask them herself. Namely, what exactly were Sam’s prospects in terms of his likely career path and future earnings? He replied that he expected to be promoted to captain the following year, when he would be twenty-five. He was too modest to mention that his commanding officer had explained that such early promotion reflected Sam’s exceptional potential. Charlotte suggested they wait until the following year to get married. Until that time they considered themselves engaged.
The following year, 1927, Sam returned home on three months’ leave. His parents were delighted to see him, and pleased about the forthcoming marriage. For some weeks Sam and Charlotte embarked on a spending spree, which alarmed Doctor Lawrence and Winifred inordinately, but they came to accept that the young couple needed to equip an entire household. The army provided some essential basics, but further items of furniture, bedding, kitchen goods and clothing were assembled, ready to be boxed and shipped to India. Winifred’s greatest sadness was that Charlotte rejected her offered gift of her mother’s old wedding ring. Charlotte wanted to choose a new one for herself.
‘But what about the expense, my dear?’ asked Winifred.
‘Hang the expense,’ Charlotte replied.
Sam and Charlotte were married at Stonethwaite Parish Church. Humphrey was Sam’s best man. As they stood shuffling from foot to foot at the altar, awaiting the bride’s arrival, Sam was overcome with misgiving. He saw his father in the front row, sombre as always, staring straight ahead. Next to him his mother, red-eyed and clutching a handkerchief, tried to smile at Sam.
‘Oh God, what have I done?’ breathed Sam.
‘Courage, mon brave,’ whispered Humphrey.
After the celebration, Sam and Charlotte retired to his old room for their first night together as a married couple. A second single bed had been carried into the room and pushed up against Sam’s narrow schoolboy bed. It did not surprise Sam that Charlotte recoiled when he reached for her that night.
‘Not here,’ she hissed, ‘with your parents next door!’
He could understand her reluctance. It had been excruciatingly embarrassing saying goodnight to them and going upstairs together. But as he gazed at Charlotte’s forbidding back, he wondered if they couldn’t at least have hugged each other.
Early the next day they took the train to Southampton, where their ship was waiting. That night, in the privacy of their cabin, Charlotte was extremely tired from the journey. The second night she appeared so nervous and anxious that Sam tried to reassure her. He kissed her neck and chastely ran his fingers down her rigid shoulders and arms. Charlotte was an innocent girl, he told himself, shy and unschooled in the ways of the world. She had not had the supportive presence of a mother during her earlier years. What did he expect? He needed to give her time, to be patient.
He was patient for all the weeks of the voyage, and then tried hard to sustain patience when they moved into their bungalow. Charlotte was unhappy with the sleeping arrangements. She would have liked separate bedrooms. Sam’s patience was running out. One evening he abandoned all his good intentions and shouted about his rights as a husband. He asked why she had married him: was it just for a ticket to a social position and a good life in India?
‘If you absolutely insist, I suppose I have to agree, occasionally. But don’t expect me to enjoy it.’
Sam’s desire faded in direct proportion to the growth of his anger and frustration. It seemed clear that Charlotte’s only true love was for horses. If he could have offered her impregnation with good Arabian stock, she might have considered the proposition. Children – his children – were out of the question.
It took six years of misery before his commanding officer would agree to a divorce.
‘The army doesn’t approve of divorce, Lawrence, especially not a rushed job. You don’t want to destroy your career prospects completely.’
They lived at opposite ends of the house. On the surface, they kept up a semblance of normality. When attending balls at the officers’ mess together, Charlotte sometimes said, ‘I suppose you’d better give me your arm.’
In 1933, Charlotte returned to England. Two years later they were granted a decree nisi. Sam never contacted her, or heard from her again.
At thirty-three, Sam resigned himself to a solitary life, successful in his chosen career, but lacking personal attachments: a life devoid of warmth and affection. He created a beautiful garden around the bungalow. The servants were instructed to water the plants every evening, whether or not he was there. Alongside the hibiscus, orchids, oleander and bougainvillaea were roses and delphiniums, ceanothus and hydrangea. The garden was his greatest pleasure. He wished he could share it with his mother.
Sam remained in India for two more years, after which he was posted to Egypt, by then a major. It was a time of increasing unrest, as the quest for full independence – a cause for which Sam had some sympathy – grew in momentum. His visits to England were few, and many years apart. His parents were ageing. In 1940 his father died. Winifred, bereft, moved to Surrey to a cottage roughly equidistant from Freda and her husband’s small house, and Humphrey and his wife’s much larger one.
In 1942 Sam began a posting as a lieutenant colonel in Palestine. A man of extreme gentleness, his experience in work and in personal relations had been of continuous conflict: Ireland, India, his marriage, Egypt and now Palestine. At first he was drawn to the Arab cause. Gradually his respect and sympathy for the Jews grew. Surely all people deserved the right to live safely and freely, to have a homeland? Above all, he admired their determination to force the arid land into fertility, into prolific growth. He remembered his first CO’s warning about seeing both sides of the argument. Yet he couldn’t help believing both the Arabs and the Jews had a just cause.
A year later Anna Wiener, a Jewish refugee and a widow, was appointed as secretary to Sam and his fellow officers in the training section. He was immediately, miraculously attracted to her. She was as different from Charlotte as any woman could be: small, dark, intense, emotional and sharply intelligent. Sam recognised that Anna was traumatised and complex, her life one of even greater turmoil than his own. He knew they came from different countries and cultures, and that he should proceed with caution. He sensed mystery, perhaps danger, at her core. But any initial hesitancy was soon thrown aside. He could think of nothing, no one else. Rejected by the only other woman to whom he had reached out, it was a wonder to Sam that Anna loved him too, that she responded to his touch, that she chose to be with him, that she wanted to have children with him.
In March 1944 Sam and Anna were married at the British High Commission in Haifa.
