The Girl Behind The Curtain (Hidden Women) (17 page)

She stopped at the door of the house with the monkey’s-head door-knocker. I caught up with her and we stood side by side. She smiled at me and nodded, as though we were old friends on a mutual mission. When I looked down at myself, I discovered that I was dressed as she was, in a boy’s trousers and a shirt. Presently, the owner of the house opened the door. But it was not Casanova. It was Marco. And when I turned to express my surprise to Luciana, she was already gone.

Marco took my hand and quickly pulled me inside, as though there might be someone watching. I knew instinctively that like Luciana, I was not supposed to be there. I followed him up the stairs to the bedroom with the extravagantly carved four-poster I had come to know so well.

We did not speak. We started kissing right away. Like me, Marco was wearing a voluminous white shirt. My
hands wandered inside that shirt, over his well-muscled chest and the soft hair that covered his perfectly designed pectorals. He was already untying my belt. The leather slipped easily from the well-worn brass buckle. He insinuated his hand inside the loose waistband of my trousers and I was momentarily embarrassed to discover that I wasn’t wearing anything beneath. The feel of his fingers on my clit soon made me forget everything but how much I wanted him.

I stroked him into hardness. He groaned with pleasure at my attention and I gasped a little gasp of delight as he pushed one finger inside me to find me hot and wet. Locked together, we stumbled towards the bed. My boy’s shirt and trousers were left on the back of the chair. It was cold outside, but I didn’t feel the chill on my bare white skin. Marco towered over me with his penis in his hand. I was thrilled by the animality of his lust for me. I opened myself wide.

Our lovemaking was frantic and frenzied, as illicit sex is wont to be. The thought that someone might discover us was a fear and a thrill. We had to be fast. But eventually, we reached a point where we couldn’t have stopped if we wanted to. I dug my fingers deep into Marco’s buttocks as he jerked his body against mine. He put his full weight behind each thrust now, burying his face in my neck.

My orgasm ripped through my body, taking me by surprise with its force. I wrapped my legs and arms round him as though I would never let him go. He gripped me tightly in return. He moaned into my shoulder as he came.

Afterwards, I dressed quickly and headed for the door. I knew I had to be somewhere before the bells of the campanile struck midnight. Marco walked me back downstairs. Before I left, he grasped me to him and kissed me so hard I would still be able to feel his lips on mine when I was far from the little house, crossing the Rialto bridge, unrecognised in my cape and mask.

Chapter 21

Venice, last October

Bea did not often feel unsafe in Venice. She had been living in the city for five years now and knew how to stay out of trouble. So she was surprised to feel a prickle of fear as she turned off the Campo Santa Margherita into the street where she lived. It was an unusually chilly night and there weren’t many people around, but someone was definitely following her. She could feel it as keenly as a rabbit understands when the eye of a fox is upon it. Bea quickened her step. She was not far from her door. The important thing was not to be caught as she was letting herself into her home.

But the person behind her soon matched his speed to hers. With her door in sight, Bea took the decision to keep on walking right past. In her house, she would be alone and vulnerable. If she could get to the bar on the corner, she would be safe. She would wait until the danger had passed and get the owner to walk her home. But suddenly, the bar seemed so far away. The faster she walked, the faster her pursuer walked behind her. His footsteps were growing louder. He was definitely catching up. Bea was desperate. There was an alleyway to the left but if she ducked down that, she might only be putting herself in more danger. It was dark. It was a dead end. To her right was the canal, black as oil in the darkness. Should she jump straight in so that her assailant had to swim for her? She realised she had no idea how deep the water was or what lay beneath it. The canals of Venice were hardly the Cipriani swimming pool. Bea decided it was time to run.

‘Wait! Wait!’

Bea took no notice.

‘Wait! Please wait!’

Bea heard an unearthly groan from behind her.

That wasn’t part of the usual nightmare script. Unable to ignore the sound of such human agony, Bea dared to pause and look. Her pursuer had collapsed in the circle of light beneath a street-lamp. The fierce rapist of her imagination was an old man. He was doubled over. He was breathing heavily. He didn’t look as though he would be any trouble now, but what if this was a trick? She remained ready to run at any moment.

