Chapter 42 Kate

ALNWICK, ENGLAND | APRIL 2011

Kate looks up from her laptop and takes a sip of coffee. She’s been working furiously on polishing Audrey’s story and, at Audrey’s request, searching for more details on what happened to Friedrich Müller.

The buds are just beginning to burst on the trees surrounding the Oakwood. The daffodils and hyacinths are already in bloom at the stone gateway by the road, and in a few weeks, the spectacular cherry blossoms in the Alnwick Garden will make their seasonal appearance, drawing tourists from around the world. But Kate has kept the bookings closed. All the botanically titled rooms at the guesthouse remain vacant except for Rose and Elder, where Audrey is resting in palliative care.

As she keeps telling Kate, she’s lived for months after they told her there was nothing more to be done. “From birth, we’re all on borrowed time, anyway, Kate. Or maybe it’s stolen. Or gifted. I never really worked that bit out. Perhaps you will. But whatever it is, it is fleeting.”

Kate stands and walks to her bedroom window, looking down at the garden behind the hotel where Ian is building a set of new raised beds for herbs. The sleeves on his beige sweater are pushed up, and his hair falls a little across his forehead as he stoops to measure a piece of timber. Last weekend he relaid the patio stones and power-washed the outdoor furniture. His love language, Kate now understands, is to quietly assist behind the scenes. He’s been spending a lot of time at the Oakwood to be with Kate, but particularly since Audrey was declared palliative, alternating between talking to her in the hours she is awake and lucid, and keeping himself occupied with maintenance whilst she sleeps.

The sound of a bell tinkles from the floor below and Kate smiles. Audrey had resolutely refused either a mobile phone or the employment of a baby monitor to call Kate for whatever she might need. But she did allow a small brass bell, borrowed from the dormant reception desk in the foyer. “Far more dignified,” she’d said.

Good timing, Kate thinks. She gathers the pad with her notes about Friedrich and heads to Audrey’s room. Audrey is sitting up in bed, braided white hair falling over one bony shoulder.

“Heya,” Kate says, smiling even though every time she sees Audrey so wasted and tired, she just wants to cry. “What do you need?”

“Good afternoon, dear,” Audrey says before a coughing fit overtakes her. Kate refills her glass in the bathroom sink and Audrey sips it gratefully. “I would commit a moderate crime for some Marmite and egg on toast,” she says, a little raspy. “Heavy on the butter, too, hell, why not. And some coffee. I appear to have slept through breakfast.”

Kate returns fifteen minutes later with a tray, then settles herself at the end of the bed as Audrey starts to eat.

“So, you had asked me to learn whatever I could about what became of Friedrich,” Kate says.

Audrey’s chewing slows. She takes a deep breath and another sip of coffee. “What did you find out?”

Kate glances down at her notes. “After his arrest in ’45, there’s a gap in information, but we can assume he was sent to prison for a few years, because he was tried at Nuremberg along with the other general staff and high command of the German armed forces in March of 1948, after they did the initial round of trials for the primary leaders of the Reich. He was found guilty of conspiracy to commit war crimes and crimes against humanity. Generally aiding and abetting the Nazi regime.”

Audrey nods. “That’s unsurprising. Did he plead guilty or not?”

“He pled not guilty,” Kate says gently.

Audrey sighs. “Good. That’s good.”

“He received a life sentence and was sent to Spandau Prison in Berlin, along with a load of other convicted Nazi officials.” Kate pauses, her heart heavy. “He died there, in 1963. There’s one report that he was stabbed to death by another inmate, some kind of altercation. There isn’t much detail. I’m sorry, Audrey.”

Audrey sets aside her toast and egg. “Thank you for doing that, Kate.” Her eyes slide out of focus for a minute, and Kate waits for her to come back from where she’s drifted off to. “And what of the others?” she asks.

“There isn’t much,” Kate says, frowning. “I couldn’t find anything about Aldous Stoltz or Claus Von Holten. But Ludwig Thurman was also tried, in the same batch of trials at Nuremberg as Friedrich. He was found guilty, but there’s no other mention of him. I guess we can assume he was either pardoned at some point, or died in prison too.” Kate voices a train of thought that’s been dogging her. “If you don’t mind, Audrey, when I was trying to find all this, I found the website of a facility—sort of a museum—called the German Resistance Memorial Center. Have you heard of it?”

“No.”

Kate takes a deep breath. “They’ve compiled all the available information on the German people who tried to resist Hitler. Students, like that White Rose group you mentioned. Academics, activists. And some people in the Nazi ranks too.”

Audrey watches her silently.