27th October 1945, Berlin
My darling Anna,
It was wonderful to get your letter of 5th Oct, and the lovely photograph of Benjamin. What a splendid little fellow he is. He’s grown so much since I was with you both; looks quite a little rugby player now (a rough, uncivilised and no doubt incomprehensible game played by British males – I’ll tell you about it some time). What a lot of hair he has now – and how come he’s inherited my red instead of your beautiful black hair? My only disappointment was that you didn’t include a recent photo of you too though – the one of us both in Surrey is now hopelessly dog-eared (yes, another strange English expression!) from my constant fingering. Do please get Humphrey or Constance to take one of you, and send it to me.
I hope you are well and happy and enjoying life, despite Surrey’s limitations and the dismal weather. Is the new accommodation working out? It has to be an improvement over the last place. What an unpleasant experience for you, and so unnecessary. I hope Mrs Wilson is an agreeable landlady and will be tolerant of any noise Benjamin might make. Remember, you’re paying the rent and it is your home, and Ben’s, for the time being. You should feel free to do as you please, and to come and go as you wish.
Are you missing me? I can’t wait for us all to be together again – and to that end, I have been extremely busy since you wrote with your list of instructions and requirements(!) Of course I quite understand your insistence that we engage no staff young enough to have been in the Hitler Youth. I think you’ll find that I’ve complied with your wishes. We now have a cook, a nanny, and a gardener – and I’m working on a suitable maid. Their credentials are as follows:
Cook: Frau Helga Stammel. Known as ‘Maggi’ (after the Swiss soup firm). Aged 64 years. Previously very wealthy. Then abandoned and divorced by her husband. Cooking not bad.
Nanny: Frau Selma Rausch. Aged 52 years. From Silesia. Denounced for expressing anti-Nazi sentiments and imprisoned during the war.
Gardener: Herr Eisen. Aged 68 years. Refugee from Eastern Germany. Lost his entire family during the war. A silent man – but wields a mean spade.
As you will see, the Germans have done a pretty good job of destroying the lives of some of their own people too. I trust they are old enough for you? At the moment Frau Rausch is preparing the nursery and is on a ‘retainer’ until you and Ben arrive. The others have started work – Maggi does her best with the limited supplies. (I hope you are eating all right?) I’m due to interview a couple of potential maids tomorrow. Frau Rausch is going to help me make a selection.
I think you’ll approve of the house. It’s spacious and has a very large garden (which pleases me, of course). With Eisen’s help we should have quite a crop of fruit and vegetables next year. I know the requisition business is not very comfortable – but you may be surprised to hear that the owner says she’s delighted to have a British family in her house. She reckons we’ll take better care of it than the Russians or Americans!
Meanwhile, the work proceeds quite well. We’re making progress organising the educational side of things. A little more food is gradually getting through, but there are still terrible shortages. Of course there’s a huge black market trade, for those who can afford it. At least transport is slowly improving. I won’t write more now – all news when you come. Oh God, I love those words – when you come!
Darling Anna – I miss you so much. I long to hold you, touch you, smell you. Not long now until we can all be together – a proper family. Speaking of families, are you surviving my dear relatives? Mother adores you – she wrote six pages about your last visit with Benjamin! Humphrey is a good sort. Don’t take Constance’s ways too much to heart. She’s a bigot and a snob, but otherwise a treasure.
Take special care of yourself – and Ben – these next few weeks, and write again when you can.
All my love, as always,
Sam
PS. I was so glad to hear your suggestion of having a ‘Naming Ceremony’ for Ben when you get here. It’s a wonderful idea. Let’s make a real occasion of it – we’ll have a party on the rations!
Chapter 4 (#ulink_60333886-08c9-5557-96d5-60ca0b6873b8)
Anna
Anna is born in 1914 just before the start of the First World War, a war that is to have a fundamental effect in shaping her early life. Anna’s parents, Artur and Matilde Feldman, run a successful factory making clothes for both the ‘ready-made’ market in large stores, and for private customers. Despite having come from farming stock only a generation previously, Artur has a sharp brain for business. Matilde is from an educated, artistic and musical family. She has inherited a spontaneous flair for design. Her women’s outfits and children’s clothes are soon amongst the most sought after in fashionable Vienna. With their eldest daughter Esther, Artur and Matilde are able to move to a spacious apartment in Mariahilferstrasse, in the centre of the city.
However, challenging times lie ahead. With the break-up of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, eighty per cent of their market disappears. Profits plunge, but employees still need to be paid. Artur is a patriot; he loves Austria. Leaving Matilde to run the factory, he enlists and spends three years fighting for his country. By 1918 the Austrian economy is in ruins. Food is scarce. Despite their former affluence, the family is on the verge of starvation, as is much of the population of Vienna. There are now three young daughters to support. After the war is over, Allied occupiers set up soup kitchens to feed the most vulnerable. One child from each family is permitted to receive a hot meal each day.
Margaret, the youngest, is still being breast-fed. Anna, the middle child, is judged to be the puniest, the most deserving. She is taken to the feeding hall by Kaethe, the family’s maid. Even at four, Anna senses the deep humiliation of defeat in being fed by British soldiers.
Worse than the deprivations, Matilde contracts the Spanish flu sweeping Europe. The virulent infection kills many neighbours. Matilde becomes very ill and develops encephalitis. She is not expected to survive, but somehow she does. The infection has destroyed vital areas of her brain. At thirty-four she is left with a form of Parkinson’s disease. Year by year it deprives her of more abilities and strength, until she becomes bedridden, her body and limbs possessed by trembling, her speech a high monotone.
Life in the once fine apartment on Mariahilferstrasse centres on Matilde. She had been the mainstay of both the business and the family: shrewd with money, clever at stretching small amounts of food, and efficient at paperwork. Artur’s priority is to fulfil his wife’s needs as best he can. The children must not make noise. They cannot invite their friends home to play. Matilde must be kept comfortable and serene. Every evening Artur spends time with her after returning from work. He sits on her bed holding her hand and reports on the day’s events, and Matilde makes suggestions regarding the business.