‘Wait. Please. I need your help, Signorina. Please.’

Bea took one step towards him.

‘Thank you,’ said the old man. ‘Thank you. You don’t know how important this is. Take this, please. Take this.’

He handed Bea an envelope.

Chapter 22

Saturday 8th October 1932

Dear Diary,

I can barely walk! Every minute Otto and I have to ourselves, we spend in my tiny narrow bed. Otto may have been an absolute beginner when he met me, but he’s a very fast learner. He’s so good, in fact, that there are moments when I wonder whether he didn’t lie to me about having been a virgin that night three weeks ago.

Otto is magnificent. He is what I imagine those lady novelists mean when they refer to a ‘generous lover’. He is always thinking of my pleasure. Bettina once told me that men like to put their penises in a girl’s mouth – indeed that is exactly what Matthew had that girl do in the barn – but I had no idea that it ever happened the other way round! When Otto first tried to put his head between my legs, I was so shocked I tried to put a stop to it. Otto held me still and forced me to acquiesce. I’m glad he did. You can’t imagine how strong is the sensation of his tongue upon my clitoris. I have to bite my knuckle most of the time. But it is wonderful. The first time he did it, when I started to orgasm, I thought I would never stop. I thought I might even die. And Otto was so pleased with himself for having made me wriggle and squeal.

Nothing is too disgraceful for him. Sometimes, when we get back from the club and I tell him that I’d like to have a wash, he actually stops me. He says he doesn’t have the time to wait for me to bathe and he’d rather have me slightly grubby. He says he wants the taste of me – of my skin and my juices – and not the taste of the last bar of Pears soap I have left over from England.

I love the taste of him too. I never would have imagined it, but to take his manhood in my mouth really is the most erotic sensation. The skin on his penis is soft, like warm velvet. I have even swallowed his semen. He tastes like the sea. Marlene told me that all men really want is a woman who makes them feel fully accepted with all their flaws and there is no better way to show acceptance than by opening wide. Otto certainly seems very happy when I do.

I was a little worried that Otto might think me wanton, but he assures me he trusts me absolutely when I tell him that almost everything we’ve done together is a new experience for me too.

The other night, I persuaded him to let me be the one to go on top. It was a position I’d seen on the back of a playing card pinned to Isadora’s dressing-room mirror, which I’d studied from all angles while she was on stage and I was supposed to be doing my make-up.

I had to make a guess as to exactly how we would fit together.

Fortunately, Otto was very patient. He was also extremely hard. It helps, I have found, for the man to be as hard as marble if you’re going to try anything other than the traditional way. It also helps for the girl to be very excited too. Luckily, Otto only has to look at me and narrow his eyes with intention and I am as wet as a mermaid in a storm. I quite literally ache for him. It is all I can do not to faint with desire.

Anyway, I have decided that I do like being on top, though it’s worse than an hour of hard exercise. My poor thighs were aching for hours. Otto’s face made it worth the agony. I love making love with him. I love walking down the street beside him afterwards, acting innocent, knowing what we’ve been doing all night would even make the prostitutes on the Ku’damm blush.

To keep me from falling pregnant, he pulls out at the very last minute. I must admit I have a secret desire to hold him in place while he comes in me. It is most peculiar. It is as though something deep inside me – something animal – takes over at those moments, and I want to entwine my soul with Otto’s in the most ancient and wonderful of ways. To hell with what the neighbours back in Surrey would think. One day I want to see myself fat with Otto’s baby. There, I’ve said it. I love him that much. In my mind he is already my husband.

Sunday 16th October 1932

I am so excited I can barely hold my pen! Today has been the best day of my life. Oh, I never imagined I could be so very, very happy! I am just about ready to burst. Otto and I always spend Sundays together. Usually we have lunch with his mother and sister before we go for a walk in the Volkspark. Today, Otto insisted we take the tram all the way to the Grunewald of all places and have lunch in a little restaurant there. I have to admit, I was a tiny bit annoyed with him. I love his mother’s cooking and the Grunewald is such a long way away. But Otto said it was important. He said he wanted to take me to a spot much admired by his maternal grandparents.

