Forbidden Liaison: They lived and loved for the here and now (15 page)

‘Those things in your room, is that all you have?’ Hannah asked.

‘Yes, Margaret’s been trying to get hold of certain things, so has Heinrich, but most of my belongings were ruined when the cottage was broken into. And I do need some new underwear,’ Izzy replied. But she knew she’d need more than underwear in a few months’ time if things carried on the way they were. She had worked out she was probably about three months pregnant and sooner or later Heinrich was bound to notice she wasn’t menstruating any longer.

Hannah picked up the large bag she had put by her feet. She opened it to pull out a cardigan she had knitted and gave it to Izzy.

‘Mum.’ Izzy gasped. ‘This is lovely.’

‘I knitted it when your father wasn’t around as I knew he’d make some comment about me wearing such a bright colour. I’d knit more but I can’t get the wool.’

‘It’s beautiful: very yellow,’ Izzy remarked smiling.

‘That’s the only colour they had in the shop.’

Izzy got up. ‘Come on let’s have some tea and toast. Smells as though Harry’s burnt it again,’ Izzy laughed.

Heinrich sat on the bed reading his mail when he returned after taking Hannah home to the farm. Sydney had been waiting on the doorstep, worry lines set deep across his brow. Hannah being gone for a few hours had struck fear into that hard, crusty heart that lay inside that thick, weather-beaten exterior. Heinrich had said not a word, he just watched as Hannah went in and Sydney shut the door behind them. 

Izzy was having a bath when Heinrich returned to his billet later that night, and as she entered the bedroom Heinrich looked up from the letter he was reading. It was from his mother, and he looked worried. Izzy asked him if everything was alright, but he didn’t answer for a second or two until he stood up.

‘Come here,’ he smiled. ‘Sit on the edge of the bed and I will dry your hair.’

Izzy sat down, wrapped in her heavy, but warm, candlewick dressing gown. ‘Do you want to tell me about that something in your mail which is bothering you?’ she asked.

‘It’s from my mother,’ Heinrich replied rubbing her head gently with a small hand towel. And after handing her the towel he reached for her hair brush. ‘My wife took our eldest child, Hilde, to visit her uncle in Frankfurt; he’s ill. My youngest daughter was left with my parents. My wife’s mother was already there helping look after him. That was four weeks ago now; it’s taken two weeks for me to get my mail. She says they had not returned home.’

He picked up the letter again and began to translate it. ‘My mother begins, “My dearest Heini” she always calls me Heini,’ he explained, ‘as do the rest of my family. She goes on to say… “Heidi has been with us now for nearly two weeks and there is no sign of Anna having returned from her visit to Frankfurt. Heidi is fine, but keeps asking after her mother, which is natural for one so young. We are worried, Heini, as there is constant bombing, by day and by night. Perhaps there is something you can do to find out if they are still there? They could be held up by the trains. I give your love to little Heidi, every night, and show her the photographs of you all. As soon as Anna returns with Hilde, I will send you a telegram to let you know all are safe and well. In the meantime look after yourself, all our love, Mama and Papa”.’

‘Is there anything you can do?’ Izzy asked.

‘I’ll make some enquiries tomorrow. Go down to headquarters, see if they have any news on what’s happening over there. We’re so cut-off from mainland Europe it feels as if we’re a million miles away from the real war,’ Heinrich sighed, then he smiled. ‘Come here,’ he said, taking hold of her and slipping the gown from her shoulders.

Izzy touched his face. ‘Heinrich?’

Heinrich slipped his braces over his shoulders to take off his trousers. ‘What?’ he asked smiling.

She wanted to tell him about the baby but something stopped her. ‘Thank you for interfering and bringing my mother down here to see me,’ she said instead.

‘I promise I will bring her down to see you again as soon as I can.’

‘Thank you,’ Izzy said again, laying her head on the pillows. And for the next hour they made slow, gentle love.

Heinrich was reluctant to get out of bed so early the following morning, but he had to. There was the funeral to attend at ten, he had to get the men together. Full military honours meant a gun salute so he paid particular attention to the weapons at inspection that morning. His own personal problems would have to wait until the funeral was over. His priority was to show those young British sailors and marines who had died in battle, some respect for their bravery.

Hundreds of inhabitants turned out for the funeral. Harry was also in the throng. Some thought it to be a show-funeral; that the German soldier’s weren’t revering the dead, but gloating on the fact they had killed the enemy by sinking their ship. A cynical view, but the islanders had endured occupation for over four years, and nothing the Germans did would alter that deep-felt resentment of a race that had invaded their small, peaceful islands. And they thought there were no good German soldiers, only bad ones, as they were finding it difficult to distinguish between an ordinary German foot soldier, from that of the Nazi’s running their country. But the German Army had retained their professionalism, to keep most of their customs, like saluting, hand to head-gear, and giving their adversaries in battle, full respect.

