Last Telegram (17 page)

There is no fabric more sensuous than silk. Its use for night wear and bed sheets has been popular for centuries, and recently, finely powdered silk fiber has been adopted for the preparation of luxury unguents for the skin. It is remarkable that a thread so loved for its beauty and sensuality comes from the simple caterpillar of the moth
Bombyx
mori
.

—
The
History
of
Silk
by Harold Verner

Stefan's note broke all the rules. It said,
Come to the
cottage
tonight, seven o'clock, if you can
.

It was difficult to get away at this early hour, but I concocted an outrageous lie and arrived only half an hour late.

“What's all this?” I said, breathless from running and scared of more bad news.

“I'm so happy you can come,” he said, letting me in with a quick glance up the road in each direction. He closed the door and pulled me into his arms, but I pushed him away.

“Hang on. Where are Kurt and Walter?”

“At the cinema.” A sweet, shy smile spread across his face. “They won't be back till half past ten. We have three hours alone. What do you think? Can you stay?”

No more words were needed. The moment we'd longed for had arrived. He took my hand and led me up the narrow staircase to his room. It was sparsely furnished with just a bed, chair, and chest of drawers, but he'd lit a couple of candles and it looked cozy in their gentle glow. A bunch of wildflowers stood in a jam jar on the bedside table.

I started to tremble even more as he unbuttoned my blouse and unhooked my bra. We kissed again, and my legs turned to jelly, but I somehow remained standing. I could hear the blood pulsing in my ears, pounding through my body.

As I tried to help him take off his jumper, he moved backward to pull it over his head, stumbled on the rug, and fell onto the bed, pulling me on top of him. The tension was broken; we rolled around half-naked, giggling like children.

He drew back the candlewick bedspread and eiderdown and we sat down.

“You crazy, lovely boy,” I whispered, kissing him again.

Hurriedly now, we pulled off the rest of our clothes and climbed between the sheets. We were both shaking, pushed awkwardly together in the narrow single bed. But as we turned to each other, tentatively stroking and kissing, the warmth enveloped us, and after a while our bodies seemed to melt and merge into one.

He lifted himself onto his arms and pulled back the cover. My nipples were hard as pebbles, and as he bent to kiss them, darts of electricity fizzed deliciously through my body. I tangled my fingers in the familiar thicket of his hair, dark against my pale skin, and moaned with pleasure.

After a while, he gently pushed one leg over mine, pushing them apart, and pulled himself on to me, heavy and hot, resting on his elbows. For a moment, he gazed deep into my eyes as if trying to penetrate my mind. Then he closed his eyes, and with a guttural groan, pushed into me. I was so ready I felt barely any pain, just surprise at the extraordinary sensation and the utter joy of abandoning myself, opening up to him. It felt like the most natural thing on earth, to hold him inside me. As he started to move, faster and faster, I lost myself in the urgency and heard myself calling his name, over and over, as if my life depended on it.

Afterward, we lay tangled in each other's limbs, amazed and relieved that we'd finally joined our bodies in the way we'd longed for. Eventually he got up to make tea.

As we sat in bed with our cups, I said, “I'm glad we waited. This is the way it's meant to be. In bed, not in a grubby old tennis hut.”

He turned to look into my eyes. “It was better than I ever imagined,” he whispered. “Now I know why you English call it making love.”

“Have we got time to try it again?” I said coyly, putting down my cup and reaching beneath the covers.

• • •

The next morning, my skin still tingling, I watched again out of the office window to catch a glimpse of my lover—just thinking the word made me quiver with joy—as he arrived for work. I couldn't stop smiling and I expected him to be the same.

But when the three of them turned the corner into the yard, I could see they were walking in silence, heads down, bodies bowed, feet slouching across the gravel. Stefan's face looked drawn and pale, more like the solemn anxious boy I'd met at the Kindertransport camp. Under his arm was a folded newspaper. Perhaps they had stayed up drinking after Kurt and Walter got back, I tried to reassure myself, and were feeling a bit worse for wear. That was the obvious explanation. I didn't give it much thought, as the morning passed in the usual frenzy of telephone calls and paperwork.