Gradually Artur rebuilds the firm. Less educated than his wife, nevertheless he has a way with people. Naturally charming, he is popular with both men and women, and is a successful salesman. The staff are loyal; they remember Artur and Matilde’s support during the hard years. Slowly the business becomes profitable again.
Anna and her sisters live contented, protected lives. As their mother’s health deteriorates, it is Kaethe who plays a central role in caring for and nurturing the children. Although Esther, Anna and Margaret would love to have a more active mother, who can play and read with them like many of their friends’ mothers, Kaethe surrounds them with love and affection. For a few years their lives are relatively carefree. They attend a mixed private school, the majority of whose pupils come from homes as comfortable as theirs. The girls walk to school arm in arm with their friends, thinking only of fun and friendships. Lotte, Leila, Gretchen, Magdelene, Wilma, Sara and Monika – all are indistinguishable from one another.
The girls light candles for Hanukkah and then clip them onto the fir tree, to be lit on Christmas Eve. They wish each other a happy new year for the first of January, and again for Rosh Hashanah. Other than these enjoyable events, they are scarcely aware of who is Christian, who is Jewish. Artur is a pragmatic rather than a devout man. He rarely goes to temple, and then only to meet a business associate. Viennese society is not without its divisions, but these relate largely to identifying those who live in a less smart neighbourhood, or who are less well dressed, less well spoken, less witty.
Anna is pretty, petite, with black curls and dark eyes. She is hard working and diligent at school, her marks always in the top three of her class. She is equally good at sports: skiing, skating, swimming, basketball and gymnastics. She is regarded as sweet-natured and kind by the other girls, and polite by her teachers. Despite these many attributes, Anna is not priggish or conceited. She has a quick temper and a wicked sense of humour, which endears her to her friends. Despite her popularity, Anna has a more troubled side to her temperament. Perhaps the household’s preoccupation with her mother’s needs and illness induces in the growing child a tendency to occasional bouts of melancholic contemplation. From an early age, she keeps a diary in which she records ‘days of sad thoughts’.
One day as they walk to the bakery together to buy the morning rolls, Anna, at the age of eight or nine years, astounds the down-to-earth Kaethe.
‘Kaethe, why am I inside this person looking out?’
‘Inside? Inside who? What are you talking about, child?’
‘I mean, why am I me? I could have been anyone. Why was I born inside this body and not someone else’s?’
‘Well, now you’re asking! That’s not a question for poor Kaethe, but for God. And it’s not something a little girl like you needs to worry about.’
‘But I do worry about it! Sometimes I think how easily I could have been Laura or Sara, or a Hottentot living in the desert or an Eskimo girl in an igloo, or even … a … a boy!’ Kaethe stops walking and puts an arm around Anna’s shoulders.
‘Oh my goodness! Oh dear me, a Hottentot? I think I like you just the way you are, Liebchen – and Mamma and Papa don’t want a different little girl, they want you! Just be happy with who you are. There’s no need to brood so much.’
Anna sighs. If only Kaethe would understand that it’s not that she wants to be a different person, it’s just that these questions are troubling. However, in the family, such a quest for answers is regarded as self-absorption, which is not to be encouraged. Despite these concerns, in the main Anna’s childhood is as her parents would wish: contented and cheerful.
Over time her life begins to change, gradually at first, almost imperceptibly, but then with increasing momentum. Every day, her best friend Laura calls at Mariahilferstrasse, and they walk to school together giggling and whispering. One morning, when Anna is fifteen, Laura does not ring the bell. What can have happened? Anna worries that perhaps Laura is unwell. She is reluctant to leave without her. But it is already late, and Kaethe shoos her out of the apartment with her school bag and her morning snack. Anna walks alone to school. She drags her feet; walking on her own is no fun. In front of the school, clusters of pupils are talking together. There is Laura in the midst of a group of girls. She glances at Anna self-consciously. Anna smiles and waves at her friend.
‘Laura, what happened? Did you forget this morning?’
Laura looks uncomfortable. She looks round at her friends and back to Anna. Then she purses her lips and pulls herself upright.
‘Mutti says we don’t mix with Jews.’ She turns her back on Anna. The other girls snigger and turn away too.
Many of the girls join National Socialist youth groups. They troop off on hiking and camping trips in the Vienna Woods or into the mountains, rucksacks on their backs. They cook over open fires and sing songs in the evening. These trips seem such fun. Anna loves swimming and hiking and singing. She yearns to go too, but she and her remaining friends are not invited. In class it becomes noticeable that top marks are never given to Jewish pupils any more. Now Anna’s results are never awarded more than ‘average’.
‘You must continue to work hard and achieve the best you can, whatever the results,’ Matilde urges the girls. ‘We know how clever you are.’
Anna tries hard to concentrate on her schoolwork as before, but it is not always easy to feel the same motivation. Things do not improve as she progresses through school. The new intake of pupils is now entirely Christian. Soon after she matriculates, the teachers in her school let it be known that they are no longer prepared to teach any Jewish pupils. University courses and many professions are similarly out of bounds.
‘We have to hope this is a temporary situation,’ Anna’s father says, but he seems unconvinced.
Anna begins working as a nanny and governess, first for a number of families needing short-term support. Eventually she obtains permanent work for a wealthy Jewish family with two children. She is fond of the children, a boy of nine and a girl of six, and feels any experience will help her in the future. The children’s mother, Karin, is pleased to have intelligent adult company. Her family lives in Budapest, and she rarely sees them. Life can be lonely for Karin at times, especially when her husband, Otto, is away on business trips. Otto runs the family business, dealing in wood products and machinery. He often has to travel to other cities, and sometimes to other countries. Karin enjoys accompanying Anna and the children on visits to the park, or trips to the hills to pick berries and mushrooms. The two young women soon become relaxed and companionable together.