It had started to rain again as they all filed out of the church. Umbrellas were up in the crowd that spilled over into the church yard and by the graves that had already been dug. Heinrich lined-up his men by the graves. The vicar made his ashes to ashes speech and when that little bit of soil had been scattered over the coffins Heinrich stood his men to attention. But instead of a British bugler playing The Last Post, he instructed his men to sing,
Der gute Kamerad
as he thought it was removed enough from any political stance or national ideology. The islanders in the crowd looked at each other, until word went around it showed a sign of great honour. They all stood silent until the last two lines were sung,
Bleib du im gew’gen Leben, Mein gute Kamarad –
rest you in eternal life, my good comrade. Heinrich then gave the order for the gun salute, and all the German men, from the Kommandant, down to the foot soldier, raised their hand to head-gear; there was not one Nazi salute in the crowd.

Dispersal of the crowd was slow, it was as if the longer they stayed there the more respect it would show. Heinrich dismissed his men and made his way towards the gate. He had been ordered back to Headquarters for a briefing. On what he could not guess, but as he was about to walk through the gates towards his waiting car he spotted Harry. He turned and just nodded. Then he saw Harry approach a man. It was Izzy’s father. Harry said something to him, and without responding, Sydney lowered his head to walk off down the road, following the multitude as they made their way back to the town.  

The officers were all gathered in the Kommandant’s office when Heinrich arrived, shaking his cap free of rain water. The Kommandant immediately shoved a glass of whisky into his hand.

‘Thank you, Sir,’ Heinrich replied, downing it in one go, his face distorting as he let out a gasp as it slid down his throat to warm his stomach.

‘Good, hey?’ the Kommandant asked.

‘Yes, Sir, very palatable.’

‘That was a stroke of genius,’ the Kommandant said.

Heinrich frowned. ‘Sir?’ he asked.

‘Der gute Kamarad,’ was the reply.

‘I think the islanders appreciated it, Sir,’’ Heinrich replied.

‘Yes, they did. The Bailiff was extremely impressed and thanked me. I didn’t tell him it wasn’t my idea, that’s why you’re here, to thank you for improving all our reputations. But, you know,’ he whispered in Heinrich’s ear, ‘I should be reprimanding you for consorting with the enemy. Now, don’t say a word,’ he quickly interjected, ‘we all do it, we all have mistresses tucked away somewhere, and we must try and keep down the bastards that are appearing in our wake,’ he said, making it sound like a rabbit cull was about to be imposed.

‘Then you’ve heard, Sir,’ Heinrich stated.

‘Of course, can anyone keep anything private on this island?’

‘No,’ Heinrich replied, expecting reproof for carrying out his affair in full view of the other soldiers billeted at The Beach Hotel.

‘Now that’s over and done with, I’ll get to my next point. Another whisky?’ the Kommandant asked. 

‘Will I need one, Sir?’ Heinrich asked.

‘I just think you might,’ he said re-filling Heinrich’s glass. ‘There’s been talk, for some time, about an Allied invasion of the French coast. We do not know where that might be, but Berlin are saying if any such attack is imminent it would most likely be in the Pas de Calais area.’

Heinrich sipped at the whisky this time.

‘Your impressive service record on the Eastern Front, and your role here has brought about a promotion for you, you are to be made captain, a decision the Oberst and the Major agreed with. And as from today you will have to get a squad of troops battle-ready and on stand-by for posting to the Western Front to muster with the 7
th
Army.’

‘Yes, Sir,’ Heinrich replied, downing his whisky again, but this time his throat and stomach welcomed it.

‘Any questions?’  The Kommandant asked.

‘None about my captaincy, or duties, Sir. But, my wife, who is visiting family in Frankfurt with my daughter, has not returned home. I would like to know if there are any casualty lists being posted as to the victims of the bombing raids there.’

‘I’ll get the Major to look into it, he will let you know. Anything else.’

‘No, Sir.’

‘Get back to your duties,’ and the Kommandant turned away from Heinrich to seek out the Oberst.

News, along with a list, came through with the latest death toll from the Frankfurt bombings which was added to daily, giving German morale another battering. Telegrams were sent back and forth, not only from the authorities, but from Heinrich to his mother. Days of anxiety ceased when he received a simply telegram saying his wife and daughter were missing. To Heinrich this didn’t necessarily mean they were dead, but realised bodies could not be left alive under rubble indefinitely, but to his family, and to Heinrich, it gave a little hope.

Things had not been going Germany’s way since America had joined the conflict in 1941. Early in the year of 1943 the German 6
th
Army had, exhausted of food and ammunition, surrendered at Stalingrad, even though troops were withdrawn from the west to replace the heavy German losses. And towards the end of that year the Red Army had liberated Kiev and the anti-German stance in Italy resulted in the Italian resistance bombing the Vatican to put out their radio. Along with this, was the constant, heavy, long-range bombing over Berlin, then a publication of a fake issue of the collaborationist newspaper
Le Soir,
put out by the Belgian resistance, found its way into German hands, mocking the German strategic position in the theatres of war. And to round off the year, news came in that the battleship Scharnhorst had been sunk by British cruisers somewhere in the Arctic.    

