Chapter 30
THIRTY
MARGOT
Margot ran out onto the landing, heaving for breath. She wondered if Beatrice had come through the tunnels and taken Isabelle. But no, the girl wouldn’t have gone off with the baby without leaving a note.
There was only one other option. She ran up the stairs to the flat at the top of the house.
As Margot reached the landing, the door to the flat opened and the Professor emerged. He was cradling Isabelle against his chest and the little girl was chuckling merrily. In her hands she held not only her little knitted goose, but a small teddy bear that wore a red tartan bowtie.
Margot rushed forward and snatched Isabelle from him, and held her tight. ‘What are you doing with my baby?’ she demanded.
‘She was crying,’ the Professor said, as though that was all the excuse he needed. ‘I didn’t want my brother to hear. I meant no harm, madame, I’m sorry. But— my brother.’
‘Wait – did you play the piano on purpose?’ Margot asked him. ‘So that your brother wouldn’t hear Isabelle?’
The Professor nodded. ‘But it didn’t soothe her, so I came to collect her. I’m truly sorry I scared you.’ Then he touched the tip of his finger to Isabelle’s nose and the little girl gave a merry gurgle. ‘You may keep Herr Knuddel, young miss; he’ll be a friend to you.’
Margot looked at the little bear in Isabelle’s chubby hand.
‘Last night, just before Esther—’ She paused as she heard the gunshot echo in her memory again. She took the folded piece of paper from her pocket and held it out to the Professor. ‘She wanted me to give this to you.’
The Professor nodded. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said as he took the page. ‘For what happened to your friend.’ For a moment he closed his eyes, then he unfolded the paper and Margot saw musical notes scattered across printed staves. ‘She was a remarkable woman.’
Margot tried to fight the sob that was rising up inside her. She couldn’t cry in front of the Professor. But she’d lost her friend; she’d been shot right in front of her.
And there had been things about her that Margot hadn’t known. The fact that both she and Daniel were Chevalier. And she had no idea why Esther had wanted her to pass a sheet of music to the Professor.
‘She was the bravest woman,’ Margot said, and sobbed.
‘She turned and said something – in Hebrew I think… Yimakh shemo… I’m not sure.
I don’t know what it means.’ Her words caught in her throat as she cried, but she carried on.
‘I’d never heard her say it before, but there was so much anger in her voice…
so much defiance. And then… your brother shot her. He just shot her dead.’
The Professor drew in a breath, his face filling with sadness.
‘“Yimakh shemo ve-zikhro”,’ he said. ‘May his name and memory be obliterated. A fitting curse for my monster of a brother.’ Then he reached into his pocket and held out a pristine, folded white handkerchief.
‘Thank heavens Isabelle is here with you.’
‘You were keeping her safe,’ Margot said. Her sobs had calmed now. She wiped away her tears. ‘I’d assumed…’
The Professor smiled a sad sort of smile, then said, ‘I don’t blame you.’ He nodded a polite farewell. ‘If ever I can help…’
Something had changed inside her. She thought back to that moment some years ago when he’d spoken to her about her husband.
She thought of the photos in his cellar of the family he must’ve lost. She didn’t want him to shut the door and go back inside his lonely flat. She reached out and caught his sleeve.
‘Professor… you’re very good with Isabelle, and she needs friends. I promised her mum I’d care for her.’ Margot swallowed. ‘Can I trust you, Professor Lauterborn?’
The Professor met her gaze and Margot saw in his single good eye all the sadness that had engulfed her too. She wondered then where the little bear had come from and whether it had once belonged to the happy girl who smiled out of those old photographs. A moment passed and he replied simply, ‘Yes.’
‘I suppose you might be wondering why I went up to your cottage,’ Margot said. She stroked Isabelle’s soft hair. ‘I thought you’d been killed. That’s why I left you some flowers. And then, suddenly, there you were.’
‘They’re in water in my sitting room. Thank you.’ He smiled. ‘You must wonder about what you saw. In the cellar?’
Margot nodded. ‘I saw your photos, and I saw…’ She was so touched that he’d brought the flowers with him. ‘You had a radio down there, and you’d written something in German.’
The Professor nodded once before he said, ‘Then I must ask, madame, can I trust you?’
Margot’s eyes widened. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I think you’ve worked out that the books…’
‘We’re on the same side. I promise you that. Would you join me for tea?’
And Margot trusted him, because Esther had. ‘I’d love to.’
As they sat together in the Professor’s flat, Margot glanced around at what he’d done.
