Touching the Wire (24 page)

She punched in Adam’s number
before she thought of a hundred reasons why she shouldn’t.

‘Hello.’

Talking to him seemed so
natural. ‘It’s the hellcat. How did you get on at Duxford?’

‘My boss was fascinated,
especially when I told him we’d found another carving.’

‘Actually, that’s one reason
I’m ringing you. I’ve had a call from the bod at Coventry. He’s going to
contact Mr Mason and post me the carving.’

‘Great.’ Adam paused. ‘And
the other reason?’

She hesitated. She should
put down the phone… she should never have rung him in the first place.

‘I can be there in a couple
of hours.’

Her heart skipped a beat.
She shouldn’t be doing this. ‘I’d like that.’

***

Friday morning, after Charlotte had spent another
night alone wishing life could be simple, a knock on the front door had her
running, Adam hurrying behind her.

She signed for the parcel.
‘Coventry…’ She slit the outer wrapping and tore open the bubble wrap. The
Flames of Hope
.
She ran her hands over the carving’s perfect form
feeling again Adam’s lips on hers. A kiss was all they’d shared. She looked
away. ‘Shall we take it to Grant and Lucy’s?’

‘Why not?’

Charlotte opened her
sister’s garden gate. Lucy waved, peg in mouth, and hung frilly socks on the
rotary line. She pointed in the direction of Grant’s shed and took the peg from
her mouth. ‘Help yourself.’

Lucy’s glance followed Adam
towards the shed. ‘He stayed at yours again? I hope you know what you’re doing,
sis.’

‘He slept downstairs.’

Lucy raised an eyebrow. ‘You
think Robin would understand?’

‘No… but this isn’t about
Robin. It’s about finding out why Grandpa made the carvings.’

Lucy hung up a pair of boys’
briefs. ‘Keep telling yourself that, sis. This is Robin’s future you’re playing
with. He’s trying hard to get help. And this Adam… is he worth risking your
marriage for? If Robin finds out he’s staying with you…’

She went hot and cold:
Robin’s voice had turned steely when he’d heard Adam over the phone the time
he’d spilled the milk at breakfast. ‘Adam’s a friend. Robin knows he’s helping
me with the carvings.’

The buzz of the band-saw
whirred to a halt. Adam placed the carving and its contents on the table. She
picked up a sepia photograph that was faded, stained by a watermark, and tattered
and yellowed around the edges. Nicotine fingers?

A face smiled at her, a
beautiful girl in her late teens, with long, dark, wavy hair partly covered by
a wide-brimmed black hat. She’d seen wartime television footage that featured
similar style clothing; her dress would have been fashionable between the wars.
She had dark eyes and her playful smile was frozen for all time.

The girl stood in front of
an old building with rows of distinctive arched windows above two wide
archways. Two round towers, one taller than the other graced its facade. She
turned the photograph over. Elegant, flowery writing was penned in black ink
that had yellowed almost to illegibility. She handed the photograph to Lucy.
‘Who’s Miriam Hofmann?’

‘No idea. Who’s Mary?’ Lucy gave
her the photograph she’d been looking at.

She studied the photo of a
baby in an embroidered gown. ‘Mary is my middle name.’

‘And Miriam is mine.’

She couldn’t think straight
with Adam this close: she sat down with a thump. Those names should have paired
instantly, and there had to be a relationship between Miriam and Mary: they
both had the same mop of thick black hair.

Adam looked over her
shoulder. ‘Miriam’s daughter?’ He showed her the back of a third photograph.
‘Can you make this out?’

‘No… yes… I’m not sure.’

Adam squinted. ‘I think it
says
The
family Gy
ö
rgy
. Four generations? Is there anything
else in there?’

Lucy unfolded a slip of
paper and read it aloud. ‘
Fata viam invenient: I do not ask your
forgiveness, there is none. I ask only that
…’

‘I ask only what?’

‘Nothing, that’s all.’

Adam rubbed a hand across
his stubble. ‘The Fates will find a way… that’s what the Latin means.’ He
tapped a photo with a finger. ‘We need to find out who these people are. Who
might know?’