Well, when a man says something like that, you really don’t want to argue with him.

We arrived at the Grunewald and hiked for what seemed like hours before we came to a lake. It was cold but that made the lake rather beautiful. The grasses around the edge were dusted with frost. A mist rolled over the water. It was like a picture from a book of fairy tales. We walked all the way round it to find the perfect spot. Eventually, Otto took off his coat and spread it over a fallen tree trunk so that I could sit upon it without ruining my skirt.

‘Otto,’ I said. ‘It’s really rather chilly to want to sit here for long.’

He put his finger to my lips and bade me be quiet for just a moment.

‘I want to give you something,’ said Otto.

He was nervous, I could tell. I had seen that nervousness once before when the boy who lived in the rectory proposed to me when I was just fourteen. This time, however, I knew I would not laugh if Otto came out with the four words I was hoping for. I was sitting on my hands to keep them warm. I got my left hand out, just in case, and subtly slipped off my glove. I wanted to be ready.

Otto reached into his pocket.

‘I don’t have the money to buy you a diamond ring,’ said Otto. ‘But I spoke to my mother and she said that you should have this. My sister has my grandmother’s wedding ring and her necklaces. My brother has our grandfather’s watch. This pearl was always going to be for my future wife.’

‘Future wife? Are you proposing to me?’ I asked him.

Otto licked his lips and nodded.

‘I think I am.’

‘Then please ask me properly,’ I told him.

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ Otto immediately dropped to one knee.

‘Kitty Hazleton, will you be my wife?’

First off, I squealed but of course I said ‘yes’. I said ‘yes’ again and again. I shouted it to the treetops, so loudly that I scared up some birds from the branches. I jumped up from my seat on the log and threw my arms round Otto’s neck. He lifted me off my feet and whirled me round and round. It was the most perfect moment of my life.

We kissed for a long time, but eventually we had to come back to the real world. We had to go back to the Prenzlauer Berg. There were people to tell. Of course, Otto’s mother and sister already knew that he was planning to propose because he had taken the pearl, but they would doubtless be waiting on tenterhooks to hear my answer.

We held hands all the way home.

‘This pearl belonged to my grandmother,’ Otto explained to me as we sat on the train. ‘She was considered to be a great beauty and she caught the eye of a French artist who came to Berlin in the 1880s. Grandma posed for the artist and he gave her this in lieu of payment. I suppose he thought she would sell it. She never did. She gave it to my mother. And now I have given it to you.’

‘It’s exquisite,’ I said.

I didn’t mind that it wasn’t the diamond ring I had hoped for. I knew that it meant the same thing.

‘I know that my grandmother would have been very pleased to know her pearl found such a good home.’

We’re going to get it set into a beautiful necklace. I’ve decided it’s so much nicer than a plain solitaire. Bettina will be absolutely green.

Kitty Schmidt. Kitty Schmidt. Kitty Schmidt. Frau Katherine Schmidt.

That is going to be my new name. I can’t wait!

Monday 17th October 1932

Dear Mummy and the dogs (and Papa too, if he can bear to read a single word I’ve written),

I am writing to tell you the most wonderful news. I am engaged to be married! I can hardly believe it. Can you? Of course you can’t.

I know it is traditional for a man to ask the girl’s father’s permission first, but how could my lovely new fiancé have done that when you haven’t answered a single one of my letters in the past five months? Anyway, I hope you will be pleased for me. I believe I have found you a most wonderful son-in-law even if you never get to meet him. His name is Otto Schmidt and he is twenty-three years old. He comes from an excellent family here in Berlin. He is studying to be a lawyer, but I met him in our place of work, which is a nightclub. There, the cat is out of the bag. A nightclub. There never was a Hildebrand or an office job. I have been living in a fleapit hotel and working as a hostess in a transvestite bar. I hope you were both sitting down when you read that.