Last Telegram (12 page)

And then there was Gwen's own revelation, which I barely dared to contemplate. I decided to put it to the back of my mind and pretend that she had never told me. That afternoon, she had also shown me a side of herself that I liked very much: a warm, relaxed, funny Gwen. She seemed so normal, so clever, wise, and honest. I really did want her as a friend.

When I got home, all these petty worries were instantly forgotten, paled into unimportance by the report on the six o'clock news.

Chamberlain had issued Hitler an ultimatum.

Silk has frequently featured in wars. The Silk Wars of 1514 resulted in a blockade of the East-West silk route from China to the Mediterranean by the Mongol King Selim I (1512–1520). The Persians diverted their caravans via Aleppo, but Selim confiscated all Persian goods passing through the Ottoman Empire. The resultant shortages served to heighten the value of pure silk in the West.

—
The
History
of
Silk
by Harold Verner

It is the evil things that we shall be fighting against—brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression, and persecution—and against them I am certain that the right will prevail.”

Toward the end of his speech, Chamberlain's voice, coming through the mahogany fretwork of the wireless in our drawing room, sounded increasingly querulous, as though he were going to break down in tears. That's certainly how I felt. Father and John sat on the two easy chairs, with matching fixed expressions. Mother and I were on cushions at their feet, and during the speech she had quietly taken my hand, making me feel even more wobbly.

The German boys, who had come early for the occasion, sat in a row on the sofa, their bodies held tight. Stefan leaned forward with his face in his hands; next to him, Kurt sat rigidly, his jaw working. As the final phrases crackled out, I could see Walter flushing with the effort of fighting back tears. The words hung in the room, like a cloud of poisonous gas. Father turned off the wireless, and the green light behind the tuning dial faded slowly and disappeared.

Kurt broke the silence. “So, our countries are now at war,” he said in a low voice.

“We mustn't have that kind of talk, Kurt,” Father said firmly.

“‘Brute force and bad faith.' That is what your prime minister says.” Kurt stood up and started to pace like a caged tiger.

“It is a fight for justice and human rights,” John said quietly. “Remember what Hitler is doing to your people, Kurt.”

“Anyone for sherry?” Father said. “Or something stronger?”

“It is our only hope,” Stefan said quietly, his face even paler than usual. “I will fight, if I am allowed.”

“Fight your own people?” Kurt said with a mirthless laugh. He pointed two fingers at his own temple. “Shall I kill myself now, to save you the trouble?”

“Don't be a bloody idiot.” Stefan leaped to his feet and grabbed Kurt's arm. “It's the Nazis we need to fight, not the people.”

“But people will get killed, our family and friends too,” Kurt shouted back.

“Why don't you stop, both of you!” Walter yelled, putting his hands over his ears.

“Calm down, boys,” Father said. “Have a drink and let us talk sensibly.”

Stefan took a glass and sat down again, but Kurt refused and remained standing. “They won't let you join the Army,” he said bitterly. “You're the enemy, remember?”

“No, it's not like that,” I started, shaken by Kurt's outburst.

“They'll probably send us home anyway,” he went on. “Or lock us up.”

“Kurt, please,” I said, feeling sick and slightly panicky at the thought. He might be right. I remembered hearing how Germans got rounded up during the last war. Enemy aliens, they called them.

Mother stood up. “Oh, Kurt, my dear, I'm sure they wouldn't do that,” she said, as he wrenched the door open and slammed it behind him. Walter got up quietly and let himself out, and shortly afterward we heard the front door close.

“Shall I go and get them back?” I asked.

“He'll cool down,” Stefan said calmly. “They'll come back when they are ready.”

Father went round with the sherry bottle again. “Let's drink to a speedy resolution,” he said, and we all raised our glasses except for John, who was standing at the window, apparently absorbed by the view. After a few moments, still with his back to us, he said quietly, “If you'd like me to find out whether Germans can join up, Stefan, I'll ask at the recruiting office in Cambridge. I'm going there tomorrow.”