She nursed her mug of tea.
‘Gran, possibly?’

Adam pointed to the sepia
print. ‘It would help if we knew where they are.’ He re-examined the photo of
Miriam. ‘That building is very distinctive.’

She tried to retrieve a
memory. ‘I feel I should know where it is. It looks Roman.’

Adam peered at the sepia
print again. ‘I can’t read it without a magnifying glass and part of it’s worn
away, but I’m willing to bet that’s the name of a photographic studio. That
could give us a clue to the town or city.’

She compared the
photographs. ‘These faces do have likenesses. The girl is very pretty.

‘Do you think you and Lucy
were named after Mary and Miriam?’

‘We must be, though why when
we’ve never heard of them?’

Adam let out a long, slow
breath. ‘You said you didn’t know anything about your grandfather’s life before
the second war. Lives were ripped apart by the war, families lost.’

She nodded. ‘Everything
changed.’

He leaned back in his chair.
‘And people were separated. Not all were reunited.’

‘You think these are members
of Grandpa’s family?’

‘Have you got a photograph
of your grandfather?’

‘No. He hated having his
photo taken. It’s one thing I really regret… we were very young when he died. I
have trouble recalling his face now.’

‘Me too, sis.’ Lucy sighed. ‘I
wish we had just one photo of him.’

‘Was he dark-haired?’

‘He was grey by the time we
were born… he had blue eyes though, like us. I always assumed we inherited our
blonde hair from him. Mum’s brunette, and Gran was before she went grey.’

‘Was your father fair?’

‘Sort of mousy, Mum said.’
The familiar stab of pain at not remembering her father resurfaced briefly.
Grandpa, Dad, Robin, Adam: she seemed destined to lose all the men she loved.

‘
The truth shall be
uncovered and I pray for those I love
.’ Adam’s voice was thoughtful. ‘
I
am holding the wolf by the ears
…’

She frowned. ‘Those I love…
I’d always assumed that meant Gran, Mum and us.’

‘The first carving held
locks of dark as well as fair hair, remember.’

Lucy tapped her lips with a
finger as she considered. ‘But why don’t we know anything about them?’

‘Hofmann could be Miriam’s
maiden name. It may be your grandmother wasn’t your grandfather’s first wife.’
Adam waved Miriam’s photo pointedly. ‘Not all second wives live happily with
the fact.’

Lucy waved a dismissive
hand. ‘Gran wouldn’t have had a problem with that. She knows she was loved.’

‘This Mary… Do you think Mum
has a half-sister somewhere?’

Adam shrugged and dredged up
more words. ‘
Of civilization and humanity, fear bought my silence and love…
Who keeps silence
consents
.
He was obviously afraid of something, something with which he didn’t feel
comfortable.’

She understood not feeling
comfortable with something: she’d been tempted to commit adultery. Had Grandpa
been tempted? Had he loved two women? ‘Afraid of admitting they existed?’

‘It’s possible your
grandfather couldn’t be sure she was dead, Charlotte.’

‘You can’t be suggesting he
was a bigamist.’

‘
There is no atonement
too great, eternal
…’ Adam shrugged. ‘He felt guilty about something…
I
have sinned
. He was obviously a man with a keen sense of morality. Bigamy
wouldn’t have sat happily with him.’

Lucy glowered at him.

Adam pursed his lips. It’s
not impossible, Lucy. Illegitimacy would have been a terrible stigma in those
days. If his first wife hadn’t been declared dead…’

She pushed the photographs
away from her. ‘It would be best if we don’t mention any of this to Gran or
Mum. Not until we know more.’

***

Adam lay awake long after Charlotte had gone to
bed. He gave up trying to sleep and opened his laptop. He’d kept something
about these photographs to himself and he needed to research them before
sharing his suspicions with Charlotte. He put on reading glasses and turned
over the photographs. Were those faded yellow shapes Stars of David?

Who were they, and more to
the point where were they? He held the sepia image closer. Pivtu… or Pirtu,
Portu? Could be porta… gate… The next word was wegva?’

