He nodded understandingly. ‘I appreciate your thoughts have been elsewhere. The twelfth of March will go down in history. I can assure you of that,’ he said pompously.
‘It will be a day I shall have no difficulty in remembering, certainly,’ she said, looking away.
‘Indeed.’ Eicke shuffled uneasily. ‘If there is anything I can do for you now, or indeed any time, I hope you will not hesitate to get in touch with me. I have resources at my disposal.’ He peered at her over his glasses with a smile, which struck her as artificially sincere. It seemed he was willing to use trickery to gain an advantage.
‘I will bear your kind offer in mind, Herr Eicke.’ She could not warm to this self-opinionated party man.
He gulped down his last mouthful of coffee and smacked his lips together. She was glad to see him return his cup to the table; this was surely the end of a sticky conversation. However, he approached her once more, fumbling in his side pocket then holding out his hand.
‘Here, my card. Again, my condolences, Frau Richter. I must leave now.’
He bowed to her and her smile was one of relief.
‘Certainly… you must have much to do,’ she said, feeling her shoulders relax.
As Herr Eicke walked smartly to the hotel exit, she placed the card in her black handbag and turned to find her brother-in-law standing nearby. Karl was quite different from Willy, perhaps because he was six years younger, and would have mixed with different people. He had a slightly cynical sense of humour that did not lie deep under the surface. Hilda was fond of him.
‘I hope you would come to family first,’ he said with a troubled brow.
Hilda wondered how much of her conversation with Herr Eicke he had heard. He smiled, and slipped a hand under her left elbow ‘I saw he gave you his card. My advice, should you take it, would be to pay little attention to him.’
Hilda smiled; she had reached the same conclusion, and that was reassuring. ‘You know him personally?’ She was keen to hear more of the man who had influence over her son.
‘I find Herr Eicke rather narrow-minded – dogmatic, even. He is a Gestapo officer when he is not training the Hitler Youth. He’s a man on the up, from a very lowly base indeed.’
Karl’s assessment did not surprise her. ‘He is Otto’s training officer.’
‘Yes, that’s true, I know. We cannot change that. Caution is required, Hilda. That’s all I am saying.’
She nodded. That was sound advice. ‘I think you may have to speak to Otto from time to time, for me.’
Karl nodded. ‘If you feel that would be appropriate?’
Without a father figure for her son, Hilda felt she would be leaning more and more on Karl. She knew he recognised that fact.
‘Otto has loyalties beyond the family,’ she said. She knew it was something which troubled Willy. Nevertheless, what could Otto do? He would have stood out, or worse, been ostracized if he had not joined the Hitler Youth along with his friends. The wolves would have devoured him if he had stayed apart. She clutched her handbag in both hands, and her shoulders tensed.
‘Yes, it’s true. Though I may come to regret these reservations I have. I’m as keen as anyone for Germany to regain its rightful place in the world.’ Karl took out his handkerchief to catch a sneeze. ‘Excuse me,’ he said wiping his nose. ‘It’s possibly the right policy, with the wrong leader.’
Hilda was concerned about who might be listening to Karl’s observations, so she moved a few paces from the table. Then for the first time since they arrived at the hotel she spotted her son. With an egg sandwich in his hand, Otto looked lost amid the adults sharing their memories of his father and dipping into political conversations. He approached her.
‘These people, mother, I don’t know many of them.’
She placed her hand on his shoulder. ‘I am not surprised, Otto. Many were your father’s patients. You know how popular he was.’
He raised his arm to remove her hand. ‘Yes, I know.’ He lifted his eyes to hers, seeking her full attention. ‘You saw Herr Eicke? I’m glad he came to show his respects.’
She seized the opportunity to gauge Otto’s view of this enigmatic man. ‘Did you know he was coming to the funeral?’
‘No. But I hoped he would.’
‘Your father did not know him.’ Her voice seemed to carry into the room. She walked to the quiet bay window so that they could talk in greater privacy.
‘Herr Eicke is fun, honestly. He is in the Gestapo, you know. That is his day job. We learn many skills from him and he gives us sweets. He is firm but good to us. He’s a good leader, he really is.’
‘Maybe so Otto, maybe so. However, remember you are the man of the house now. You must study hard at school and make your father proud of you.’
For the time being, Otto had all the conversation he wished to discuss. He nodded to his mother and left to find more juice. Hilda returned to the centre of the room where her in-laws were talking in a circle. They opened the arc to accommodate her.
‘Have you a headstone, Hilda?’ asked Karl’s wife, Renate.
She was on comfortable ground now, not only with the question but also with her dark-haired sister-in-law. She and Karl were a perfect match.
‘Yes, I have a grey granite stone. I also have an inscription in mind and in keeping with Willy’s ideals without all the trappings of nationalism and banner-waving.’
Karl turned towards her. ‘Need any help with the wording? If you like, I could lend a hand.’
Renate smiled. ‘That might be a good idea, Hilda.’
Hilda gave a little smile to them both. ‘I already know how it will read.’
‘Really?’ Karl’s eyebrows raised an inch or two. Renate tilted her head to the side, obviously keen to learn more.
Hilda held the floor. ‘It will read: “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of one of His saints.” Then his name, profession and dates of birth and death will appear, leaving enough space for me and Otto to add ours in due course.’
‘I like that, Hilda,’ said Renate, patting her arm.
‘Yes,’ said Karl. ‘Without any flag-waving, as you said.’
She smiled at them. ‘Yes, I’m pleased with it. However, the words are hardly mine.’
Both Karl and Renate appeared perplexed.
‘Then whose fine words are they?’ asked Renate.
Keen to reveal the source, Hilda smiled. ‘The Psalmist. As always, the Psalmist says it perfectly.’
That night Hilda tried to relax after the stress of the funeral. However meeting Gerhardt Eicke filled her with unease. This man, who had control over her son, epitomised the very worst of the bellicose regime which surrounded her.
Chapter 2
The Letter
Widowhood had its highs and lows: on the one hand freedom, on the other loneliness and mild depression. Kind words from former patients did a lot to increase her confidence, but she could not depend on many of them for long-term friendship. In her memory lurked the pain and anguish of being an alien during the last war. If a second war broke out, as many considered inevitable, it would be a war to defeat communism on Germany’s eastern border. There would be no Willy to support her now. As the weeks progressed these thoughts grew more powerful. Her blood was not German and never could be. Yet if it was Scottish, it was certainly diluted.
One morning she rose early before her alarm clock struck 7 a.m. She parted the curtains and the sun pierced her eyes and lit the bedroom. From the movement of the trees outside, she detected the wind. She felt invigorated. The house needed a thorough clean. She had dreamed of a pristine house the night before, and now she would make that dream come true.
She took a feather duster to the cobwebs festooning the high ceilings and then hung rugs out on the clothesline by the side of the house.