Otto, on the other hand, appears more distant at first. Always polite and somewhat formal with Anna, he rarely initiates conversation with her. Yet Anna finds herself strangely aware of his presence. Sometimes when she glances in his direction, she notices him looking steadily at her. She cannot help admiring Otto’s exceptional good looks. He has a strong forehead, high cheekbones, and a powerful, masculine jawline. His shiny dark hair and caramel-coloured skin look so smooth, almost as though polished. At times, in Otto’s presence, Anna is alarmed to notice a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach: a softening, a feeling of falling, almost as though she were plunging downwards on the Riesenrad in the Prater Park. She is aware too of a disconcerting quivering of her fingers whenever she watches Otto, as if they long to reach out and caress the velvety warmth of his skin.
One day in the early summer, as the children scamper ahead, Karin tells Anna they will be going on holiday to Lugano in three weeks’ time.
‘How long will you be away?’
‘How long will we be away, you mean! Of course you will have to come with us, Anna. We usually stay a month or so.’
‘But surely you want time as a family? Time with Otto?’
‘Yes, sometimes we may ask you to be with the children so he and I can have some time together. But, Anna, you must enjoy yourself too. It’s so beautiful there. The hotel is right on the lakeside. We all love it and you will too – I know it. You will have your own room, and can spend plenty of time doing as you please. You might even meet some attractive young men!’
* * *
It is now around two years since Jakob Wiener started to call at the Feldmans’ apartment. His mother and grandmother are old friends of Artur and Matilde. Anna and her sisters have known Jakob and his twin brother Paul since they were all small children. Their father has been dead since the boys were young. When Jakob and Paul approach their twenty-first birthdays, their mother and grandmother decide to give a party.
Anna loves clothes. She and Esther help one another plan their dresses. They spend hours making sketches of their plans for dress designs, which they show to Matilde. She has such an eye, her ideas and her suggestions always right, always tasteful. Soon they have made their choices. Esther, with her auburn hair and green eyes, looks striking in cream muslin. Anna decides on a pale turquoise material to set off her dark curls.
Margaret is uninterested in clothes. She is happy for her mother to select a dress for her. She has her straight brown hair cut short in the modern style. She joins the Communist Party. Despite her plainness, Margaret is popular with young men. She shows genuine interest in their views on any topic, although she does not always agree. She gazes up at them, absorbed in their arguments, transfixed by their opinions.
On the evening of the party, Jakob welcomes them all, his eyes on Anna. She is flattered by his interest. He is four years older than she is, and handsome. They dance most of the evening. He keeps returning to her. There is something proprietorial about his hand at her back as he leads her onto the dance floor. She feels secure in his hands. Month after month, they spend every spare moment together, going walking, to the sports club and to coffee houses. Anna is excited to be introduced to concerts, the opera and the theatre. Artur is not a cultured man, and circumstances have not allowed his daughters access to such experiences. Anna enjoys the attention lavished on her.
One day her father calls her into his study.
‘Anna, did you know Jakob came to speak to me this afternoon?’
‘Oh?’
‘Has he not talked to you of his plans?’
‘What plans, Papa?’
‘Jakob asked me for your hand today.’
‘My hand? I think he might have asked me first!’
Artur frowns. ‘He behaved very properly. Perhaps he wanted permission from your parents before he spoke to you. I believe he regards you as more of a challenge.’
‘Why a challenge?’
‘You are having a good time with Jakob, yes?’
Anna nods.
‘But I don’t get the impression that you are madly in love with him.’
‘I’m … very fond of him.’
‘But?’
‘It is when we go swimming together. Jakob has a good figure … but he has hair on his shoulders.’
‘What? Hair on his shoulders? You would reject a good man for such a reason? Then you are right not to marry – you are just a silly, immature girl, and not worthy of Jakob.’
Anna’s lip trembles. ‘Papa! I haven’t said I’m rejecting him. I just … need to be sure.’
‘You certainly do. I am disappointed in you. Don’t judge people by appearance alone, Anna. You’ll find it’s an unreliable way to assess a man’s worth – much less important than you think. Jakob is a fine young man, steady and reliable, as his father was too. Talk to your mamma. You need to think seriously about this – and Jakob deserves an honest answer.’
Two months later Jakob solemnly presents Anna with an engagement ring: an emerald set in a star of small diamonds.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_cc423ca7-65b5-5763-8644-0902b6c378dd)
Jakob
The marriage of Julia Kassel and Rudolf Wiener took place in Vienna in September 1895.
It was a grand affair; Rudolf’s mother Paulina considered that nothing less would be appropriate for her only son. She regarded her prospective daughter-in-law as pleasingly compliant, but a trifle ordinary. Rudolf could surely have chosen a bride from one of Vienna’s many wealthier families. He had, after all, attracted the attention of Count Bessendorf’s beautiful youngest daughter Adele in the past, as well showing interest in Mitzi von Kahldorf, whose father had accumulated fabulous riches through international dealing in gold and diamonds.
The Kassel family was decent enough it was true – Julia’s father an esteemed lawyer – but nevertheless, Paulina couldn’t help feeling a lingering sense of disappointment. She was concerned that in their reduced circumstances after the untimely death of Rudolf’s father, her son needed to take advantage of the best opportunities and connections available. It was hardly a time to marry for love! How helpful a clever businessman like Herr von Kahldorf could have been to a son-in-law’s career.
But Rudolf, who had himself trained as a lawyer, wanted nothing more than to join Jakob Kassel’s practice. He had no sense that this might have been beneath his capabilities. He even talked of wanting to represent the legal needs of the poor. Paulina realised it was time to have a serious talk with her son.
‘Rudolf, you are a young man with strong principles, and of course that is very admirable. But a social conscience is a luxury you really cannot afford, my darling. No, I wish you would think more of ambition, of what you can achieve – especially with a little help.’
