Letter from a Stranger (39 page)

There was a silence at the other end of the phone, and Justine could hear Gabriele gasping slightly, choking back her tears as well. After a second, her grandmother said, a bit unsteadily, “I suppose you’re still reading, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am, because I do have to stop occasionally to get a bit of rest. I’m going to my room to continue, when I hang up. I want to finish it before you return from Bodrum. When will you be back, Gran?”

“I think we’ll be able to finish everything by Saturday, fly to Istanbul on Sunday.”

“Gran, there’s something I must tell you! I’m afraid Richard can’t come now. Daisy has an ear infection.”

“Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that,” Gabriele responded. “Richard once had a similar problem when he was younger.”

“Oh, I’d forgotten about that.”

They talked for a few more minutes and then hung up. Justine took a mug of coffee out to the terrace and sat drinking it.

A short while later she went back to her room, and picked up her cell, about to dial Michael in London. Then she realized it was only eight o’clock in Istanbul. London was two hours earlier. He was probably still asleep.

Sitting down in the chair, she opened her grandmother’s black leather notebook, and found her place.

BERLIN

MAY 10, 1940

The phone had been ringing a lot. Irina had received one call after another. I wondered if something special was happening. At the moment I did my schoolwork in the small office at the front of the house. Where the Herr Baron’s secretary usually worked. But she had gone off to Baden-Baden with the baron, Princess Natalie, and all of the vintage wine. The wine cellar had become an air-raid shelter. But as yet not too many bombs had fallen.

Once more the phone rang. Riddled with curiosity I put down my pen, went in search of Princess Irina. I found her in the study where the baron usually did his work. She was hanging up the receiver when I tapped on the door, put my head around it. She stood up. For once there was a smile on her face. Her violet-blue eyes were sparkling.

Something wonderful has happened, she said. I was about to come and find you. What happened? I asked, staring at her. Her whole demeanor was different. I thought, she’s happy. The princess said, At eleven o’clock in London this morning Winston Churchill walked into 10 Downing Street as the new prime minister. He has replaced Neville Chamberlain. And all I can say is thank God for that! And hooray! We’re in safe hands, Gabriele. Now I know for certain. The Third Reich will be defeated.

How do you know about Churchill? Have you been listening to the BBC? I said. No, she replied. Many phone calls. Prince Kurt told me first. Then C. After him, Hans Oster. Renata von Tiegal. And the Herr Baron phoned from Baden-Baden. He told me Churchill was in power. He reiterated his invitation. We can go and stay with them. I said no. But thank you. He warned me. We’re going to be bombed, he said. That’s wonderful, I told him. I welcome British bombs.

Aunt Beryl thinks Churchill is brilliant, I confided. She’s right. The princess came forward, got hold of my hands, led me around in a dance. I’d never seen her like this. It’s high time we had a party. I looked at her in astonishment. She laughed. I’m going to invite Prince Kurt, the von Tiegals, the Westheims. Tonight. For dinner. We’ll have champagne. I know the Herr Baron left some behind.

He did. But we’ve no dinner, I pointed out. An arched auburn brow lifted. No food? I shook my head. Not much. Eggs. Lettuce. We can always get lettuce.
Eggs,
the princess repeated. Frowned. What can we make with eggs? Oh wait a minute. Parisian eggs! she cried. What are they? I asked. Come, she said. Hurried me out to the kitchen.

Hedy looked startled, afraid, as we rushed into her domain. Is something wrong? she asked. No, the princess said, smiling. Do we still have cans of anchovies? Hedy nodded, baffled. And mayonnaise? The cook nodded again. Then we can have Parisian eggs for dinner.
Ja, Prinzessin,
Hedy said. We are having guests. Hedy nodded, still seemed startled.

We never ate lunch. Food was short. I went back to my schoolwork. The princess said she was going to phone her friends. Later that afternoon she came to the secretary’s office. We must look nice tonight, Gabri, she announced. Come with me. Upstairs in her bedroom she took me into the middle of the room. Under the chandelier. Stared at me. Nodded. You have become beautiful, she said. Blue eyes, blond hair. Very Aryan. You will be safe. Because of your coloring. She touched my cheek lightly. The scars have healed, she murmured. Disappeared. I nodded. I did not want to think about the scars. They reminded me of the rape. And of Gretchen. Lost somewhere out there. Leaving me, Irina went to the cupboard. She took out a blue silk dress. This will suit you, she said. Handed it to me. Am I coming to the dinner? I asked, puzzled. Absolutely, she said. Renata and Ursula are your mother’s friends, as am I. And Arabella. Is the
Prinzessin
here? I asked. Irina shook her head. Zurich. I nodded. I would be intruding, I muttered. No, you wouldn’t, she said. They will come at six thirty. I understand, I replied.

