22

Gertrude

PARIS, MARCH 1942

A LIFE GIVEN – A LIFE LOST

If the threat on her life hadn’t been in place, Gertrude knew she could have gone outside as normal. Life had dragged these last few months, and she’d felt completely cut off. No contact with Juste, or any of the group. But then, unless she went to the cafe, how could they keep her informed about what was going on?

Even though her pregnancy was nearing its end and had given her an excuse not to go out, as she turned this way and that in front of the long mirror she knew she could have hidden the fact. The child inside her hardly showed its presence to the world. Wearing that flared jacket with the three-quarter-length sleeves over her frock would have hidden her small bump. But fear had kept her inside. Oh, how she longed to go out for a walk.

In an instant she made her mind up to do so. Surely those who wanted her dead couldn’t be watching her every movement, or waiting in the street twenty-four hours a day on the off-chance that she might appear? For one thing, the guards would notice them, wouldn’t they?

With a defiant flick of her hair she went to her wardrobe, donned a thick, loose-fitting woollen jumper for warmth and then put on the flared jacket. Checking in the mirror, she was pleased with the result. The dark red colour of the jacket suited her and toned well with the grey jumper. The frock she had on underneath had a background of grey, with a pattern of reds and blacks flecked into it. Slipping her stockinged feet into a soft pair of flat shoes, she moved towards the door. But a pain stopped her. It shot across her back and had her gasping in a deep breath. God!

As she waited for a few minutes the intensity of it wavered and she was able to take a few tentative steps. She made it back to the sofa and sank down. Sweat ran down the nape of her neck. Sitting up straight gave her relief – the pain had gone. I must have twisted myself.

Reaching the door of her room again and opening it gave her a moment’s elation – she really was going to go out. Nothing would stop her; she refused to be a prisoner here any longer. Juste would have sorted everything by now. Somehow he would have proved that she did not betray the agents. It had been months ago – it had happened in the first weeks of her pregnancy, and now she was coming to the end of her eighth month.

The guard sitting at the end of the nursery stood as she approached and gave a half-salute. Gertrude nodded and moved past him. Behind her the noise of the children playing in the yard had her stopping again. Should she take them with her? It wasn’t that they had been deprived of fresh air, for the nursery nurse took them out every day and was with them now, but Gertrude did love being with them.

Seeing things through their eyes had given her a different perspective on everyday things she’d taken for granted, and their questions had entertained her. Often the four of them had ended up giggling together; the child in herself had come to the fore and had given her a joy she’d rarely felt in her own young years. Deciding it was best not to take the children with her now, just in case there was still any danger lurking for her, her body released a sigh from deep within her. She dreamed of one day in the future when it would be possible to be a mother to them, and not a governess, but that couldn’t happen yet. If only peace would come, then Kristof and I might stand a chance of being open with our love. But this bloody war rages on. And on.

As she opened the front door, the cool air braced her for a moment. The avenue outside acted like a wind tunnel at this time of year. The guards stood aside, then showed surprise that it was Gertrude coming through the door. One went to speak to her, but changed his mind. Stepping down the first step brought the pain back into focus, but with a gut-wrenching ferocity that tore through the front of her, before settling in her back. Her hand grasped the rail. A guard caught her and said in German, ‘Frau Bandemer, what is it? Are you hurt?’

His dialect had her struggling for a moment, but she managed to decipher what he’d said. ‘Please fetch Herr Eberhardt . . . Hurry!’ A wetness soaked her underwear.

‘But . . .’

‘Fetch him!’

The guard jumped, clipped his heels and hurried inside.

Pain took over every part of her, taking her dignity away and leaving her standing in a pool of water, screaming like a banshee.

‘Frau Bandemer, what ails you? Let me help you.’ The assistance that the second guard went to give her was quickly withdrawn, as a command from Kristof sliced through the air: ‘Nicht berühren!’

‘Oh, Kr— Herr Eberhardt, it is happening . . .’

‘Come, my dear. I will help you to your room.’

She had no idea how she managed to get there. Pain after pain waved through her, gripping her in spasms she could hardly bear.

‘There, I’ll help you onto the bed. The doctor is coming.’

She’d heard him barking orders as they passed the offices. Heads had appeared from them, some acknowledging his orders, others looking astonished, but in her confusion she hadn’t heard him asking for a doctor.

‘It’s coming, it’s coming – remove my panties, Kristof, please remove my panties. I need to push.’