Rudolf, always closely attuned to his mother’s feelings, was aware of her lack of enthusiasm for his marriage to Julia and it saddened him. He hoped in time she would discover Julia’s virtues – that she was sensitive and gentle, thoughtful and clever. He would not be talked out of his marriage plans.
The newly-weds settled into a fine, spacious apartment in the centre of Vienna, only five minutes’ walk from Paulina’s home. Of course, it was not a distance Paulina ever considered walking herself: there were carriages for that. The tall windows of their apartment looked out over the green expanse of the Stadtpark, where Rudolf and Julia often strolled on fine Sundays.
Rudolf worried that his mother would be lonely following their marriage, but Julia was adamant about the importance of living independently. She understood Rudolf’s concern – as the only son – for his mother’s welfare, but she also knew that her mother-in-law was a forceful personality, who could quite easily dominate their lives. She visited Paulina regularly for coffee, and Paulina came for dinner with the young couple twice a week. Rudolf was pleased to observe a growing friendship between the two women.
Paulina prided herself on her good taste. She enjoyed discussing her ideas for colour schemes and soft furnishings for the apartment with Julia. Julia, who was secretly indifferent to her domestic environment, preferring to read or play the piano, was happy to allow Paulina a free hand with such decisions. Sometimes Paulina asked Julia to accompany her to one or other of her friends’ homes. Sometimes, on warm days, they went for a carriage ride in the Ring Boulevard. Paulina encouraged her daughter-in-law to wear the outfits she had chosen for her on these expeditions. After all, one never knew who one might encounter.
Occasionally Julia invited her own mother and Paulina to come to tea together. Julia was irritated by Paulina’s magnanimous and kindly manner towards her mother, as if generously bestowing attention upon an inferior, but she bit her tongue and made no comment. While Julia’s mother dressed with careful effort and some anxiety for these occasions, Paulina’s entire wardrobe was flawlessly fashionable and sophisticated.
‘My dear Frau Kassel, how pretty you look in your flowered muslin. Like a breath of fresh country air!’
Paulina’s tall, imposing figure moved from room to room, silk petticoats rustling like a soft breeze playing among the leaves in the trees. She glided so gracefully her feet appeared to be raised just a fraction above the floor by some unseen force. Julia’s father Jakob nicknamed her ‘The Countess’. It was a name of which Paulina would have approved.
Rudolf and Julia’s marriage was one of fondness and companionship rather than great passion. This appeared to suit both of them. Rudolf progressed steadily in his career and gained a reputation for competence and reliability. Julia had time and freedom to pursue her own interests of painting and music. Together they enjoyed the theatre and concerts, and yearly holidays at the Baltic or in Italy, accompanied by Paulina.
The years passed and in 1910, just as they began to consider themselves on the verge of middle age, Julia discovered to everyone’s surprise and delight that she was pregnant. Her slight body grew enormous and, on a warm spring night, healthy twin boys were born. Rudolf and Julia were overjoyed. They named one baby Paul to honour his paternal grandmother, and the other Jakob after Julia’s father. Paulina was astounded to find herself a grandmother, but she entered into the role with enthusiasm. Following the birth, she moved into her son and daughter-in-law’s apartment.
‘Just while the babies are so tiny. You must concentrate on caring for them, my dear Julia. And of course, you need rest. I will run the household for you.’
Julia made occasional protests to Rudolf, but they both knew Paulina was there to stay. She ruled all domestic aspects of the home. Within weeks the cook was making outraged representations to Julia.
‘She dislikes the recipes I have used these many years, Frau Wiener. She tells me the dumplings are too heavy and that I overcook the meat. I cannot work like this.’
A new cook was engaged who understood Paulina’s requirements and agreed to her regime from the start. Paul and Jakob’s nursemaid and the housemaid knew better than to argue with her rulings.
‘Make sure the boys have their woollen hats on unless the weather is hot, in which case they must wear their cotton sun bonnets. And see to it that their ears are always tucked back. We don’t want children with bat ears.’
‘Of course, Gnädige Frau.’
The little boys grew up secure in the knowledge that all three adults in their home worshipped them, but they learned that it was their grandmother who was the real force to be reckoned with. Paulina supervised every aspect of their lives: what they should eat and at what time, when they should go to bed or take a nap, how much fresh air and exercise they needed.
Julia took great pleasure in playing with the children and reading to them. When they were four or five, she taught them to read and began to teach them the piano. Rudolf spent an hour or so playing with Paul and Jakob when he returned from work, enjoying a little lively fun, and rough and tumble. Paulina approved of this for a time – she could deny little to her beloved Rudolf, and she believed growing boys needed the more robust intervention of a father – but at six o’clock precisely she summoned the nursemaid to give the children their bath and calm them down, ready for bed.
The boys were clever and diligent. They progressed well at the small private school they attended, for which Paulina paid. Paul and Jakob were not identical but, like many twins, they were very close. Of the two, Paul seemed the more light-hearted and sociable, while Jakob was a serious, emotional child. Paul had many friends. He was always at the centre of a large group, keeping the others entertained with his clowning. Jakob had a small number of close friends to whom he was fiercely loyal. Both boys mixed freely with both Jewish and Christian children. Jakob’s best friend, Fritz Henkelmann, was from a Roman Catholic family.
In 1923, when the boys were thirteen, tragedy struck the family. Rudolf, like his father before him, had a sudden heart attack at his desk and died at the age of fifty-five. Bereavement affected Paulina and Julia differently. Distraught at the loss of her treasured only son at such a young age, Paulina determined to focus all her love and caring on her two precious grandsons. Grief galvanised her into action. Julia, on the other hand, appeared broken down, despondent, almost indifferent to anything life might still have had to offer. If she previously lacked assertiveness, she was now distinctly passive.