In my room I went to the chest. Opened the drawer, took out the photograph of my family. It was now in a frame. Irina had given it to me. I sat down, holding it in my hands. Gazing at them. At
me
with them. I touched my mother’s face. And my father’s. And Erika’s. I’ll see you soon, little one, I whispered. Suddenly something was wrong with the glass. I couldn’t see them properly. Then I realized it was my tears falling on the glass. I cleaned it with a towel. Put the frame away. In the drawer was the snapshot Arabella had given me last year.

It was of Anita and me. We were standing in a meadow behind the Schloss. It was a sunny day. Our summer frocks were blowing in the wind. We were laughing into the camera. Arabella had taken it in the summer of 1938. Two years ago.

I would be sixteen next month. I lay down on the bed. I thought about Winston Churchill. What it meant that he was prime minister. Would he be able to save us? Or were we still doomed? Aunt Beryl said he was the best and the brightest. I trusted Auntie Beryl. She was usually right. So we would be saved.

I was ready at six o’clock. I went and tapped on the princess’s door. As she had told me to do. Inspection time, she called it. She told me to come in. I did. I gasped when I saw her. She looked marvelous. She wore a purple silk dress and red shoes. There was a string of blue beads around her neck. Her auburn hair was piled high on her head. She was a beauty. She stared at me. Took off the blue beads. Put them around my neck. There, she said. Just the right finishing touch. She glanced at my feet. Shook her head. Brought out a pair of silver sandals. Handed them to me. They’re a bit tight, I told her. But worth it, she said. You must always wear blue, Gabri. It’s your color. She found a string of pearls, put them on, took my hand and led me down the stairs. Because tonight is so special, she said, you can have a glass of champagne. To toast Winston Churchill.

I knew Ursula Westheim and Renata von Tiegal. They had gone to school with my mother and Arabella. They were Roedean girls through and through. Ursula reminded me of my mother. She was blond and blue-eyed like Stella. Renata was dark and exotic. Her clothes were always chic. They had stayed in touch with me for the last two years, always concerned. They never forgot my mother.

I talked to them for a while. Irina was huddled with Sigmund Westheim and Reinhard von Tiegal. I watched them out of the corner of my eye. Plotting again, I thought. Last week I had heard a new name. Claus von Stauffenberg.

Prince Kurt von Wittingen was the last to arrive. He looked harried. He rushed all over Europe as a senior consultant to Krupp. It seemed to me he could roam around freely. A useful job. He had been alarmed and concerned about Gretchen’s disappearance.

He walked over, once he had greeted Irina and the two men. He asked to speak to me privately, after kissing Renata and Ursula on their cheeks. In a quiet corner he seemed to relax. He said, I am still troubled by the situation with Gretchen, Gabri. I can’t imagine what happened to her and the baby boy. What do you think?

I was flattered to be asked. Irina and I had discussed it many times. I said, I have three theories, Prince. Tell me, he said, leaning closer. I said, The first is that she had made an arrangement to be picked up by somebody that day at a certain time. But no one heard a car on the estate, he murmured. I nodded. The driver could have been waiting on the main road. Outside the gates. True, he said. The second is that she decided to go back to Berlin for some reason. Went out onto the road, hitched a lift. She’s either living safely in Berlin or she is dead. Depending on who she got a lift with. Maybe it was someone who wanted a baby. Who killed her, took the child. Or perhaps she got to Berlin safely and disappeared in the city, wanting to be free of her sisters.

I fell silent. The prince asked, And what is your third theory, Gabriele? That she knew someone in the village. Went to see them. She could be still there. Or maybe somebody in the village wanted her child. And she willingly gave the baby to them. And then disappeared. Or that she met foul play in the village, again because of Andreas.

The prince gazed at me unwaveringly. Not very palatable theories, Gabriele. I just hope she and that child are safe. So do I, Prince von Wittingen, I said.