‘But it is too soon. Wait! Wait for the doctor, maybe he will be able to stop it . . .’

‘Nothing can stop it, pleeeeeease!’

At this he jumped into action and, once released from any restrictions, there was nothing she could do but push. It took just two massive pushes, to the sound of Kristof begging her, ‘Stop, wait – wait for the doctor, please!’ before their baby slithered onto the bed. Instinct told her to clear the baby’s mouth and get it breathing and warm. Ignoring the blood covering the eiderdown, she leaned forward and, grabbing the baby’s little legs, pulled her towards her. With shaking hands, she gently prised open the little mouth. With the airway clear, she gave one sharp tap on the wrinkled, blueish-coloured bottom, and a scream to rival the one that she’d given herself filled the room.

‘She’s alive! Kristof, our little girl is alive . . .’

Kristof sank to his knees, his eyes rolled back and he went into a deep faint. Looking down, she saw his motionless body lying on the floor beside the bed. Smiling, she said to their child, ‘There, little one, is your father. His welcome isn’t very good, is it?’

Cradling the tiny form to her breast, she felt a great love inside her – a love she had never previously experienced. With it came tears of joy, mixed with pity for the troublesome and dangerous situation this little mite had come into.

As if seeking comfort, her baby’s tiny fingers, small and dainty, wrapped around her own. ‘It’s all right, little Elsbeth, Mama and Papa will make your world safe. Everything will be well, you’ll see. Mama will wrap you in love, and so will Papa.’ The child made a small sound as if saying, ‘I know.’ It wasn’t very loud, but with it Kristof stirred and looked up at her in astonishment.

‘What happened?’

‘You fainted, darling. Don’t worry, I have heard that it happens. Meet your daughter, little Elsbeth.’

‘A girl! Elsbeth? You have named her?’

‘Yes, I knew at once that she was to be called that. I – I don’t know why. Do you approve?’

‘I do. It is a good German name. It was my grandmother’s name. It is perfect. And I will add Frayda, as Frayda was my mother.’

‘Elsbeth Frayda Eberhardt. Yes, it has a nice sound. I like it.’

‘Where have you heard the name Elsbeth? Is it a family name of yours, too?’

‘No. I heard it somewhere and liked it – that’s all. I am so happy that you like it, and that it has a family connection for you. Now, where is the doctor? Elsbeth’s cord needs to be cut and tied, and I need to be relieved of the afterbirth. I think you should leave me for these things. But if the doctor doesn’t arrive soon, then make sure I have some sterile scissors . . .’

‘Oh, don’t! No details – I feel queasy.’

His smile told her he was sorry to be so useless, but she didn’t mind. These soft qualities of Kristof’s were what made him more human, and took away the thoughts of the cruelty she knew he was capable of, when crossed.

Once he’d left them Gertrude lay back. Her mother and Juste came to her mind. They should be here with her, in particular her mother . . . Oh, Mama, Mama. Once more the tears came, and she wondered if she would ever see them again.

The agony of this thought ripped through her. But it also put a determination in her to try and re-establish contact with Juste and the group. Once she was strong again she would go out. She’d wear her fur-collared coat, in the hope that Juste was nearby and would know she had a message for him. In her message she’d ask if she was in the clear yet, and for any news on Madeline, and would tell Juste that he was an uncle.

With Madeline in her mind came further agony. Inside her she felt sure Madeline was dead. It had been months without a word. Yes, there had been a time when she’d felt hope, as she had found out that Madeline had escaped. Kristof’s anger when he’d been told of the British agents’ escape had made him more talkative than usual about matters of war. He’d raged about making it his mission to recapture the agents. But he hadn’t discussed it with her since, and she hadn’t dared to show any interest by asking.

The door opening and the doctor’s arrival with a nurse stopped any further speculation or giving in to heartache, as the next half-hour was taken up with sorting out both her own and little Elsbeth’s needs. She wept as they did this, and neither of the medical staff tried to stop her. ‘This is normal for a new mother, especially with such a quick and unexpected birth.’ The nurse didn’t say this in a kindly way, more matter-of-fact, though her voice softened a little as she continued, ‘It is the shock, as much as anything else. But you need not worry, as your daughter is very healthy. A little small, but that is not a problem, as everything is functioning normally. This down that is covering her will drop away. It is because she did not reach her full term.’

Gertrude thanked the nurse, but at the same time wished that both she and the doctor would finish what they were doing and leave her and Elsbeth alone. She had so much to put her mind to.