“This place has memorialized these resisters for what they tried to accomplish, and I wondered… Do you have any interest in sending them your story? They don’t have anything about your cell in their archives.”

Audrey shrugs. “No, I wouldn’t imagine they do. There was no information to find on us, was there?”

Kate waits.

“I told you I thought it was time someone took responsibility for the deaths of those children in Hanover. Perhaps this is how I can do that.” Audrey licks her lips. “Do what you can, I suppose. Send my account to this museum. See what they say.”

“All right. I will.”

As Audrey finishes her breakfast, Kate can tell her mind is far from the Elder Room.

“Is Ian here today?” Audrey asks, dabbing her mouth with a napkin.

“Yeah. He’s doing the garden beds out back.”

“I’m so very glad the two of you found one another.”

Kate blushes a little, worried her grin is too much for the somber circumstances. “We only did because of you. We wouldn’t have, otherwise.”

Audrey squints at her, considering. “You found each other because of your parents, actually. In chasing them, you found him. Think of it that way.”

They exchange an emotional glance.

“And you’re in love?” Audrey asks.

Kate nods. “It’s…”

“On a cellular level?” Audrey’s broken fingers come up to rest on Ruth’s necklace, the photo of Ilse. Kate lent it to her back in January, so she could keep Ilse close.

“Yes,” Kate says, filled with warmth. “Do you need anything else right now?”

“Yes, could you pass me the telephone, please?” Audrey indicates the landline on her bedside table, an old gold-plated relic of a thing that looks like it was pulled straight from a 1940s film set.

Kate moves the dozen orange plastic prescription bottles, sets the glass of water aside, and places the phone in Audrey’s lap. Then she lifts the breakfast tray, heads downstairs and allows herself to cry as she does the washing up, her salty tears sinking into the sudsy water.

A while later, the sound of the piano drifts into her ears. Ian must be back inside now. She dries her hands, wiping her face on the tea cloth, too, and pushes through the swinging kitchen door, the music growing louder with each step. Leaning in the doorway of the library, she watches Ian’s brow pinch in concentration, his neck stooped just a little over the keys. Ozzie is splayed out on the floor beside the piano. He’s so attached to Ian.

When Kate walks over, Ian looks up, smiles a little crookedly as he continues to play. She runs her hand over his back, then lifts his chin to her, kissing him.

“Thanks,” he says. “How’s she doing?”

“Okay. You know.”

When he finishes the piece, Ian goes to stoke the sitting room fire, and Kate’s about to get them each a coffee when there’s a knock at the door.

They both pause, glance at one another.

“Sue maybe?” Ian says, turning back to the fire.

Kate opens the door onto the cool spring air. There’s an official-looking man standing on the porch in an expensive suit.

“Hi,” she says. “Can I help you?”

“Ms. Mercer?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“My name is John MacGregor. I am Audrey James’s estate solicitor.” She recalls his name from the office plaque when she took Audrey to see him back in December. “I need to have a word with you, if I may. Mr. Smythe, too,” he says.

“Er, sure.” She leads him into the sitting room, curious. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes. But I do need to have a word with you both.” He glances suggestively at the chairs and couch.

“Okay,” Kate says, looking at Ian.

Mr. MacGregor sits down in what is usually Audrey’s chair, and Kate and Ian take seats on the long couch.

“I appreciate that this is a little unorthodox, though having known Audrey for years, I find that hardly surprising.” A grin plays around his mouth, and he continues. “Audrey just rang and asked me to come speak to you both now, as opposed to after her passing. Her estate settlement is fairly straightforward. As I’m sure you know, Audrey will pass without issue—without children”—he clarifies for their blank stares—“and she has left her considerable estate of inherited family fortune and the Oakwood Inn to the pair of you, jointly.”

His words filter through the buzzing in Kate’s ears. “Excuse me?” She glances sideways at Ian, who looks as confused as she feels.

The lawyer cocks his head to the side and a small grin twitches at the corner of his mouth. “She has bequeathed her estate to both of you. It would appear that this comes as a surprise.”

“I think there’s been some kind of mistake,” Ian says.

“There is no mistake, Mr. Smythe. You are to inherit jointly. Audrey has been very clear on this matter.”

Both Kate and Ian continue to stare at him, dumbfounded.

“There will be a significant amount of paperwork for you to fill out, but the thrust is, you both stand to inherit substantially. I am here to assist you with the process, when the time comes.”

“What do you mean by estate?” Ian asks. “That’s the hotel?”

“No, no, Mr. Smythe. The Oakwood is a separate bequest. Audrey’s estate is her family fortune. Approximately two million pounds.”

“E—excuse me?” Kate asks.

