Chapter Twenty-Seven #3
Eventually, they fell exhausted to lie side by side and share a smile, confident that their exquisite lovemaking would be for ever locked away in their memories and would always bring comfort in the future.
* * *
‘Don’t give up your dream on becoming a vet, Sam. You would make a good one.’
‘I’ve always wanted to be one. Maybe. Do you like being a translator?’
They were lying on their backs, looking at the stained ceiling, trying to keep the outside world at bay, but knowing it was impossible. Each time they spoke, the reality of their lives seeped in word by word, question by question, thought by thought.
‘Yes. It is a job that is demanding and keeps the mind working. I feel I am helping to smooth things until Germany grows stronger.’
But I would be happy to leave it to be with you. Elsa waited in the silence that followed her answer.
‘I have a friend in England. His wife is German.’
Her heart began to race. So it was possible!
‘She found it difficult to live in England. There was a language barrier—’
I speak English.
‘She misses her family and friends.’
I have no one to miss . . . except you.
‘And some people find it hard to forgive. She found it difficult . . . particularly when she first came to England.’
There it was . . . the beginnings of his goodbye.
Elsa arched her neck to look up at him. He looked no different to moments ago when he was nuzzling her neck and telling her he loved her, but this time he was paving the way for his reasons not to ask her to go with him.
Suddenly her skin prickled and she wanted to put distance between them .
. . yet her limbs felt heavy and she was unable to move.
‘I think it has put a strain on their marriage at times, but they love each other and they face the problems together. They have one child and another on the way, so it is a stressful time anyway. Where are you going?’
Elsa had finally managed to move and slid to the side of the bed to retrieve her clothes, suddenly feeling ashamed of her nakedness and what she had done. She snatched at her undergarments and stockings and started to dress. Sam sat up in bed. ‘Elsa?’
‘I have to go. I’ve just remembered, I need to be somewhere.’ It was true, she did, although she had plenty of time. However, it gave the ring of finality to her words, which he could not dispute. He got out of bed and began dressing too.
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No!’ The suggestion terrified her. If he found out where she was going and asked her to return to England with him, she would never know if it was out of obligation or love. Yet . . . as the thought raced through her mind, another voice in her head screamed, Does it really matter?
She shook her head to clear her mind. ‘Can we talk about this another time? I have to go.’
He grew suspicious. ‘You are meeting someone. Does this person share your bed?’
Yes.
‘You sound jealous.’
‘I can’t help how I feel about you. Is this person special to you?’
Very special.
‘Yes, but it’s not what you think.’
She thought he’d followed her to the door, but when she stepped outside into the hall and turned to face him, he had hung back.
He stood silently looking at her in the centre of the small room with his head tilted to one side.
He almost filled it with his presence, his body tall and strong, yet his expression ultimately perplexed. In his hand was a child’s small shoe.
‘Is the father of this little girl still in your life?’ he asked. ‘This shoe can’t be Miriam’s. She must be eleven by now.’
Her mouth grew dry. ‘She’s just turned twelve. No, it’s not Miriam’s.’
Sam filled the silence. ‘I found it under the bed. I wrongly assumed a double bed would be for a couple. I didn’t think it was for a mother and child to share.’ He carefully placed the shoe on the chair. ‘How old is she?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘It wouldn’t change the reason why I came looking for you, Elsa,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘Is she mine?’ He shook his head as if to shake the question away. ‘It doesn’t matter if she’s mine or not. But it would matter if you are still with her father.’
‘I’m not married and I’m not seeing anyone.’
‘Is she mine?’
‘Yes, Sam, she is yours.’
Elsa reached into her handbag and handed him a photograph. Shock reduced his voice to a whisper as he stared at the little girl. ‘What is she called?’
‘Christine.’
She stood beside him and watched as his fingers tentatively touched the girl’s soft dark curls. ‘She has my hair colour. And your curls.’ His finger touched her face. ‘She’s beautiful. And she looks so happy.’
‘Miriam was making her laugh when I took the picture.’
‘They get on well?’
‘They adore each other.’
He looked up at her. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you use your work contacts to find me?’