So Vera had failed to change his mind. Mother let out a whimper, like a wounded puppy. Father took a sharp intake of breath and held it for a moment, his hand clenched around the slender stem of his glass as if clutching onto his own emotions. When he finally spoke, his voice was tightly controlled. “I hope you're not going to do anything rash, son.”

John turned round, standing stiff and tall, as if he was already in uniform. “It's not rash, Father. I've been considering it for months now. It's the only thing to do.”

The usually measured tick-tock, tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the hallway sounded hurried and uneven. Stefan was pale and still as a statue. Mother looked as though she'd been crumpled by a huge hand.

“My dearest boy,” she whispered, “you must do what you believe is right.” She took out a lace-edged handkerchief and blew her nose.

“You and I need to have a talk about this.” Father took John by the arm and steered him toward the door. “How long will lunch be, Grace?”

She didn't reply. As they left the room I caught John's eye.
How
could
you?
I mouthed at him.

• • •

It was just as well we'd planned a cold dish for luncheon, because it was more than an hour before Father and John emerged, their faces flushed. Stefan had gone to the cottage to find the others, and Mother and I got into the sherry bottle again. Judging by the raised voices it had clearly been what they used to call a “robust debate.”

“So?” we said simultaneously.

“I'm afraid his mind's made up,” Father said. “I can't dissuade him, so I think we have to support his decision. In fact, it is very courageous and I am proud of him.”

John sat on the side of Mother's chair and put his arm around her shoulders.

“I know it's hard, but I have to go. I couldn't stay behind in Westbury, watching my friends and the chaps from the mill going off to war without me.”

Her voice was wobbly. “Of course you must do what feels right. But just promise me you won't go to the front line.”

“I'll have to do whatever I'm best suited to. I'm a pretty handy engineer now, and Robbie's given me a taste for flying, so I fancy the RAF. If they won't have me, the Army. But I promise I won't take any silly risks.”

She nodded and got up unsteadily, clutching her handkerchief in a tight fist, and left the room muttering about making tea. John started toward the door but Father shook his head. “Best to leave her now. When you've got children of your own, you'll understand what she's going through.”

He turned to me. “Lily, my darling, go and see if she's all right, would you?”

• • •

Much later, when Mother had sobbed herself into a fitful sleep and the sun was low in the sky, there was a knock at the front door. It was Stefan, alone. This was unusual: the boys usually let themselves in through the back door. And they usually came together.

“Will you talk with me?” he said, almost under his breath, and as I looked back into his eyes, I felt a tremor of anxiety. What was he going to say? Something about going to join up, with John? Had something happened with Kurt? The evening light streamed through the hallway behind me and illuminated his pale, serious face. Long eyelashes cast shadows over his high cheekbones, and gentle licks of hair framed his brow.
How beautiful he is,
I thought, my heart doing jazz steps in my chest.
Why have I never properly noticed this before?

“Would you like to come in?”

“No, I would like to walk.” There was an unusual urgency in his voice.

“Wait a mo, I'll let them know I'm going out for some air,” I said shakily, trying to sound calm. “We can go over the meadow.”

We walked in silence along paths we'd both walked many times but never, until now, alone with each other. The evening was still and warm with enough clouds in an otherwise clear sky to promise a fine sunset. After a hot summer, the grass was unusually dry and the sun's horizontal beams shimmered through the seed heads like
moiré
silk.

When we got to the river, we stopped, standing side by side and peering down into the water running sluggishly beneath steep banks overhung with skeleton stalks of cow parsley. Turquoise damselflies skimmed close over its glassy surface. The leaves on the willow trees on the other bank were starting, even now, to turn yellow. Autumn was not far away.

I forced myself to wait for him to speak first. Finally he said, “This is a big day.”

“It's frightening for us all,” I said, choosing my words carefully.

“I am worried to think of what is happening for my family.”

“Perhaps,” I struggled to find something consoling to say, when we knew there was little hope, “perhaps they have managed to get over the border?”

He shook his head. “It is not so easy.”

“But even if they haven't, war will sort things out and life will be better when it is over.”

We stood without speaking for a few moments.

