‘And who is this woman?’ Herr Euler’s tone was hostile as though I was a camp follower or something.
‘I’m Michael’s future wife,’ I said quickly. I had the feeling that if Herr Euler thought any different I would be tossed out on my ear. ‘We lost everything in the shipwreck, we’ve no papers or anything.’
‘Why did you bring her?’ His father’s tone was abrupt.
Michael shrugged. ‘It’s a long story. Can you help us get papers?’
‘First, food.’ And then he did something that I thought must be out of character for him so awkward was he: he hugged Michael and patted his back. ‘It’s good to see you back in the Fatherland, my son.’
Michael’s eyes were misty and I felt a pang of unease. Would he be a turncoat now he was back in Germany?
We ate chicken and potatoes and then we all went to bed. I was muddle-headed and worried but I was too tired to stay awake. I cuddled myself with my arms, used now to sleeping alongside Michael’s warmth. He had never treated me as anything other than a sister but nevertheless we’d been side by side curled together, a pair. I shivered and Michael hugged me, just for comfort. I knew that was all he had to offer me.
Herr Euler was very clever and next morning he set the wheels in motion for acquiring papers for both Michael and me. He chose a church in the small village nearby for our marriage by a proper German clergyman, and by some miracle Michael and I really were man and wife. But, only in name, I warned myself. As soon as we got back home, if ever we did, I knew the marriage would be annulled.
We had no wedding breakfast, just a drink of some German stuff and a slice of bread and cheese, but I had a ring on my finger and my papers would carry the name Frau Euler.
My short-lived euphoria disappeared when Michael’s father warned us that matters were desperate and even younger boys than Michael were being called to serve their country. ‘You will have to join the forces.’ He spoke sternly and Michael glanced at me before nodding.
A few days later, Herr Euler had a sheet of paper in his hand when I got up for breakfast. The fire was still not lit and there was no sign of food. Michael came into the room from the backyard, his hair was wet and glistening with diamond drops of water.
‘My leave is over,’ Herr Euler said. ‘You were lucky that you came when you did otherwise you’d have been in deep trouble.’ I didn’t catch everything he said but I got the gist of it and I was suddenly frightened. He had offered us security, got us a legitimate identity, papers we could show anyone who cared to examine our presence in the country.
Now he was leaving us alone and though Michael was courageous, inventive and adaptable, he was unfamiliar with the working of Germany, of this Hitler who ruled everyone and stuck his arm up in the air and shouted like a buffoon.
‘Thanks for being so kind,’ I said, in German. Herr Euler nearly smiled.
‘Your German’s not bad, not bad at all,’ he said. ‘I have something for you; it was my mother’s. As Michael’s wife, it should be yours.’ He handed me a ring. ‘It’s a black opal,’ he said. ‘Very rare.’ I glanced at Michael; he looked sour but what was I to do? I took the ring and slipped it on my finger. It glimmered with colour and I was fascinated.
We heard a car outside. Herr Euler clipped his heels together, shook hands with Michael, nodded to me and left us. The engine outside revved as the truck drew away.
‘What now?’ I said anxiously.
‘We get a message to Jessie and to Hari. Can you do it, Meryl?’
‘If I can find a radio I can use.’ My mouth was dry, he hadn’t forgotten about home then.
‘I’ll find you what I can. There should be some bits and pieces around my father’s house, he always did like to tweak the radio.’ He smiled. ‘You and he would have a lot in common.’ From the little I had learned about radios the task of making one would be much more difficult than Michael realized but I kept my own counsel about that.
We settled down to a sort of routine; we would search for pieces of electrical stuff, anything I could use to make a signal. In the evenings when it was too dark to work, we sat near the fire and talked, really talked, and I knew Michael was more mine then than he had ever been. If only he would love me as a man loved a woman. But it might happen, I really hoped it might happen given time. A week later Michael was called up.
Thirty-Seven
Hari drew up at the door of the farmhouse tired and blurry-eyed; she’d driven all the way from Buckinghamshire. Jessie was waiting at the door, wiping her hands in her apron. Her face was lined and anxious. Hari felt overwhelmed with hopelessness, it was obvious Jessie had heard nothing from Michael.
‘Jessie?’ Hari’s last shred of hope faded as Jessie shook her head.
‘No news. Come in, merchi, sit by the fire and talk to me before I go mad with loneliness.’
‘I’m no merchi,’ Hari said softly. ‘My girlhood is gone along with Michael and my sister. Where can they be, Jessie?’
Jessie ran her thick-veined hand through her grey hair. ‘The good Lord is the only one who knows that.’
She led the way into the warmth of the kitchen, which still bore signs of Meryl’s cleaning habits though it was gradually declining into the chaos that Jessie was accustomed to.
‘I have to stay in England for a while,’ Hari said. ‘I’ll leave you my address Jessie. If you hear anything, please, please write to me.’
Jessie nodded. ‘Same goes for you.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘They’re searching for him, the military, they think he’s a German spy and my boy loving Wales like he never lived anywhere else.’
‘Meryl is with him.’ Hari swallowed hard not wanting to admit to the jealousy that gnawed at her whenever she thought of them together. She should be glad that her quick-thinking, intelligent sister would use all her initiative to bring the pair of them home.
‘Please God they are not dead already.’ Jessie’s voice cracked.
A thrill of horror washed over Hari. ‘Try not to think of such things.’
‘I do try but at night I see them, bloody and dead in a ditch somewhere. Where can they hide?’
‘Trust Meryl, she’s good at inventing things,’ Hari said, ‘she’s clever, intuitive and a damn good liar.’ There was no malice in her tone. ‘They will survive this, you’ll see. Let’s pray the war will soon be over and then they will turn up like new pennies I’m sure of it.’ But she wasn’t sure, not at all.
‘How long will you be in England?’ It was as though Jessie had just digested Hari’s earlier words. Her face was lined and worried beneath her sun-dried, greying hair.
‘I have to be there at least a month,’ Hari said dully. ‘I’d much rather be home but, as everyone says, this is wartime and you can’t always do as you want.’
They were both startled as there was a sudden, loud rapping on the farmhouse door. Hari followed Jessie, ready to protect her against intruders.
‘You, Georgie Dixon, how dare you show your face around here after what your mother did?’
‘There’s a message.’ He thrust out a piece of crumpled paper.
‘From where?’ Jessie’s tone was still hostile. ‘If your mother is trying to apologize she can go to blazes.’
‘It’s not from my mother, it’s from some man. He was funny… foreign, didn’t understand why Mam wasn’t you.’
‘Oh, right then,’ Jessie said flatly.
Hari looked at George. He was taller now, a man, he should be serving in the forces by now. They returned to the kitchen and Jessie opened the paper. She sank into a chair, her face white.