Page 39 of Love in the Shadows

There was a knock at the back door, and Johanna jumped like a scared cat. God, she was so tense. Her insides quivered with an all-too-familiar tempo. The door opened and Nancy entered the kitchen. She was shivering violently and wide-eyed. Her dark hair was damp and straggly. Something was very wrong with her.

“Mamie, I don’t feel well.” She went to the older women, buried her head against her, and started sobbing. “I feel so bad. Everything hurts.”

“Nancy, can’t you see we are working,” Frau Tussaud said, though she held her granddaughter tightly.

Johanna wanted to do something, but a knock at the front door put paid to anything she might be able to do to help.

Fraulein Brun held out the opened bottle of wine to her. “She needs a doctor. I must take her before the curfew.”

Nancy’s face was sheet-white and she hugged herself. If it were Astrid, Johanna would call a doctor immediately. The deep sound of men’s voices was getting louder. They were in the dining room and Johanna had to greet them or it would reflect badly on her husband, and she didn’t want attention drawn to Nancy for fear of what action the senior officers might expect her to take.

“Please, Frau Neumann?” Fraulein Brun held her gaze. “Everything is cooked. Mamie can manage the kitchen.”

Johanna nodded, turned and strode into the dining room with the bottle of wine.

The two German officers greeted her with a smile and bowed their heads a fraction. They were both taller and lither than her husband, younger, and both had the same fiery look in their eyes. It was the way Müller looked at women, and it was more than lust. It was evil.

“Good evening, Frau Neumann. It is a pleasure to meet you at last. Your husband didn’t tell me how beautiful you are.” He turned to Gerhard. “An omission, Herr Kommandant Neumann.” He laughed, and Gerhard smiled tightly. He held out his hand for her to take, and clicked his heels. “I am Standartenführer Fischer, regional leader, and this is Obersturmbannführer Hoffmann, senior assault leader.”

Herr Hoffmann clicked his heels and smiled at her. “You are a delight to the eyes.”

She forced herself to smile, and hoped her revulsion wasn’t obvious as she addressed them. “It is our pleasure to host you both, Herr Fischer, Herr Hoffmann.” She held up the bottle of wine. “Can I interest you in a glass, or would you prefer a brandy to start?”

“A glass of wine, thank you,” Herr Fischer said.

“I’ll have the same,” Herr Hoffman said.

She poured their drinks and handed them over.

After a little small talk that Johanna couldn’t give her attention to because of her concern for Nancy, they sat and ate. Johanna tried to imagine they were in Berlin, but the atmosphere was heavy and the trivial conversation uncomfortable. Gerhard had developed a twitch that she hadn’t seen before, and seemed more hesitant when talking to the officers. Time passed too slowly, and she was relieved when at last she could leave the table.

Gerhard lit a cigarette and cleared his throat, swirled the brandy in his glass. “We received a telegram earlier this evening, a threat of Resistance activities in the coming days.”

Johanna hadn’t known about the telegram, not that he would tell her the content anyway. Maybe this was what was bothering him.

Fischer stared at Johanna’s husband stone-faced, then turned to her and smiled disarmingly. “There is always something.” he said, casually, shrugging his shoulders. He took a sip of brandy.

Gerhard wiped away the beads of sweat that had formed above his top lip. “We have added additional checkpoints over the next seventy-two hours.” He watched Fischer.

Fischer stood up. Then Gerhard stood up.

“Now perhaps we can enjoy some music, Frau Neumann,” Fischer said. “Your husband tells us you used to play for the Berliner Philharmoniker.”

“Yes, though it feels like a lifetime ago.”

Herr Fischer indicated towards the piano. “Please. I’m sure you haven’t lost your touch, Frau Neumann.”

Johanna sat at the piano and lifted the lid. Fischer followed her and stood to the side. She stared at the picture of Ralf, the child who had once adored her, imagined him here in this room staring up at her as she played his favourite piece, “Mozart’s Piano Concerto No 21”. She closed her eyes and became lost in the music, performed for her audience.

A sharp click of heels interrupted her. She opened her eyes as Müller addressed the officers.

“Heil Hitler.” Hauptmann Müller saluted.

“What is it, Müller?” Gerhard asked.

He handed over a piece of paper.

Gerhard read the telegram, his jaw tightening.

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