While Paulina became stronger, Julia grew weaker. In this way, the personalities of the two women complemented each other and paradoxically they grew closer. The first hurdle to be faced was a sudden and extreme reduction in income. Rudolf was an intelligent and resourceful lawyer, but an impractical businessman. His affairs were in a poor state. He had not ensured the financial or material security of his family. Paulina and Julia ploughed through files of bills and receipts, and boxes of accounts, all in Rudolf’s impenetrable and spidery handwriting.
‘We will have to dismiss the cook and manage the cooking ourselves,’ Paulina announced, ‘and now that we all live together here, I shall sell my own apartment.’
Julia made no comment about the fact that Paulina had already been living with the family since the boys were babies. She was happy for her mother-in-law to take command of the situation.
‘The important thing is for Jakob and Paul to continue to receive the very best education, especially in these difficult times. That must be our priority.’
Julia nodded in agreement.
As Paul and Jakob progressed through their teens, one by one their Christian friends rejected them. Fritz Henkelmann’s parents refused to receive Jakob in their home. At first, Fritz had no such reservations about calling at Jakob’s house, although he did not reveal these visits to his mother and father. Gradually though, his visits became fewer. Away from their homes, Fritz remained a loyal friend to Jakob, and the two young men continued to meet in coffee houses, and to play football or go skiing together.
* * *
Paulina and Julia continued to entertain in a modest way. Their circle of friends had shrunk, with a gradual falling away, first of the most rich and grand, and then of almost all their Christian acquaintances. They had known Artur and Matilde Feldman and their daughters for many years. Both families had been through difficult times, and Paulina admired the way in which Artur had held his business together, despite his wife’s illness. He had also shown great concern and support for the Wiener family since the death of Rudolf, who was his lawyer and friend.
Although the girls were not their social equals, Paulina considered Esther, Anna and Margaret quite charming. It was true that there was some concern about Margaret’s leaning towards radical political activities as she grew older. There was even rumour of her having joined a naturists’ club. However, Esther was strikingly attractive and Anna was pretty and sweet. The children had played together from time to time ever since they were quite small.
When Jakob left school he began a course in architecture, while his brother Paul followed their father in studying law. Jakob took his studies seriously, well aware that opportunities for higher education could be snatched away at any moment. Some of his Jewish friends talked of communism as a possible way forward. Out of interest, Jakob attended one or two meetings of the Communist Party. He noticed Margaret Feldman sitting in the hall, a couple of rows ahead, giving the speaker her rapt attention. She would have been barely fifteen. As they left the meeting, Jakob and Margaret were pushed together at the exit by the jostle of the crowd. They smiled at one another, and Jakob offered to accompany her home to Mariahilferstrasse.
* * *
The front door is opened by Margaret’s sister Anna. Anna shakes her head and gives Margaret a look of exasperation when Jakob explains how they have met. How pretty Anna is, when she raises her eyebrows to Jakob with a wry smile, her hands on her hips. She thanks him for bringing Margaret back and apologises for not inviting him in at such a late hour.
Jakob is not a radical activist, but like many young people he is searching for answers to the growing inequalities in Viennese society, and especially the erosion of the rights of Jews. Disappointed by the speakers, he soon decides communism is not a solution he wishes to pursue, and attends no further meetings. Yet Jakob’s spirits are raised by the encounter with Anna, and he looks forward to his forthcoming twenty-first birthday party, to which all three Feldman sisters will be coming.
Paul and Jakob’s party is a great success. Paulina has sold some jewellery to ensure her grandsons’ birthdays are marked in a way that befits them. It is a fine, glittering occasion. Paul dances energetically with all the prettiest girls present, and charms some of their mothers by asking them too to dance. Jakob does not allow his brother anywhere near Anna, protectively keeping her to himself. Paul accepts Jakob’s possessiveness with his usual good humour. Jakob dances only with Anna, though of course he asks his mother and his grandmother to honour him with a waltz. Paulina is buoyed by the evening. It is quite like old times.
Jakob is entranced by Anna. For two years they spend every spare minute together. Due to new rulings of the government, he has had to leave his architecture course before completing it, and Anna is working as a governess and nanny, having been unable to attend university. They have discussed the future and agreed that it will be necessary to travel abroad if they are to have the opportunities they both want. Paulina has provided a modest allowance for her grandsons to allow them some independence. Jakob loves Anna’s enthusiasm for every experience: theatres, concerts, riding, swimming, skiing. She enjoys his company and always seems delighted to see him. But Jakob worries that perhaps she does not love him with the same intensity he feels for her.
‘She is still young,’ Paulina reassures him. ‘Give her time. Anna likes all of life’s pleasures – that is clear. Make sure she has a good time with you, and don’t put too much pressure on her.’
But it is not in Jakob’s nature to concentrate on life’s pleasures alone. He wants a commitment from Anna. He visits Artur Feldman to ask his permission to marry his middle daughter. Artur grips Jakob’s arm affectionately and steers him into his study. Kaethe brings a tray of coffee. She leaves with a curtsey and a curious look at Jakob.
‘And have you asked Anna to marry you, Jakob?’
‘Well, not in so many words. I felt it best to ask you first. But I think we have both assumed we will always be together.’
Artur studies the earnest young man before him. Jakob’s face is tense. He licks his lips and blinks at Artur. His left knee jiggles a continuous nervous rhythm.
‘That is very proper. But with Anna, I suggest it is best to assume nothing. She is still young of course.’ Artur echoes Paulina’s words.
Jakob is disappointed that Anna does not immediately leap at his proposal, but instead asks for time to consider it. It takes some weeks before she tells him that yes, she would like to marry him, and they become formally engaged. Jakob is overjoyed.
* * *
Some months after this, Jakob receives a note from Fritz Henkelmann, asking to meet in a coffee house known to both of them. It is nearly a year since they have seen one another.