Hedy and I served the Parisian eggs. They sat on lettuce leaves, with mayonnaise and anchovies spread on top. Everyone said they were delicious. Irina kept lifting her glass. Toasting Winston Churchill. So did her guests. Everyone enjoyed the evening.

Justine sat back and closed the book. Reading this fragment from her grandmother’s past had not been quite so heartbreaking or harrowing. And it had told her such a lot. About Gabriele’s preference for blue dresses and scarves. Her fondness for Parisian eggs, and her quick, bright mind. So Gran had had theories about what could have happened to Gretchen. Yet there was no way she could prove any of them to be true. “More’s the pity,” she said under her breath.

Forty-four

Although Justine was longing to continue reading about her grandmother’s teenage years in Nazi Germany, everyday life intruded for a short while. Iffet phoned her just to say hello and chat about things in general. Then she spent time sending her regular daily e-mails to Daisy and Joanne. And to Ellen at her office in New York.

It was just after this that Michael phoned her from London. “Hi, babe,” he said when she answered her cell. “Are you all right?”

“Good morning, and I’m fine. How was your dinner? Did you have a good evening?”

“I did. Everything is now on an even keel. My client is happy; well, I wouldn’t say
that
exactly, but he’s pleased we’ve managed to make a few compromises. I’ll tell you about it when I get back to Istanbul. It’s going to hit the papers anyway next week. The financial sections.”

“Oh, was it
that
important?” she asked, surprise echoing in her voice.

“In a way. Because it had to do with an important bank. But as I said, we’ve reached an agreement. So how’s the reading going? I hope it’s not upsetting you too much?” he said, sounding concerned.

“Some of it’s a bit harrowing at times,” she replied. “But there are also some happy parts. I’m fascinated.”

“I miss you, babe, and I still wish I’d brought you with me. But we’ll make up for it,” he finished.

Justine said, “You bet we will! When are you going to Paris?”

“In a few hours. I want to get everything done so that I can be in Istanbul on Friday night.”

“That’s great. Michael?”

“Yes? What is it?”

“I want you to read Gran’s book as soon as you get here.”

“Do you think I should?” he asked. “You said Gabri told you to tell me about it, and that’s all.”

“I’ll take the responsibility. I want you to read it,” Justine responded.

“Okay. You’re the boss.”

*   *   *

Within half an hour Justine retreated to the bedroom to continue reading.

BERLIN

SEPTEMBER 12, 1941

Princess Irina was happy because we had been invited to visit Graf and Gräfin von Tiegal, to give them their correct titles. At their Schloss near Brandenburg. It was not far from Potsdam. The Westheims are staying, she said. It will be nice to see them all. I had also been invited. Reinhard von Tiegal had arranged for a friend of his to drive us out. Another friend would bring us back to Berlin after the lunch. We dressed in the smartest clothes we had. Makeovers from Arabella’s wardrobe. Irina wore a fir green wool suit. I picked a midnight blue dress with a matching jacket. I thought we looked better than we had in years. Certainly less shabby. I was now seventeen. Tall like my mother. Irina thought I was too thin. I was. So was she. It was from lack of food. The shortages were growing worse.

The drive out was uneventful. I sat in silence. Irina spoke intermittently to the owner of the car. His name was Dieter Müller. He was a friend of Prince Kurt. He seemed well informed about everything. And in her clever way Irina pumped him.

We received a great welcome when we arrived at Graf von Tiegal’s Schloss. It wasn’t too far from the von Wittingens’ home. I had a sudden rush of nostalgia. Much to our surprise the prince was at the lunch. He had just returned from Zurich. He said Arabella, Christian, and Diana all sent their love. Arabella was working for the International Red Cross, he told me. Christian and Diana were at school. Apparently they missed Berlin and all their friends.

Ursula Westheim sat with me in the drawing room. We chatted about my mother, their school days. I knew that in January 1939 she had taken her son Maximilian and her ward, Theodora “Teddy” Stein, to Paris. From there Teddy had escorted Maxim to London. They now lived with Teddy’s aunt. Ursula had returned to Berlin. To look after Sigmund. They had hoped to get his mother and sisters out. Sadly old Mrs. Westheim had died of heart failure in 1940. His two sisters had been killed in an air raid this spring.