At two weeks old Elsbeth was constantly hungry and made Gertrude very sore, sucking at her breast for what seemed like most of the day. But Gertrude didn’t mind. This contact with her daughter felt like the closest a human being could be with another, and she gazed in wonder at her child for hours. But still her inner turmoil raged, and impatience to know something about what was going on in the outside world got the better of her. Contact had been impossible for months now – it had been as if she was stranded on an island. Even news of the war came with a German perspective, worrying her more and more.

Donning her fur-collared coat, with her message for Juste pinned into the lining, she hugged Elsbeth to her. Handing her over to the nursery nurse gave Gertrude a strange pain in her heart. She almost snatched her baby back, but as she gave the nurse the bottle of expressed milk, the girls jumped up and came to her, demanding that they got a hug too. This welcome distraction warmed her. If the nurse hadn’t been within hearing distance, she would have told them how much she loved them, as she had taken to doing when they were alone. She hadn’t actually said this to the boys, for it would have embarrassed them, but there was an unspoken knowledge of the shared love between them. ‘I won’t be long,’ she told the girls. ‘Look after little Elsbeth, and be good girls for Nurse.’

Walking along the hall, with her resolve holding strong to carry out her plan of venturing as far as the cafe, she once more admired the paintings as she went. Around her she could hear the usual sounds: voices from behind doors and, in the distance, footsteps as office workers hurried between rooms. Then, as she neared the stairs that led down to the kitchen, a clattering of pans and the remnants of breakfast smells filtered up to her.

A door opened behind her. A chair scraped along the tiled floor. As she looked back, the guard who had been sitting outside Kristof’s office, and who had barely glanced at her, now stood to attention, with his arm straight out. Her ears cringed at his cry of ‘Heil Hitler!’

Kristof emerged, looking surprised to see her. ‘Oh, are you going out? Well, obviously you are, but I didn’t expect to see you.’

‘I know. I didn’t want to disturb you, but I am longing to walk a little way. I’ll only go as far as the cafe. I feel safe now . . .’

‘And Elsbeth?’

‘She is too young to go out yet, and the air is a little chilly this morning. The nursery nurse is taking care of her.’

‘Come inside a moment.’

Hoping Kristof wouldn’t stop her from going outside, now that she finally had the courage to do so, she followed him into his office. In the outer one he spoke to his assistant, asking her to ensure that he wasn’t disturbed for any reason. The woman didn’t comment.

Bright winter sun poured through the south-east-facing windows of his office and a million specks of dust danced in its beams. The smell of his aftershave, and the brilliantine he used to try and tame his hair, played with her senses, awakening them for the first time since the birth.

Everything around her was just as she remembered it from the first time she’d been here. Even the picture of his wife still stood on his desk. She felt a pang of jealousy at this. And, as if he knew, Kristof said, ‘I cannot live without the picture, but I live happily with it now.’

A warmth blushed her cheeks. She was embarrassed that he’d noticed her reaction. But his response helped her. ‘That is good,’ she told him. ‘I would never want you to shut her out, and I hope one day she will become part of us, but you need to talk more about her for this to happen.’

He did not answer her. In his silence she recognized there was still a part of him that was so vulnerable, although it was an aspect that she suspected he showed only to her.

‘Thank you. I will . . . Come here, let me hold you.’

As he came towards her, he placed the photo face-down. Will anything ever heal him fully?

The feel of his strong body pressing her to him further awakened her, but it was too early to give herself to him. Still sore from the birth and still bleeding, she couldn’t do it. But to be held by him, in this undemanding way, filled her with longing.

‘My darling, I love you.’ His voice held the desire she could feel him fighting against. Letting her hand wander, she caressed the hardness of him.

‘There is no need to do without. I am here for you, darling.’ There was no objection from Kristof, just sighs of love and pleasure as she guided him to his chair and released him from his trousers. His moans told of his enjoyment. His hands caressed her bent head, pressing her mouth further onto him. Suppressing her own desires, she worked on him with all the skills she’d learned in her days of prostitution, until at last she drank him in and he flopped back, completely spent. As she rose, she looked down at him. At this moment he looked beautiful. His flushed cheeks, his adoring look, the little beads of sweat on his forehead glistening in the sunlight and the heavy, lush grey of his eyes would stay with her forever.

Putting himself away, he pulled her down onto his lap. Cradled there like a baby, she enjoyed the gentle rocking motion as he swung the chair from side to side. Their eyes held each other.