Mr. MacGregor smiles at them as though they’re in on some kind of joke. Surely they must be. “Audrey inherited a considerable sum when her father passed prematurely. I believe it was around thirty thousand pounds at the time. But that was 1938, and Audrey has invested much of that inheritance since the midforties, with a robust return.”

Kate opens and closes her mouth. Ian’s face has turned beet red. The flecks of grey in his temples stand out sharper against the blush.

“Well, I believe that’s all for now,” Mr. MacGregor says. “I will be in touch about the paperwork upon Audrey’s passing.”

Several long moments after the door shuts behind the solicitor, Ian finally speaks. “What the bloody hell just happened?”

Kate’s mind is reeling. “I don’t know. We need to go talk to her.”

They stop outside her room. Kate leans her head in and knocks on the door frame, but she can see Audrey is still sitting up in bed, glass of water in hand, as though she expected the visit.

“Audrey?”

“Come in,” she says with an amused sort of air.

Kate moves into the room, Ian right behind her. “Mr. MacGregor just left.”

“Yes. Come here,” Audrey says, gesturing to them both.

They join her on either side of her bed. Sophie is curled up at the foot of it, fast asleep. She hasn’t left Audrey’s side for two days now, leaving poor Ozzie in a state of dejection.

Audrey grips each of their hands with her own. “As Kate well knows by now, the Oakwood turned out to be my most unexpected place of refuge and peace at a terrible juncture in my life,” she says. “And I leave it in your safekeeping, the pair of you, because you have come to love it nearly as much as I did.”

“But Audrey—” Ian begins.

“You cannot deny a dying woman what she wants,” Audrey says, her tone heavy.

Kate knows she’s thinking of Ilse and Daniel, and she squeezes Audrey’s hand. The set of her jaw reflects the fierce determination that lies beneath the aging pale skin.

“Please take care of it, and each other,” Audrey says, glancing at them each in turn.

Kate’s heart swells with the knowledge that she won’t have to leave this place that’s become her home, where her parents walked the halls and her dad lived for a while as a boy, where Audrey’s spirit will always linger in the smell of coffee and Marmite.

“Audrey, you still can’t give us all that money.” Ian says.

“I can do absolutely whatever I want with my fortune.” Audrey scowls, making it clear any further argument would be futile. “And this is what I want.”

Ian swipes at his eyes with his free hand, then leans over to hug her. She whispers something in his ear that Kate doesn’t catch. When they break apart, Audrey cups his cheek in her hand, brushes away a tear with her thumb. Ian nods.

“I will,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Ian leaves the room, touching Kate’s shoulder on the way by, his head down.

Audrey’s shoulders slump. “I’m very tired.”

Kate helps her lie down, tucks the blanket in like a mother would, then Audrey pats the edge of the bed, and Kate sits.

“Thank you for being such a willing steward of my pain,” Audrey says. “I know it wasn’t easy to hear everything I had to say. But look at what it brought us both in the end. I think that alone has made it worthwhile.” Audrey runs her hand over Sophie, whose little body rises and falls on soft exhalations. “Take care of her, will you?”

“Of course,” Kate says. “Oz will too.”

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything else you need me to do?”

Audrey is quiet a moment, staring into Kate’s eyes. “Just talk about me,” she says. “And Ilse. About Friedrich, and your mum and dad. Tell people about them. Tell these stories. When we are the only ones left to remember someone, we have a responsibility to let them live on through our memories, our stories. I do love you, Kate. I wish I had known you sooner. But time always makes fools of us all.”

“I love you, too,” Kate chokes out.

Grief holds her lungs in its sharp talons. She catches a few snippets of notes from the piano downstairs, notes she knows well now.

“Can I see her again, please?” Audrey asks.

“Of course,” Kate manages, her throat thick. She reaches behind Audrey’s neck and unclasps Ruth’s necklace, opens it, and passes it into Audrey’s hands. She holds it with the fingers that shattered and eventually healed enough to be functional, but never quite the same as they were before.

Audrey smiles a little, and the tears slip back into her white temples as her head rests against the cool pillowcase.

“Ilse taught me a great many things, whether she realized it or not,” she says, fingering the tiny photo. “How to love so deeply, and on so many levels. How to survive after losing all the people you love.” She smiles through misty eyes as she travels back in time to Ilse’s bedroom, that day in the spring of 1945, filled with brown eyes and sorrow and the scent of lilacs. “And she also taught me how to die.”

Kate has tried so hard to keep herself composed for Audrey’s sake, but the tears are in full flow now, her nose red and swollen.

“Do you hear that?” Audrey asks. She folds the locket into the palm of her hand and crosses her arms over her chest. She closes her eyes. “He’s playing her song.”