‘First of all, I have heard about your engagement. Many congratulations to you – you’re a lucky man, Jakob. Anna is a lovely girl.’
‘Thank you, Fritz. I am a lucky man, and I know it. The wedding may be a little while off, but I hope you will be my best man? I imagine we will have to leave Austria before much longer, with all the restrictions imposed by this poisonous government.’
Fritz scrutinises his friend silently, as the waiter brings a coffee pot and lays out their cups. He stirs his coffee thoughtfully. ‘You should go soon, very soon.’
‘Mmm. Well of course, it will take time to make all the arrangements.’
‘No, Jakob. Do not delay.’
‘Oh …?’
‘Look. We’ve been friends for many years …’
‘Yes?’
‘I like you, Jakob – you know that. I like you and Anna.’
Jakob feels a growing sense of unease. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I want you to know that I am in total support of this “poisonous government”, as you put it. I am a fully-fledged member of the National Socialist Party, and I believe absolutely in their policies.’
Jakob laughs out loud for a moment, his laughter fading as he takes in his friend’s humourless face.
‘I don’t believe it! Fritz, is this some kind of joke? Really I don’t find it very funny, not funny at all.’
‘It’s no joke. I believe the Nazis are right: with the Jews’ monopoly on large areas of trade and business, they are a major cause of the social and economic difficulties both Germany and Austria are suffering. We must eliminate the Jews in Austria and restore racial purity to our country. That is absolutely essential.’
Jakob feels sweat trickling down his spine. He shivers. ‘Racial purity! How can you talk like this? You know I am a Jew … and Anna’s family is also Jewish.’
‘Of course I know it. That is why I wanted to speak to you.’
‘You agree to the “elimination” of Jews, yet you call yourself my friend?’
‘I said we had been friends for many years. I said I like you.’
‘But our friendship is now at an end?’
‘We cannot continue to be friends as before, that is certain, but I do care what happens to you. It is because of our friendship that I want to help you – you and Anna. I would not want harm to come to either of you.’
‘This is absurd! You want all Jews driven out or … what? Beaten up? Killed? Yet you feel some sympathy for me, some loyalty to me – a Jew!’
‘That is exactly right. We must all make a distinction between what is personal and what is principle. Listen, Jakob, we could go on debating this round and round all evening, but I don’t have much time. The fact is I have come to warn you.’
‘Oh? Are you about to bring a brown-shirted mob round to beat us up?’
Fritz does not smile. He glances at his watch. ‘Believe me, this really is no joke. You must leave Vienna, leave Austria. You and Anna must get out as soon as you can.’ Fritz leans forward and lowers his voice. ‘I have seen your name on a list, Jakob. Did you really think no one watches those communist gatherings? What a stupid thing to do. Now your name is on the list, and sooner or later they will come for you – and that little fool of a sister of Anna’s.’
‘Margaret … but she’s hardly more than a child.’
‘That makes no difference. The important thing is don’t delay. I may be able to help with papers, and I have some contacts, here and abroad. Make sure you go soon – and if you care for your families, try to get them out too.’
Jakob sits for a long time after Fritz has left, trying to calm the leaping of his heart and the trembling of his hands. He will have to persuade Anna to leave her home, her family to whom she is so deeply attached, and accompany him to a new land. Will she do it? They have talked of leaving, but never as an immediate intention. It was discussed as a vague possibility, almost as a fairy tale. How would Anna react? Would she even believe his account of his conversation with Fritz? He hardly believes it himself. Jakob resolves not to speak to Anna of what Fritz has told him, not yet at least. Instead he must find other means of persuading her of the necessity of leaving.
An unexpected opportunity to achieve this presents itself before very long, an opportunity Jakob does not welcome at all.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_56f7cfe3-2d0e-568e-b8fb-dec03cf519f8)
It should have been a perfect day, away from the cares of work and routine; a picnic long planned for in the Vienna Woods. In the soft autumn sunshine, the air is fragrant with the scent of warm grass, late flowers and pine trees. But from the start, Anna’s tension clouds the atmosphere. They sit on a log in a dappled clearing, their picnic bags unopened.
‘Tell me what is wrong.’
‘Oh, Jakob, it is hard, so hard. I’m so very sorry.’
‘About what? You are frightening me. What’s the matter? You must tell me, Anna.’
At last, staring at her hands in her lap, Anna tells Jakob what has happened. She has had an affair with Otto, her employer, the father of the children in her care.
Jakob’s initial reaction is one of total disbelief – is it possible that Anna, pure, innocent Anna, would behave in this way? Gradually, disbelief gives way to fury. His anger is not directed at Anna so much as at Otto. Anna has to agree that Otto has exploited her: she young and trustful, he an older man of wealth and experience. She is deeply ashamed of her naivety, and even more ashamed of her treachery towards Karin, who has come to regard her as a friend. She had wanted to believe Otto’s soothing assurances, while knowing in her heart they were not true. A pleasant diversion with a pretty young woman: that was all it was for him. He was confident that she would never make a fuss – it would ruin her reputation if it became known. No doubt it was not his first affair.
‘Jakob … I’m so sorry,’ she says again, putting her hand on his trembling arm. Jakob shakes her off and turns away. Anna covers her face with her hands. She does not tell him of her attraction to Otto’s suave charm, his delicious brown skin. She does not tell him she had been overwhelmed by desire.
‘Jakob. There is something else.’
There will be a child, she tells him. It is just the beginning, early days, but the signs are clear. There can be no doubt – she is sure. Jakob leaps to his feet, stands with his back to her, his hands clasped around his head, as though trying to block out the news. He makes a strange noise, something between a groan and a cry, and swings his upper body from side to side. She explains that she has not told Otto about the baby and does not intend to, ever. He would never acknowledge the child as his. Also, she does not want to hurt Karin, who has been so good to her and who knows nothing of the relationship.