Kristof broke the silence. ‘My darling, how can a man be so lucky as to have known two great loves?’ As he said this, he bent forward and stood the photo up again.

The woman in the photo looked at her with a beautiful smile that wasn’t dissimilar to her own. Her blonde hair was cut short to just below her ears, unlike Gertrude’s own long hair, but her features almost mirrored her own. This shocked her.

‘Yes, you are alike, and I cannot deny that is what attracted me to you at first. But you are different people. She was a wonderful person, and I still hold her in my heart. But you are even more wonderful – you are warm and loving. You know me like I have never been known. You don’t try to change me; you open me up to be what I am. At least the loving, feeling part of me. The man who is real. The man who has nothing to do with the part of me that is loyal to my country and to Herr Hitler, and who has to do my duty, whatever that may cost me.’

Yes, she knew that man. And she knew that if he found out the truth about her, even though he loved her, he would have her executed. This thought rippled a memory through her that she did not want – that of the maid hanging from the tree. Something told her that her own fate would be even worse, for she had violated Kristof’s trust.

‘Don’t be afraid, my darling. You have no need to be. I will never allow you to see the other person that I can be. I keep him locked in this room. I like to keep the different sides of myself separate, though you have made me break this rule today. But that is what you are capable of doing to me. Now, I have to compose myself and go to my apartment, which is where I was off to when I came across you. I need to prepare myself for a very important meeting. So go and enjoy your walk, but please don’t be out long – you are not yet strong.’

Getting up off his knee, she wiped her mouth, then poured herself a glass of water from his jug.

‘Washing me away, eh?’ His laugh sounded childish. She laughed with him.

‘Never, darling, but I don’t want to talk to others with the hint of you on my breath. We are for each other only, and shouldn’t share that part of us with all and sundry.’

Kissing her, he said, ‘I’m all gone. I can’t taste me on you.’ With this he slapped her bottom, winked and said, ‘I may be back there soon, though. I hunger for you, and though I cannot have you fully yet, that is a very good second-best.’

Though she knew he meant this light-heartedly, she had a sudden urge to tell Kristof how much it meant to hear this. ‘Thank you. I never thought I’d be loved in the way you love me. If this is my last day, know that I am yours – always yours.’

‘What! What are you saying? Are you in danger?’

‘N – no. No. It is just a saying. A lovers’ saying.’ But even as she tried to put his mind at rest, something in her thumped the fear around her. Every day she thought of the death-threat hanging over her. Surely it had lifted, hadn’t it? ‘Anyway, I’m going; you get yourself ready. I’ll see you tonight when you come to me and little Elsbeth. I love you, my darling.’

Outside the air cut through her. Pulling her fur collar closer around her neck and putting her head down against the wind, she walked unsteadily, but with determination, and kept her eyes forward, resisting the urge to search every nook and cranny of her journey for a possible killer.

The cafe looked the same as always, though the little red gingham curtains appeared to be freshly laundered, giving a cosy feel against the dark-green paint of the windows and the door. Closed against the draught of the wind, the door stuck a little, but as it gave, it rattled the bells hanging above it – a familiar and very welcome sound.

But the person behind the counter didn’t give the same welcome. It wasn’t Paulo and, as rarely was the case, there were no customers in the cafe. This gave it an eerie silence, when normally chatter and laughter would be bouncing off the walls.

The wobble in her step increased. She tried not to worry and to appear as if nothing was amiss. ‘Are you new here? When I was in here last, Paulo owned this cafe.’

‘Oui. Paulo died six months ago. What can I get you?’

A feeling spread over her as if someone had run a feather down her spine as the shock at his news turned her blood cold. ‘Oh, nothing. I have changed my mind. I am too upset by hearing of Paulo’s passing to want to eat or drink now. Merci. Au revoir.’

Before she reached the door, strong arms grabbed her. The door slammed shut. The sound of the bolt clunking into place made her heart heavy with fear.

‘Rapidement, obtenez les cordes!’

A hand came over her mouth, making it impossible for her to emit anything more than a groan from her throat. She kicked her leg backwards in an effort to hurt whoever held her, before the ropes that had been requested could be fetched. The blow she managed to give his shin made him release his hold. She reached out for the door bolt, but a punch deep into her kidneys buckled her.

‘Bitch! Traitor! I spit on you!’