He held the image closer to
the light. Negva? Negra?
Nigra
. Black… Porta Nigra, Black Gate. The writing
on the bottom of the photograph of Miriam looked like W. Fischer,
Grabenstrasse. The rest he couldn’t make out.

He typed in Porta Nigra and
clicked on images. One was of a black horse, but the others showed a huge
three-story building with rows of round-topped openings and a square four-story
tower. ‘Bingo. Trier.’

If these were Jews, visiting
or living in Germany at the start of the Second World War, and Walt failed to
get them back to England, no wonder the old man had nightmares. No wonder he
felt guilty. Somehow, he’d escaped with his life.

Fata
viam invenient… the Fates will find a way
. He could
be playing a dangerous game with Charlotte and Lucy’s feelings.
Auribus
teneo lupum.
If the wolf was free, it could come back to bite them all.

Charlotte woke, her neck stiff from resting it
on Adam’s shoulder. Frankfurt airport rotated slowly below her and her ears
popped painfully. They touched down and taxied towards the terminal. Adam
gathered their hand luggage: travelling light, it was all they’d brought.
Nodded through, nothing to declare, they headed straight for the hire car.

‘Have you driven on the
continent before?’

‘We… I’ve always used trains
and buses. There’s a first time for everything.’

‘Oh, great.’

She slid into the passenger
seat of the little Opel and pushed buttons on the satnav. Directions came up on
the screen and a voice spoke, in German.

‘Oh,
great
. I set the
wrong language.’

‘Worry not. German is my
second language. It’s left out of the main gate.’

‘French is my second
language. It doesn’t mean I can understand it.’

‘You worry too much.’

A lorry careered towards
them, hooting. ‘The
other
side
of
the
road.’ 

He yanked the wheel. ‘Which
way do I go round this roundabout?’

‘Anti-clockwise, you idiot.
Jesus, Adam. Why did I agree to this stupid trip?’

‘Hellcats are not immune to
curiosity, and Trier is where your grandfather is leading you.’

They followed the Mosel
River valley, its steep sides clothed with vineyards, some proudly proclaiming
their names on huge boards. She recognised the names. Robin liked… She tried to
push Robin from her mind, and failed: he was doing what he’d promised and she
was gadding around Europe with another man.

The next terrifying junction
convinced Adam that checking into the hotel early and going into Trier on the
bus would be preferable to writing off the hire car. They approached reception.
She let him do the talking.

‘We can take our luggage up
to our rooms. There’s a bus every fifteen minutes. They stop over there.’ He
pointed vaguely with one hand and handed his credit card to the receptionist
with the other.

‘I’ll sort what I owe you
when we get the bill, Adam, if that’s okay?’

He nodded but said nothing. Did
she catch a flash of relief in his eyes?

The bus deposited them at a
pedestrian precinct and Adam pulled her to her feet. ‘Come on. Food.’ They
found a restaurant among the many-windowed terraced buildings in the
Hauptmarkt. Adam led the way down into the Roman wine-cellar upon which the
restaurant stood. ‘My treat, Hellcat, to make up for scaring you to death with
my driving.’

‘No. I’ll pay for this.
After all, I’m the reason we’re here.’

He smiled, shrugging his acceptance.
‘If you’re sure. I’ll get dinner, tonight, though.’

‘Maybe we should go Dutch?’

He laughed. ‘In Germany?’

The windowless room at the
bottom of smooth-worn steps was spanned by wide stone arches: lit with roman
lamps, and candles, it flickered with yellow light and smelt of lamp oil and
wax. Adam pulled out a chair for her at a nearby table and sat opposite. He
leaned across the table and took one of her hands in his. ‘It’s great to be
here, with you.’

She smiled, but an
approaching waiter saved her from having to reply.

Adam studied the menu. ‘I
fancy the ham with figs and myrtle.’

‘A two millennia-old recipe?
As long as the ham isn’t two thousand years-old, I’ll have the same.’

They ate the meal with a
local wine, and fed each other grapes for desert. It was a moment she never
wanted to end.