‘How could you, Anna, how could you? Oh God it’s unbelievable, it’s a nightmare. I can’t understand how … how you could abandon all your moral standards.’
‘I have no explanation. I can’t understand it myself.’
How could the feelings be so strong, so totally consuming, as to overcome any thought of morality, of caution, any idea of possible consequences? Anna is frightened when she thinks about the inevitability of her journey into Otto’s arms. She is even more frightened by the absence of such a pull towards Jakob.
Jakob says little for the rest of the day. They walk in silence through the wooded paths. The beauty of the gold and red leaves shimmering in the slanting sunshine appears to mock the dark mood between them. Then, as the sun grows low behind the trees, Jakob seems to reach a resolution. Grimly, he steers Anna to the train back to Vienna. They go to Emil’s, their favourite coffee house. Emil knows them well. There are few other customers at this time. Emil comes from the kitchen to greet them, a white apron fastened around his generous middle. He looks closely at them and throws open his arms.
‘Nah! Children, children – what’s the matter? Such faces. A lovers’ tiff already? Wait ’til you’re married – plenty of time for quarrelling then.’
Jakob cannot respond in the same spirit. Unsmiling, he orders two coffees. Emil glances at Anna and shrugs theatrically. She smiles back half-heartedly and follows Jakob into one of the dark wooden booths.
‘I can’t accept this child as mine. It’s not my child, not our child.’
‘I understand.’
‘But,’ he continues, ‘I can’t let you … you cannot go through … an abortion.’ He grasps each of Anna’s wrists and holds them in front of him with violent force. He looks fiercely into her eyes. ‘Do you still want to marry me?’
Anna feels as though a heavy stone is compressing the base of her throat, choking her. She looks back at him, and nods.
* * *
Jakob makes arrangements with military precision. Esther, Anna’s older sister, and her new husband, Reuben, are the only ones involved. No one else must know.
‘We will have to bring the date of our marriage forward.’
Anna struggles to stifle an involuntary gasp. The walls of the room seem to sway and then close in on her.
‘And, we will have to emigrate to Palestine much sooner than we planned.’
A sense of panic worms up Anna’s spine, touches the back of her neck. Does she even like Jakob? He is so solemn, so strict. She breathes in deeply.
‘It’s not such a big deal,’ he says. ‘We’d have to go anyway – there’s nothing for us here any more. It’s just a change in the timing. Others are doing the same.’
It is true. Esther and Reuben are planning to go to America, and Margaret to England. Immediately after their marriage, Jakob explains, they will travel to Switzerland. It should be possible to find temporary jobs in Zurich. He has one or two contacts. He will sort out their papers – and of course Fritz has offered to help. Until they leave, normal life must go on as far as the families are concerned. Artur is already displeased that Anna has left her job. He is suspicious too, knowing how ambivalent she had felt about marriage to Jakob.
‘Marriage is a big commitment, Anna. You are quite sure? Why such a great rush all of a sudden?’
‘I’m sure, Papa.’
‘Otto and Karin like you. What possible reason is there to give up a good position at a time like this? You young people have no stamina.’
‘There were problems, Papa.’
She wishes she could tell her father the truth.
‘Problems, problems – you think no one else has problems? Have you even thought about your mother and how this will upset her?’
* * *
Although Jakob has not been able to complete his architectural training, he is offered a position as a clerk in a firm of Zurich architects. He has no option but to accept it, though Anna knows he finds it beneath him. She is able to present testimonials from her work as a nanny and governess, including – to her great shame – a glowing one from Karin. These enable her to find a job as an assistant at a kindergarten. Jakob also makes the necessary arrangements with a discreet maternity clinic in Zurich.
Esther and Reuben visit Switzerland from time to time, on the pretext of ‘walking expeditions’. Esther’s visits mean everything to Anna; she misses her parents desperately – it will be many months before she can see them again. Jakob and Anna live simply in a clean but modest apartment block. They rent one small room, and share a tiny kitchen and bathroom with four other families. They spend little, saving as much as possible for the journey ahead.
The year 1935 is an exceptionally hot summer and Anna becomes tired and depressed by the final month, when she has to give up her job. Despite having agreed readily to the baby’s adoption at first, as the time draws near, she is taken over by a sick foreboding. She tries not to visualise the baby as a child, but rather as the unfortunate by-product of a mistake. Yet as her belly grows, the baby makes its presence felt more and more, kicking and turning. Sometimes a part of its body pushes against the wall of her stomach. She finds herself responding involuntarily, by stroking what must be a foot, or a tiny elbow, and smiling. She stops hastily if she notices Jakob watching her. Anna dreads the birth. As long as she is pregnant, the child inside her is hers alone.
Anna grows increasingly quiet and withdrawn as the birth draws near. Finally, one night, she gently touches Jakob awake and whispers, ‘It’s coming.’
She is wheeled into a delivery room, while Jakob is told to wait outside, his face pale and drawn. At this most monumental event of her life, they are separate. It is the beginning of a pattern that will continue for years to come, one she is powerless to alter.
Anna screams. Jakob, alone outside, is agonised by sounds he is unable to interpret fully. He leaps to his feet, his heart pounding unevenly, his fists clenched. Every now and then one of the nurses leaves the room to tell Jakob that all is going as it should, all is well.
At last the struggle is over. Jakob hears a thin wailing sound. He leans against the closed door, sobbing. The sound that comes next is more disturbing, a strange primitive howling, like a wild animal in extreme pain. The door is flung open and the noise envelops Jakob. He realises it comes from Anna. A nurse scurries past him, holding a small bundle. She pauses in front of Jakob, revealing a tiny monkey-like face in the white shawl.
Jakob tries everything. He brings Anna small delicacies to try to tempt her to eat, suggests outings to the mountains or to Bodensee, even tries being stern with her. She remains distant, silent, wan. They have agreed never to speak of the events of the past months. She is grateful for that. Sometimes at night she wakes trembling and sweating.
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