Wet slime slid down her cheek. All hope of persuading her assailants she was innocent evaporated as she looked into the hate searing the eyes of the man she’d seen behind the counter. A second man, a stranger, stood over her. Thick rope dangled over his arms, and struggling didn’t help. Her body hurt as they trussed her, stretching her limbs till they felt as though they would come out of their sockets. The scream that started in her bowel was left rasping in her throat as something was stuffed into her mouth. Then darkness – perhaps the worst thing of all – enclosed her as they placed a tight blindfold over her eyes. Her mind could not untangle the emotions going through her as terror filled her, leaving her unable to grasp the reality of what was happening.

As they lifted her, she wanted to shout out the agony it caused her, but could not. Squeezing her through the gap that led behind the counter, they took no heed of her limbs scraping against the sharp edges. Please help me! God, help me.

From what they were saying she knew they were taking her out of the back door and into the alley behind. Here the smell of stale food-waste, cat wee and dog excrement sickened her already-churned stomach. It was a relief when they shoved her into the back of what she imagined was a van. The slatted floor dug into her, but at least every part of her body was supported, and not left to dangle in a way that would dislocate her joints.

The doors slamming shut with a tinny sound, typical of a van, rocked the vehicle. The smell of fresh bread and hams suddenly blotted out the foul stench of the alley. What this told her filled her with despair. Delivery vans often moved around the area, even during curfew, without being challenged, so it was unlikely that any patrolling German soldiers would call them to a halt. Even random spot-checks were becoming fewer as German complacency set in.

The movement of the vehicle, driven in haste, caused her body to rock backwards and forwards. Loaves of bread dropped onto her. Soft and delicious normally, they now felt like weapons with hard exteriors that scratched and bruised her.

The journey went on and on. With each mile she imagined the horror of what she would face when they reached their destination. Into the turmoil of her thoughts came her mother, smiling down at the child she once was – showing her the photo of her father and telling her what a lovely man he had been. Oh, Papa, am I to suffer the same fate as you? I know you were innocent, too. Help me, Papa, help me! Then there was Juste, marching around the garden with a stick held on his shoulder as if it were a gun, playing his war games. Games – how soon those games had turned to reality!

A picture of her stepfather came to her, wielding his belt, his smile holding a sick pleasure as he whacked the leather strap into the palm of his hand. As then, a terror trickled through her now. Oh, how I would prefer to be facing his wrath than the unknown horror awaiting me . . . But she mustn’t think about it. Something would happen to save her. Juste must know of their plans. He must have his contacts who would tell him that she’d been taken. He must have!

Madeline entered this frenzy of thoughts that were attacking Gertrude. Sweet Madeline, a sister whose real name she didn’t know. They’d had such plans for the future. She was to visit Madeline in London and see the sights she had heard so much about. Shop in the stores. And talk – yes, above all they were going to talk. Tell everything to each other until there was nothing they didn’t know about the other. Where are you now, my darling sister? And what of my baby . . . No! I cannot bear the agony of leaving her and my Kristof. Oh God!

The van came to an abrupt halt, skidding on what sounded like pebbles. A beach? A rush of damp salty air, as they opened the doors, confirmed her suspicions. Dragging her from the van caused her further pain, but the impact of it was nothing compared to the extreme terror that gripped her.

‘Cut the rope stringing her legs to her wrists, but keep her legs tied together, then stand her up. Take off her blindfold.’

The crashing waves caused spray to dampen her face. It mingled with her tears, icing them as they ran down her face. Through the haze of them she saw François. She hadn’t known there was a third person involved. That he, a lifelong friend, believed what she was accused of – and so strongly that he was willing to be part of this – hurt her deeply. His tone told of his disgust and cut the last thread of hope that he would prevent this, as he told her, ‘This is where you die, traitor.’

Unable to keep her balance as her legs lost all strength, she toppled over.

‘Leave her,’ François commanded, then his voice grated with emotion as he added, ‘It is fitting that she should die lying down; standing is for heroes.’

A defiance came into her. Staring up at him, she saw him falter as he raised his gun. She shook her head and tried to plead with her eyes. François’s expression held nothing but vile hatred.

She didn’t register the gun being fired, as a searing, burning sensation took all the space in her head. The world turned into a swirling red mass, before an impenetrable blackness enveloped her. Somewhere in the distance a tiny light broke though. Its beauty beckoned her. Floating towards it brought a peace that settled all around her. The shape of the light changed as she approached. The form of a shadow gradually became clearer. Papa . . . Papa . . . A great love encased her, taking away her worldly being and all memories of her time on Earth, and giving her a sense of extreme happiness. A sense of rebirth . . .