Just before tea break, Gwen appeared, knocked, and came into the office, pulling the door closed behind her.

“Stefan's not himself today. Has anything happened to him, do you know?”

My heart jumped and I tried to keep the smile from my face. Oh yes, something momentous had happened—to us both.

“What do you mean?” I said, as calmly as possible.

“He's made five mistakes already—we'll have to deduct three yards from just twenty he's woven. He seems to be in a dream.”

I was finding it hard to concentrate too. No wonder, when hot flushes swelled secret parts of my body without warning. “Perhaps he's had a bad night,” I said. “He's pretty anxious after that paint incident. They're really going through it, those boys.”

She interrupted irritably. “Would I bother you if I thought he'd just had a bad night? There's something else about him today, can't put my finger on it.”

There was something about her persistent, over-solicitous manner I started to find irritating. Was Gwen testing me? Or even trying to stir things up again?

I forced a smile. “Don't worry. I'll try to have a word with him at lunchtime. See if anything's troubling him.”

“You'll tell me, won't you, if there's something I should know?”

“Of course,” I lied, to get her out of my office as quickly as possible.

When the lunch klaxon sounded, I went to the canteen. Unusually, none of the boys were there, but I assumed perhaps they'd gone into town for something. At afternoon break, I walked around the building, past the smoking bench behind the boiler room. They were nowhere to be seen.

Then, as I made my way back to the office, I saw them in the distance, walking back across the water meadows, deep in conversation. I was instantly reassured; they'd been out for some fresh air—what an obvious thing to do on such a fine day.

As the day shift clocked off, I watched once more out of the office window but the boys did not appear. I went down to the weaving floor. The evening weaver was now at Stefan's looms, so he must have slipped out of the side door and the back gate. I would go to the cottage after dark, and we would talk through anything that was worrying him. All would be well. If the other boys were out, we might even make love again. The thought made my body hot and heavy, and I had to prevent my hand straying down to what Stefan called my
Mäuseloch
. I shivered with pleasure at the memory of his touch, recalling his shy attempts to translate, “Where the mouse lives, you know, a small dark secret place. So warm.” He still pronounced Ws like Vs.

• • •

The Chestnuts was quiet as I went through the hallway into the kitchen, and I found my parents sitting together at the table. In front of them was a copy of
The
Times
. The front page headline read: FRANCE SURRENDERS.

“Terrible news, my dear,” Father said. “We're all alone in this now.”

As I leaned over their shoulders to find out more, my eye was caught by another, smaller headline further down the page. MORE ENEMY ALIENS INTERNED—BIG ROUND-UP BY POLICE. It took a moment to sink in.

“Oh no, the boys,” I croaked, starting to run.

When I got to the cottage, a dark blue van was already parked outside and two large men filled the front room: Constable Kilby and another man in plain clothes, with a thin face and eyes like a weasel.

“Remember me? I'm Lily Verner,” I panted, out of breath from running. “Where are they?”

The constable pointed, and I sprinted up the narrow staircase Stefan and I had climbed just the previous evening. Walter sat on the top step with his head in his hands and Kurt was in their bedroom, in a similar pose. I ran into Stefan's room. On the bed were neatly arrayed his few possessions, and the small leather suitcase with his initials on the lid. The wildflowers in the jam jar were already starting to wilt.

“What's going on?”

His face was dark. “We're under arrest.”

“What? They're taking you now? Where?”

I tried to hug him but he pushed me away. “They say we've got to go with them. They won't tell us where.”

“But that's not right. You're category C, aren't you, a refugee? You're no danger.” My head was spinning. Surely it couldn't be allowed?

“They won't listen. They've got orders to take us.”