Early one morning a few days after the funerals, Heinrich sat by the window sketching Izzy arouse herself from a night’s sleep. He suddenly realised what a fraud he was: not exactly a Jekyll and Hyde character as there was no splitting of his personality, or any identity problems as to who he actually was: he was the same on British soil as he was at home as far as his manner, conduct and behaviour was concerned. And he felt no less love for Izzy as he had, at one time, felt for his wife. But Izzy was his one and only passion and no one could question the love he felt for her. And his love for his children; that too, was absolute and unquestionable. But Anna; he had been so hurt when she had rejected him, yet to family members they pretended everything had been fine when it wasn’t. Only Heinrich’s parents realised, and Mathias, not to mention Irme of course. That’s why he felt such a fraud. He always thought Anna had married him: the man: the person: someone she loved. He now thought her shallow: and he, an object that was damaged. Where had her love gone? Where had his respect for her gone? How would this all end? He looked over at Izzy again and smiled lovingly as her fingers stretched up to her face to brush back the hair that had fallen over her eyes. He knew Izzy would not throw him aside like a broken piece of furniture, and that pleased him. She loved him for who he was, that she had proved time and time again and he promised himself he would do everything possible to hold on to that love. But there were his children to be considered, not to mention Alain. 

Izzy opened her eyes and realising he was not beside her, she sat up. ‘You’re up early, what time is it?’ she yawned seeing his frame sitting at the table in the bay.

‘Just after five. I couldn’t sleep,’ Heinrich replied and carried on sketching.

Since that first day of meeting Izzy he had sketched her from memory: climbing up into the lorry in her overalls: walking on the beach with her dog: standing naked after bathing: lying naked on the bed waiting for him to pleasure her. She always wanted him. And now he had sketched her asleep. He had captured everything about her, but all Heinrich kept in his inside breast pocket was that first sketch he made. 

‘Penny for them?’ Izzy asked as she got out of bed to stand beside him in the bay of the window.

‘I was just…’ he said.

‘Just what?’ Izzy asked.

‘I was just thinking what a lucky man I am,’ he smiled.

‘I can cope if you tell me things. It’s when you are silent: I can’t cope with silence: knowing something is going around in your head.’

‘There’s always the possibility of being posted at the back of my mind,’ Heinrich replied.

‘More so now?’ Izzy asked.

Heinrich just nodded.

‘I know we’re not supposed to know, but I’ve heard the Russians took back their country months ago,’ Izzy said.

Heinrich turned his head to look at her. ‘Yes, they did.’

‘And now all effort is concentrated on the Western Front,’ Izzy stated.

Heinrich nodded his head again.

‘Do you think it might be over soon?’ Izzy asked.

‘I hope so, but we will not become the victors,’ Heinrich replied.

Izzy kissed his lips as if to seal them from careless or defeatist talk that would get him into serious trouble. The kiss reminded him for a while of where he was, and who he was. But when she kissed him he always forgot the woman he loved was an enemy of the German nation. And those kisses always led to love-making.

There was an uneasy edge to the days that followed. They were joyless for everyone, especially Sydney who had found out that Hannah had been down to see their daughter and it had given her the strength to stand up to him, tell him what
she
was doing, instead of being told by him what to do.  A few days earlier Berlin had sent down orders for all fighting troops to be despatched to the Western Front, as their intelligence had informed them an Allied invasion of the French coast was imminent. The night before Heinrich left, he and Izzy hardly slept. Their last night together was spent making love until exhaustion lulled them into a light sleep. At four in the morning, Heinrich got out of bed to go to the bathroom. He dressed himself in the bedroom watching Izzy rouse herself from a fitful slumber. His kit all packed and fully regaled in battle dress, he sat on the edge of the bed. Izzy opened her eyes. But all that preparing seemed to disintegrate when the time came. 

‘Is this it?’ she asked, silent tears suddenly streaming down her face.

Heinrich simply nodded.

‘It’s all been said, hasn’t it? Last night said it all,’ she stated.

Heinrich nodded again then stood up and taking an envelope out of his inside breast pocket he put it into Izzy’s hands, clasping them together around the envelope, his hands clutching hers. He kissed her lightly on the lips before taking his hands away to stroke her hair and her face. He then stood up and quietly left the room.

An hour later Heinrich was aboard a boat destined for the French coast. He sat with his men, stick grenades hanging from his belt, an ammunition strip across his chest, and a Schmeisser cradled in his arms like one of his children. And closing his eyes, he attempted to nurse the painful ache that had settled in his gut.