Porta Nigra, the Black Gate,
the image that had brought them across Europe, took her breath away. Made from
blocks of grey sandstone, weathered black, it straddled the road, defensive and
powerful. Two arches in the windowless ground floor allowed access to the far
side. She almost expected chariots to race through, or guards with spears and
shields to block their way. Above, on both sides of the gates, rows of windows
stared down on them, guarding every direction from round towers. She took the
photographs from her handbag. Miriam had stood on almost the same spot. A
memory stirred. ‘
Weasel
-
wolf
.’

‘Pardon?’ Adam’s brow
furrowed. ‘I thought we were past all that.’

‘It was a story Grandpa used
to tell us, when we were little. No, not Weasel-wolf.’ She groped for the shape
of the word, drawn inside a colouring book one long-ago summer day.
‘Wselfwulf.’

‘Wselfwulf? Not a story I
know.’

‘The wolf tried to eat the
woodcutter’s daughters. To protect them he gave the wolf his neighbours’
children to keep him happy. Eventually he asked the king to rid the country of
the wolf.’

‘Why, had he run out of
children? Nice story this.’

‘Grandpa said it was a
cautionary tale. The woodcutter felt guilty about what he’d done. The king
offered his daughter’s hand in marriage to anyone who could kill the wolf. A
prince accepted the challenge, but he made a deal with the wolf… the princess
in exchange for gold. When it came to it he realised he loved the princess, so
he stole both the woodcutter’s daughters and gave them to the wolf instead.’

‘Oh, great. So?’

‘The castle the princesses
lived in? This is it, exactly how Grandpa described it. That’s the tower where
they were locked to keep them safe from Wselfwulf.’

Adam stared at the top of
the tallest tower. ‘It worked for the king.’

‘But not for the
woodcutter.’

She shook away the prickling
feeling of pale wolf eyes, and betrayal, and looked back at the photographs.
‘How are we going to find out anything about Miriam and her family?’

‘We’ve confirmed they were
here. That’s a start. There’s a museum.’

It could be that easy?
‘Another carving?’

Interesting though the
museum was there was no carving and nothing to point the way.

‘Charlotte, have you looked
at the back of the photographs?’

‘Yes, of course. Why?’

He pointed at the faint
yellowed stars. ‘That’s a Star of David. It’s a Jewish symbol.’

‘I know what the Star of
David is. Miriam and Mary are Hebrew names. Look at the clothing, the family
features.’

‘You realised they could be Jewish?’

She nodded. ‘How do you
suppose Grandpa came into contact with Jews?’

‘Jewish communities exist in
England… These could be holiday snaps… they could have been visiting relatives.
There’s a small Jewish community here in Trier.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I did a bit of research
before we came. There’s a synagogue in Kaiserstrasse.’

‘The Flames of Hope were on
display in a cathedral.’

Adam consulted the
guidebook. ‘The Landesmuseum is not far from Kaiserstrasse. Two birds, one
stone…’

‘Sounds good to me.’

At the junction of
Kaiserstrasse and Hindenburgstrasse, a square building of pale stone stood
amidst trees. Leafy shadow mottled the canopied porch at the top of steep
steps, and rows of triangular windows perforated the walls. In one wall was a
window in the shape of the Star of David.

A bicycle leaned against the
handrail at the foot of the steps. They mounted the steps and pushed open the
door. The interior flickered with candlelight.

‘Shabbat Shalom.’ The voice
was deep and welcoming.

Adam put a hand on her arm.
‘Oh Lord, Saturday is the Jewish Sabbath.’

She should have covered her
head or something, shouldn’t she, or removed her shoes?

The owner of the voice
approached and Adam stepped forward. ‘Shalom… We’re sorry to disturb you.’

‘English? It is not against
Jewish law to converse on Shabbat.’ The rabbi raised an eyebrow and smiled.
‘Though it’s seldom we are blessed with gentiles on such a day. I am Rabbi
Malachi Cohen. What brings you here?’

‘I’m Doctor Adam Bancroft
and this is Charlotte Masters.’

She took photographs from
her handbag and held them out in silence.

The rabbi glanced at them
and motioned his guests towards the door. ‘The light is better outside.’ He
peered through wire-rimmed glasses. ‘Who are these people?’