“All three of you?”

He nodded bleakly.

I couldn't understand. “Kurt and Walter too?”

“Yes.”

“But Walter's too young.”

“He's sixteen. Already an adult, they said.”

“But where are they taking you?”

“I expect we'll find out.” The same flat tone.

“Let me talk to them.”

“We've tried. But they might listen to you. You're English,” he said bitterly.

As I ran downstairs, Father arrived at the front door. “What's happening, Lily?” he said.

I pointed toward the back door where the two men now stood outside smoking.

“They're being arrested, all of them,” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling. “We've got to stop it.”

“Leave this to me, my love,” he said, straightening his shoulders and walking through the kitchen and through the back door. I followed close behind.

“Now look here, my good fellows,” he said firmly. “I'd be obliged if you could tell me exactly what's going on.”

Constable Kilby was the first to respond. “Good afternoon, Mr. Verner. Sorry we have to meet again in such circumstances. We've got orders to arrest all adult male enemy aliens, sixteen and over. All categories, sir, for internment.” Weasel-face stayed silent. I wondered who he was.

“But they're just boys, Jewish refugees,” I almost shouted. “What possible harm could they do?” I suddenly remembered Robbie's threat and gave an involuntary shiver. “Are you acting on some kind of information?”

“Not for us to say, miss. We're just obeying orders.”

“I never heard anything so preposterous,” Father said. “These lads are skilled workers carrying out essential war work. I can't spare them, I'm afraid.”

“Don't matter what they do, sir,” said the constable. “They're enemy aliens and I've got orders to arrest them.”

“What if I say no?”

“Then I would have to arrest you too, sir, for preventing me from carrying out my duty.”

Father drew himself up so that his eyes were nearly level with the policeman's chin. “I have to inform you that I'm personally acquainted with several local magistrates. They will not be impressed with this behavior.”

Weasel-face now stepped forward and took Father's arm, leading him aside. I moved with them. His voice was like oil. “Excuse me, sir. But could I ask you to describe exactly what is your relationship with these Germans?”

“I am their employer. My name is Harold Verner and this is my daughter Lily. She also works for me. The boys arrived on the Kindertransport and I have given them a home and jobs in my silk mill just along the road. All above board. We've got papers to prove it.”

“I see. And is it your habit to befriend Germans?” he said, looking across to include me in the question.

“Now look here, this is bloody impertinent.” I'd never heard my father swear before. “It is absolutely none of your business who we employ.”

“There you are wrong, Mr. Verner,” said the man smoothly. “It is
absolutely
my business. I am charged by the War Ministry to ensure that Constable Kilby carries out the government's new emergency measures regarding the internment of male enemy aliens. I am sure you will understand the sensitivity of the issue, in the current heightened levels of concern about a potential invasion.”

“I understand, of course,” Father tempered his voice a little, “but that won't stop me appealing against this absurd heavy handedness. These are innocent boys and I can vouch for their good character.”

I turned to see that Constable Kilby had gone inside and heard him shouting, “Get a move on, lads.” The realization hit me. Not even Father could stop this. They were going to be taken away. We had only a few minutes left. I pushed past the policeman, ran up the stairs into Stefan's room, and slammed the door behind me. His suitcase was closed. I sat down on the bed beside him.

“It's so unfair.” I put my arm around his shoulders but he didn't respond, and his body felt cold and ungiving. We sat in silence for a few moments.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes roughly. “I don't know what we have done wrong.”

“It's just a government precaution. It won't be for long.” My words sounded hollow—I wasn't even convincing myself. “I might even be able to come and visit you.”

I could feel the seconds ticking away.

He turned and took my face in his hands, looking into my eyes. “
Ich
liebe
Dich, Lilymaus, vergiss Mich nicht
.” It sounded like a sigh.

“I love you too. I'll wait as long as it takes.”

“Will you look after this for me?” He handed me a small, black leather writing case.