Although she’d tried to keep it clean and tidy, he’d given the place a good scrub and there wasn’t a trace of dust or cobwebs.
He’d settled in and turned the empty rooms into a comfortable home, with his family photos, which she recognised from his cellar, standing along the mantelpiece and the dresser.
He’d even polished the piano – the old wood was now gleaming – and a piece of music stood open on the stand.
The purple wildflowers that Margot had picked for him were in a vase she didn’t recognise, which stood on top of the piano.
She hadn’t seen the cushions on the sofa and the armchair before. She propped up Isabelle among them, and the little girl looked quite at home as she waved her new toy at the Professor.
Margot sipped her tea before saying, ‘You’ve made this place look so cosy.’
‘The stallholders at the flea market in Clarenville have done me proud,’ he said with a smile. ‘There wasn’t much left after the fire. I was lucky to be away, and I always carry little Herr Knuddel in my bag when I travel.’
Was it his daughter’s little bear? Margot wondered.
Margot glanced up at his family photos. ‘I hope you won’t think I was being nosey, but when I went up to your cottage I saw the photos.
I recognised the harbour at once.’ But she didn’t say anything more.
She didn’t want to force him to talk about his family if it was too painful for him; she knew how it felt, to keep names and memories quietly in one’s heart.
‘My wife and I spent our honeymoon here.’ The Professor took a sip from his teacup.
‘We were very happy. Her name was Gretl and we had a little girl, Lotte.’ He pointed towards one of the photographs that clustered on top of the piano in mismatched frames.
Margot recognised it from the basement of the ruined cottage; it showed the little family in happier times.
‘We were very happy. It seems a long time ago.’
‘You honeymooned in Cordeval, and then came back,’ she said as she met his gaze. ‘I lost my Serge, and… it was so sudden. He fell ill with pneumonia. He went to hospital, but there was nothing they could do. I didn’t know that someone so young could be taken so fast.’
Although Margot didn’t cry, she could still feel the emptiness in her heart.
‘I’m sorry,’ the Professor murmured. ‘It’s all so sudden, the loss.
We were visiting Gretl’s family for Christmas in Gro?heringen.
It was Christmas Eve in 1935… I remember it like yesterday.
’ He drew in a deep breath, then set down his cup and saucer and left this chair to go and sit at the piano.
Still silent, he spread his fingers on the keys and began to play a lilting, gentle melody.
‘We were looking down at the river from the train when the express hit us head on. The signal had failed and— it was going at full speed, so… I lost everything that was dear to me that day.’
Margot went cold. In her mind, she could hear the steam trains, the clack of the metal wheels over the rails. Then the dreadful tearing roar as the trains collided – the screams, the calls for help. And the silence of those who had died.
She got unsteadily to her feet and gently rested her hand on the Professor’s shoulder.
‘Oh, Professor…’ she said. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
Still playing, he glanced over his shoulder at Margot and replied, ‘I lost my daughter; I’ll do anything to make sure that little Isabelle has the life she deserves.
’ For a moment the Professor looked back at the keys, before addressing Margot again.
‘I left Germany because I no longer recognised my homeland. We won’t let France change as Germany did.
‘Esther was a great loss to many people,’ he continued. ‘I have some money, I’d like to make sure she has a proper burial.’
Margot nodded. ‘Joséphine is making arrangements; it’d be worth talking to her. I think you might know her?’
He nodded. ‘I think we understand one another, madame.’ And when the Professor looked up at Margot this time, he was smiling.
So he really was working for the resistance, too. She knitted her fingers. ‘You must know Daniel, Esther’s husband. I want to let him know that Isabelle’s with me. He’s never met his own daughter, and I just wish there was a way for them to meet.’
‘The gentleman is dead,’ the Professor replied, his expression giving nothing away. ‘He drowned.’
‘You’re right to protect him,’ Margot said, her voice hushed. Surely he must know where Daniel was, or knew someone who could contact him. ‘But Esther told the book club it was cover, to keep their family safe.’
The Professor’s fingers paused on the keys and the music fell silent. He seemed to consider Margot’s words for a few moments before he began to play again. The music was lilting and delicate and Isabelle cooed her approval.
‘We’re not in contact directly,’ the Professor eventually confided. ‘But I may know people who can pass a message to him. I’ll do all I can.’
Margot knew he would. He’d lost his daughter and would understand Daniel’s pain at being separated from his baby.
‘Thank you, Professor,’ she whispered, not wanting to disturb the flow of his music, which softly filled the room as if feathers were falling.