‘We’re not sure.’ Adam
showed the rabbi the Stars of David on the reverse of the photographs. ‘We
think the woman is Miriam Hofmann. She may have had family here. This could be
her daughter, and this some of her family… the
György’s
.
It’s possible they are connected to Charlotte, here.’

‘You wish to trace them?’
The rabbi looked at her, his tone doubtful.

Adam squeezed her hand
gently. ‘I don’t expect that’s likely.’

‘May I borrow these
photographs? If you meet me here tomorrow, I may be able to help you.’

‘Please take care of them.
They’re the originals.’

‘I realise how precious such
images are, child.’

She delved in her bag. ‘And
we wanted to know about these. We believe another exists, somewhere.’ She held
out the other photographs.

The rabbi took them from her.
‘Where did you get these?’

‘My grandfather carved the
flames and the wolf, years ago. We’re searching for their meaning. The trail
has led us here…’

‘Meaning?’ Rabbi Cohen gave
her an odd look. ‘These are Flames of Death, a constant reminder of our loss
and our mortality. The meaning is clear, is it not?’

Adam pointed at the
photograph of the Coventry carving. ‘This one is called the Flames of Hope.’

‘They’re not just carvings.
They’re hollow… each holds words, photographs…’

‘And hair and carved candles,’
Adam added. ‘
Hair of innocents: candles to burn eternally in their memory
.’

Pain fled across the rabbi’s
gentle face. ‘Come.’ He led them back inside. At the rear of the synagogue, on
a small cloth-covered table with a candle burning at either side, stood the
last of the five carvings. ‘These are the Flames of Death, the Flames of
Shoah.’

She frowned. ‘Shoah?’

He bowed his head briefly
and turned to face her. ‘The nearest translation would be calamity. I remember
the day the parcel arrived from England. Many years ago.’

‘Grandpa died in 1985.’

He nodded. ‘I’m sorry. It is
a powerful image in our history and it moved me very much. Your grandfather
asked that we display it to honour our dead. I have his letter here, in the
safe. If I remember correctly, conditions are attached to us having it. Come
tomorrow, at ten?’

‘Thank you, we’ll be here.’
Her heart pounded as she walked down the steps. ‘This is the last one? We’ll
get to find out what it’s all about?’

‘I do hope so.’ Adam looked
at his watch. ‘We can’t do anything until tomorrow and we have the afternoon to
kill. How about doing something really Roman?’

‘The Kaiserthermen? The
Landesmuseum?’

‘I was thinking more of
lying on a bed of crushed rose petals, and being fed grapes while rubbing
scented oils onto your back, your thighs, your…’

She ached with need. ‘It
sounds wonderful, but…’

His eyes held hers. ‘Si vis
amari, ama.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘If you wish to be loved,
love.’

Her reply spilt from her
lips before she could stop it: the only Latin she’d learned at school. ‘Apudne
te
vel me?’

Adam laughed. ‘Your place or
mine…. Brazen hussy.’ 

She took his outstretched
hand. No-one had ever made her feel like this before.
Brazen hussy
… She
deserved happiness, didn’t she? Reaching the road she glanced back at the
synagogue, unable to shift the image of the tortured carving. She had a
chilling conviction that, of the five, this was the most aptly named: the
Flames of Death, the Flames of Shoah.

***

Charlotte paused outside the door to Adam’s
hotel room.

His lips met hers, chaste
but lingering. ‘I can wait until you’re sure, Charlotte.’

She didn’t want chaste. She
didn’t want to wait. He bent to kiss her again, his lips firm and passionate.
Her stomach tied itself into knots and the tangle travelled downwards making
her tremble with longing. ‘I am sure, Adam.’

He pushed open the door: the
click as it closed behind them made her heart beat faster. He lifted her, one
arm around her waist and the other beneath her knees. She clung around his
neck, kissing his lips, his neck, his cheek. He moved towards the bed, tripped
over the rug at its side and deposited her in a heap on the duvet.

She giggled helplessly.
‘Your take-off was impressive but you could do with some work on your landing.’

He silenced her with a kiss.
‘You’re so damn fussy.’ He undid the top button of her blouse. ‘I suppose I’ll
be getting marks out of ten, now?’