‘Because at first it was too close to the end of the war. I didn’t want you to get into trouble for fraternizing with the enemy. Christine would be used as evidence against you.’
‘The army has no say over me now,’ he said quietly. ‘It must have been so hard for you.’
‘I had help when I was in Bremen. A neighbour of my aunt’s was a great help when she was small.
I could not have coped without her. As time went on I was afraid you had built a new life without me as I had done without you.
I didn’t want to put pressure on you. I didn’t want you to ask me to marry you out of obligation.
I did not want you to suffer as I was suffering.
At least I could move cities and pretend to be a widow.
If you were able to bring us to England, you could not hide the fact that your wife was German and your daughter was half-German.
She has not felt that stigma here. I’ve told people my husband was German. ’
‘Is that why you chose Christine as a name? A name that could pass as English and German? You still hoped there was a possibility that I’d return and ask you to marry me, didn’t you?’
She nodded, but added, ‘You must not feel obligated to care for us. I can care for her myself. I have a good job, a friendly neighbour who cares for her after school if I am still working. We have a roof over our heads. She is happy. They both are.’
‘But are you?’
‘I don’t matter. It is their happiness that matters.’
‘And her father? Does his happiness count for anything?’
‘His happiness means everything to me. Which is why I don’t want him to feel obligated. Which is why I did not tell him straight away.’
‘Bringing up his own daughter and watching her grow is not an obligation. It would be a privilege.’ Somehow it felt easier to talk this way .
. . as if a little distance between them took the emotion away.
‘You could always leave Germany and live with her father. That is, if you loved him enough. Do you?’
‘I love him enough. But I don’t know what he thinks.’
‘Has he ever searched for you?’
She looked at the man standing in her home. ‘Yes.’
‘Did he find you?’
She felt him take her hand in his. ‘Yes.’
‘Did he just spend the last hour making love to you and wishing it could never end?’
‘I don’t know what he wishes.’
‘Fortunately—’ he smiled — ‘I do.’
He touched his forehead to hers and they looked at their entwined fingers sandwiched between them.
‘But you said living in England would be difficult for me.’
‘No, I said living in England might be difficult sometimes. I wanted you to understand what it might be like for you, but I think we can work it out together. Ben’s wife, Helene, will help you. She is a good woman and wants to be your friend. Will you come back with me to England?’
‘All of us?’
‘All three of you.’ He kissed her fingers. ‘I’ve always wanted children. Why not start now? Who better than you to teach Miriam and Christine English?’
‘They already speak it. Miriam wanted to learn in case she ever met you again. Christine has been bilingual since she could talk.’
He grew serious. ‘Miriam hoped to see me again?’
‘She often talks about you, Sam. She’s missed you.’
‘And I have often thought of her. I could not forget either of you. Especially you. I felt there could be more shared times to come and I knew that if I didn’t find you, that opportunity might be lost for ever.
But I wondered if you’d want nothing to do with me now the war was over.
And that scared me more than anything I’ve faced before. ’
Elsa kissed his hand this time, then let it stretch out between them. ‘Then it might be a good time for you to meet our daughter, because I know Christine would love to meet you. And later we’ll collect Miriam. She’s longed to see you again.’
Sam followed her out of the room. Together, they slowly descended the steps, walked through the hall and out into the street.
They looked up to the sky and saw that the heavy grey clouds were finally lifting to allow the sunlight to filter through.
They smiled at each other as the warmth bathed their faces and reassured them that all would be well.
As sounds of demolition and reconstruction drifted to them from one direction and children’s chatter and laughter from the other, Sam and Elsa threaded their fingers together and walked, hand in hand, towards their new future.
In a friend’s house, two streets away, a little girl waited for her mother .
. . and, unknowingly, her father. When she was older, she would learn more about the horrors of her parents’ war.
She would learn through overhearing snippets of conversations or listening to candid recollections retold as if they were long-forgotten tales that happened to someone else.
Yet, from a very early age, she would learn by observation and example that enemies can always become friends . . . if only they are willing to try.
THE END
Thank you for choosing this book.