“We cannot let that man do so many evils,” he said, suddenly angry, spitting out the words like gunfire. “We must stop him.”

It was no time to correct his English. “Would you really try to join up?”

“Yes, if it will get rid of Hitler.”

Something drove me to say it, to force out the truth. “They won't let you sign up till you're eighteen, you know.”

He took a deep breath and looked away toward the hills on the other side of the meadows. Had I gone too far this time? Warblers chattered quietly in the reeds. After a long pause, he said, quite calmly, “I am not the age on my papers. This is what we had to write so I could come out of Germany. But I think you know this, don't you?”

I nodded.

He turned and looked me directly in the eyes. “Can I trust you, Lily?”

I met his gaze. “So how old are you, really?”

“I am twenty-one years. Today.”

“Today?” I gasped, slow to grasp this unexpected extra twist.

“It is my birthday,” he said simply.

“Oh, Stefan. What a day for a birthday,” I squeaked. And without a second thought, I stood on tiptoe and hugged him. In an instant, his arms wrapped so tightly around me I could barely breathe. After a moment, our faces turned, our cheeks touched, and our lips met, lightly at first, then stronger and deeper. Every part of my consciousness became concentrated into that kiss, the meadows and the rest of the world around us receded, and time was suspended.

We barely noticed when a large Golden Retriever bustled out of the long grass and pushed past, but as the dog's owner appeared, we jumped apart.

“Pleasant evening for a terrible day.” The man walked briskly by us without waiting for a reply. Though I didn't see his face, the hunched back and baggy jacket were familiar.

“Bert?” I mouthed to Stefan, and we giggled like naughty children.

I grabbed Stefan's hand and pulled him, half running, along the riverbank toward the lock. It had once been used by barges bringing coal to power the mill but river traffic had long since ceased and their hulks had rotted in the mud. Vera and I used to dare each other to walk across the narrow beam of the heavy gates. It was the only way to reach “our” island, but the slightest slip could mean a sheer drop into the still depths of the basin or the turbulent water on the downstream side. The island was our secret playground, where we built camps, pretended to be pirates or Indians, used thorns to prick fingers, mixed our blood, and swore lifetime allegiance.

The beams looked rotten and dangerous now, but I felt daring and fearless, and Stefan followed me across without a second's hesitation, agile as a cat. Pushing aside brambles and climbing over fallen willows, I led him through the shrubby undergrowth to the other side of the island, where Vera and I had made our main camp. There was still a clearing here, under elder bushes weighed with heavy clusters of purple berries.

We kissed again now, more boldly, all doubts gone. I held my breath till I felt faint, as his fingers moved slowly over my breasts and down to my waist. He pressed his hips against me, and as I felt his hardness, my body seemed to melt like butter in the sun, all on its own, without having to think about it. So different from how it had been with Robbie.

He cradled my face between his hands, breathing hard. “I've wanted this for so long.”

“Me too,” I murmured, swallowed up in his gaze.

His eyes glittered with pleasure. “You wanted this too?”

I nodded, wordless and lightheaded with happiness.

“Then what have we been waiting for?” We laughed and kissed again, longer and deeper this time. I didn't care what was happening in the world—my entire being focused on the joy of his lips, his tongue, the heat of his body against mine.

After a long time, we stopped, exhausted by the intensity of our discovery. He took my hand and led me over to a log where we sat and lit up cigarettes. As we watched the sun starting to set across the water, I stole a glance at him, saw a frown fleeting across his brow.

“You've gone quiet. What is it, Stefan?”

“It is nothing,” he shook his head. Then a longer pause, and he started, “But…”

“What is it?” I said again.

“You say you want me, but…”

“But what? Tell me, please.”

He whispered, “People say Mr. Cameron is your boyfriend.”

“No, he's not,” I almost shouted with relief. “Robbie
wanted
me to be his girlfriend. We had a few dates. But there's nothing—really nothing—between us. Please believe me.”

“I saw you together. He is so confident, like you belong to him.”

I stopped his words with a kiss.

“But there is another thing…” he started, afterward. My heart plummeted again as he searched for the words. “Mr. Harold? What will he think?”