16.
IT DIDN’T TAKE JOHANNA long to search through her meagre wardrobe for an appropriate dress for the evening – she didn’t care what she wore. She wasn’t there to impress them with her sense of fashion, but she didn’t want to disgrace Gerhard in front of them. She opted for a black dress that hung just below her knee, and a long black cardigan to keep out the chill from the draught. Classic and simple, hopefully it would make her invisible to them. She pinned her hair up and put on a thin layer of the red lipstick that she’d had since before the war, the one she used to wear when they went out to the theatre. She was just about to leave her bedroom and head down the stairs when the door opened. Astrid came running towards her and hugged her waist.
“Hello, darling. Is everything okay? Where’s Nanny?”
“I wanted to say good night, and she didn’t want me to.”
“Frau Neumann, I am so sorry.” Nanny was puffing in the doorway. “I’m afraid Astrid is being obstinate this evening. Now, come here, Astrid. Your mother has more important things to do.”
Johanna held Astrid to her. “If you’ll give us a moment, please.” She gave her a tight-lipped smile. “And please shut the door behind you. I will send Astrid up when we’re done.” She waited for the door to click shut, imagined Nanny snooping behind it, and crouched down to Astrid.
“You look pretty,” Astrid said and stroked Johanna’s cheek.
Johanna swept the straggle of hair from Astrid’s face and tucked it behind her ear. “Thank you. You look very pretty too.”
Astrid looked down at herself, held out the off-white material that hung to just short of her ankles. “It’s just an old nightdress, silly.”
“Well, when this war is over, we’ll go and get ourselves some new clothes,” Johanna tilted Astrid’s chin up, studied her, and kissed her forehead. “You look tired, my darling.”
“But it’s only ten past nine.” She shrugged and lowered her head. “Mutter, when can we go home?”
Six months stuck in the same house with no friends and an absent father must feel like a lifetime to a nine-year-old. “Hopefully, soon. But no one really knows when. We must just do our best and try to have fun.” She stared into her daughter’s sad eyes. “And that means doing your studies and practising piano, and me going to talk to your vater’s friends.”
Friends made it sound a little more normal than it was. Even inside their circle of close friends in Berlin, she wouldn’t class anyone as a true friend anymore. She couldn’t speak for Gerhard though.
“And me teaching Réglisse to do tricks.”
Johanna shook her head. “You cannot call him that.” She stopped short of saying If your father finds out, or If Nanny hears you.
“But I like the way it sounds.”
She toyed with Astrid’s hair. “I know, my darling. But he must be Lakritze, at least until after the war.”
Astrid nodded. “Okay, it will be our secret.”
Johanna’s heart lifted at the sparkle that appeared in her daughter’s eyes, though she wasn’t quite sure whether the secret was the name change, or that her daughter would probably still call the kitten by the French name she so loved. Either way, Johanna wasn’t about to take that flicker of joy away from her.
“Our secret,” she whispered. “Now you need to go to bed before Nanny comes and tells me off for keeping you up too late. And Vater’s guests will be here soon.” She kissed her daughter’s forehead and pulled her into a long hug.
“Nanny’s a dragon,” Astrid said.
Johanna laughed. “She was a dragon with me when I was your age, but I survived and so will you.”
Astrid left the bedroom, and Johanna wondered what it meant to survive Nanny. Is that how it was getting through a day of schooling with a tutor who had a militant approach and lack of humour? It was how it had been for Johanna but hadn’t been right for her either and the context had been different, and Nanny had been less intense back then. How had she been so blind to the damage being done to her children though? To Ralf before Astrid. This wasn’t just about Nanny, it was about the direction her beloved Germany had taken. She hadn’t challenged Gerhard as he’d become more nationalistic during their marriage and in the onset of the war, she’d busied herself at the orchestra, in denial, and then she’d buried her head in the sand while watching her friends from the orchestra leave, to survive.
There it was, that word again. Would Ralf survive?
She walked down the stairs and into the dining room with a heavy heart. Staring into Gerhard’s dark-blue eyes and receiving nothing in return, she’d never hated anyone more than she did him right now. Even when he smiled, his eyes did not.
“You look good,” he said. “Standartenführer Fischer will be pleased.”
Johanna couldn’t bear it. “I’m going to get the wine.”
He grabbed her arm, turned her to face him. “Don’t embarrass yourself this evening, Johanna.”
Fury burned inside her. She thought she might explode, but she refused to give him any obvious leverage over her response. She pulled away and continued towards the kitchen.
“It will be a good idea to play the piano for our guests later,” he said.
She stopped at the doorway, turned slowly, and smiled. “Of course.”
She entered the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of Riesling. Her hands trembled out of a rage so all-consuming it was as if every cell in her body vibrated with fire.
“Would you like me to open that for you?” Fraulein Brun asked.
She took hold of the bottle in Johanna’s hand. There was tenderness and understanding in the way Fraulein Brun looked at her, and Johanna had to fight not to feel undone by the sentiment, or the feel of the fraulein’s hand against hers.
“It’s okay, Frau Neumann. I can open it.”
Johanna realised she was still holding the bottle, still staring into the fraulein’s intense gaze. “Oh.” She let go and smiled at Frau Tussaud who was wiping the kitchen table, hoping her embarrassment didn’t show. Frau Tussaud smiled and continued with her work.
There was a knock at the back door, and Johanna jumped like a scared cat. God, she was so tense. Her insides quivered with an all-too-familiar tempo. The door opened and Nancy entered the kitchen. She was shivering violently and wide-eyed. Her dark hair was damp and straggly. Something was very wrong with her.
“Mamie, I don’t feel well.” She went to the older women, buried her head against her, and started sobbing. “I feel so bad. Everything hurts.”
“Nancy, can’t you see we are working,” Frau Tussaud said, though she held her granddaughter tightly.
Johanna wanted to do something, but a knock at the front door put paid to anything she might be able to do to help.
Fraulein Brun held out the opened bottle of wine to her. “She needs a doctor. I must take her before the curfew.”
Nancy’s face was sheet-white and she hugged herself. If it were Astrid, Johanna would call a doctor immediately. The deep sound of men’s voices was getting louder. They were in the dining room and Johanna had to greet them or it would reflect badly on her husband, and she didn’t want attention drawn to Nancy for fear of what action the senior officers might expect her to take.
“Please, Frau Neumann?” Fraulein Brun held her gaze. “Everything is cooked. Mamie can manage the kitchen.”
Johanna nodded, turned and strode into the dining room with the bottle of wine.
The two German officers greeted her with a smile and bowed their heads a fraction. They were both taller and lither than her husband, younger, and both had the same fiery look in their eyes. It was the way Müller looked at women, and it was more than lust. It was evil.
“Good evening, Frau Neumann. It is a pleasure to meet you at last. Your husband didn’t tell me how beautiful you are.” He turned to Gerhard. “An omission, Herr Kommandant Neumann.” He laughed, and Gerhard smiled tightly. He held out his hand for her to take, and clicked his heels. “I am Standartenführer Fischer, regional leader, and this is Obersturmbannführer Hoffmann, senior assault leader.”
Herr Hoffmann clicked his heels and smiled at her. “You are a delight to the eyes.”
She forced herself to smile, and hoped her revulsion wasn’t obvious as she addressed them. “It is our pleasure to host you both, Herr Fischer, Herr Hoffmann.” She held up the bottle of wine. “Can I interest you in a glass, or would you prefer a brandy to start?”
“A glass of wine, thank you,” Herr Fischer said.
“I’ll have the same,” Herr Hoffman said.
She poured their drinks and handed them over.
After a little small talk that Johanna couldn’t give her attention to because of her concern for Nancy, they sat and ate. Johanna tried to imagine they were in Berlin, but the atmosphere was heavy and the trivial conversation uncomfortable. Gerhard had developed a twitch that she hadn’t seen before, and seemed more hesitant when talking to the officers. Time passed too slowly, and she was relieved when at last she could leave the table.
Gerhard lit a cigarette and cleared his throat, swirled the brandy in his glass. “We received a telegram earlier this evening, a threat of Resistance activities in the coming days.”
Johanna hadn’t known about the telegram, not that he would tell her the content anyway. Maybe this was what was bothering him.
Fischer stared at Johanna’s husband stone-faced, then turned to her and smiled disarmingly. “There is always something.” he said, casually, shrugging his shoulders. He took a sip of brandy.
Gerhard wiped away the beads of sweat that had formed above his top lip. “We have added additional checkpoints over the next seventy-two hours.” He watched Fischer.
Fischer stood up. Then Gerhard stood up.
“Now perhaps we can enjoy some music, Frau Neumann,” Fischer said. “Your husband tells us you used to play for the Berliner Philharmoniker.”
“Yes, though it feels like a lifetime ago.”
Herr Fischer indicated towards the piano. “Please. I’m sure you haven’t lost your touch, Frau Neumann.”
Johanna sat at the piano and lifted the lid. Fischer followed her and stood to the side. She stared at the picture of Ralf, the child who had once adored her, imagined him here in this room staring up at her as she played his favourite piece, “Mozart’s Piano Concerto No 21”. She closed her eyes and became lost in the music, performed for her audience.
A sharp click of heels interrupted her. She opened her eyes as Müller addressed the officers.
“Heil Hitler.” Hauptmann Müller saluted.
“What is it, Müller?” Gerhard asked.
He handed over a piece of paper.
Gerhard read the telegram, his jaw tightening.
“Nothing serious, I hope,” Fischer said.
Johanna was sure he’d also noticed Gerhard’s hand trembling around the piece of paper.
“Everything is under control, Herr Standartenführer.”
Johanna knew her husband well enough to know that he was lying, and judging by the look on Fischer’s face, he wasn’t fooled either.
She resumed playing and gave her attention to Ralf’s photo, lightened by whatever it was that had caused these men such discomfort.