The Edge of the Fall (14 page)

‘That must have been hard.'

‘Mama isn't so thin because we had nothing to eat. We didn't do too badly out in the country – and we had money, like she said. She just wouldn't eat. I heard her talking to herself. She said she wouldn't eat until he came back. And then he did, and – you see what he's like – she still wouldn't eat, not properly. I suppose she thinks he's not really back.'

‘But he is. He was injured, that's all.'

Hilde shook her head, smiled. ‘It's not just that. You'll see. Anyway, I should go and see where he is.'

Hilde wandered out of the room and Celia seized her chance. She hauled herself up on to the window sill and eased herself through the window. Her skirt caught in the damp grass as she jumped forward. She breathed deeply, delighted. Just within a few feet of the house, and she could have been back in the Black Forest of six years ago. The air tasted of fir trees, woody rain, spring flowers. She hurried on, knowing she had only half an hour or so before the sun came down and Aunt Lotte would expect her in to eat. She was nearly at the forest when she heard the sound of a twig cracking behind her. She turned – and two women were standing there, middle-aged, their arms folded over their aprons. Their faces were still, angry, and it struck her that maybe she was trespassing. Maybe this wasn't village land any more.

‘I'm—' she began, and then couldn't find the German to say ‘I thought it was free land'. She fumbled for her words.

‘What are you doing here?' said one woman. She spoke slowly, her heavy accent obscuring her words. ‘Who are you?'

‘I'm – visiting,' she said. ‘My uncle.'

‘Where are you from?' the other asked.

Celia felt her thoughts tumbling. ‘Sweden.'

She shrugged. ‘You should go home.'

Celia took a step to the side. Maybe they were slightly mad. Confused ladies who took a pre-dinner stroll and thought strangers were dangerous. Heinrich had always said they were deep in the countryside here – and country people were more suspicious. The women watched her take two more steps. Then she began heading forward, smiling, but not too widely, in case they might
think she was laughing at them. She walked past them and still they watched her, did not reach out. Once she was a metre or so past them, she began walking more quickly – and then she ran to the house. The window was closed.

‘Hilde!' She banged on the window.

Hilde pulled it open. ‘What on earth are you doing there? I thought you were in the bathroom.'

‘I went out for a walk. Can you help me in?'

Hilde reached out her hand and Celia grasped on to it, lodged her feet in the wall and then began to scramble in. Hilde gave her a tug and she was over the window ledge. She held Hilde's hand as she stepped down.

‘You got heavier, cousin.'

‘It's true,' said Celia. What was the point of being tiny, fashionably thin? Louisa had been thin and now she was dead.

‘Well, it's dinner time here in a few minutes. You need to change your dress, there's mud on it.'

Hilde helped her pull the gown over her head.

‘I met some strange people while I was out,' said Celia. ‘Two women who weren't very friendly. I think they were a bit touched.'

Hilde shrugged. ‘Maybe they were. We have more like that now. Come for dinner. Why don't you sit next to Johann? You two must have so much to talk about.'

That night, she lay in her bed. Her blanket was rough, as if it was made out of straw. She wondered what had happened to the thick eiderdowns that the house had once had. They'd dined on good meat and vegetables, badly made gritty bread. Lotte had barely eaten and had slipped more food on to Celia's plate. Heinrich talked of how he hoped the whole family would come to see them next time, Hilde clasped her hand under the table – and Johann smiled at her, shyly.

‘We're so happy you came,' he said. ‘Tell us again about Stoneythorpe.'

Celia had tried to swallow more of the bread. ‘You can come next year. Papa would be very pleased.'

‘Such a shame about Michael,' said Heinrich, shaking his head.

‘Poor Verena,' Lotte said. ‘To lose her son, and now her sister and her niece. The flu came here too, killed all four of the Waldes, in the farm along the road.'

Celia nodded, feeling her heart twist with guilt, no point correcting and saying that Aunt Deerhurst didn't have the flu. People had lost so much, and she had been fretting at home, heavy with misery, because Tom didn't want to see her and she could think of no occupation. She was selfish.

‘We still don't know where Arthur is.' Celia dreamt that he'd returned while she was in Germany, now it had been proved there was no reason to run away.

‘Yes, Verena wrote about that. We can only hope he returns soon,' said Lotte. ‘Let us find our dessert.' She stood and began clearing the plates. ‘No, Celia, not tonight. You are our guest. Hilde will help me.' They carried the plates to the kitchen.

Johann was looking down at the table. His shoulders were twitching, his hands fiddling with each other, his eyes blinking. Celia recognised it, what she had seen in so many of the men at Stoneythorpe, and others too – men she saw on the train to London, one serving her in an umbrella shop who tried to take her money and instead twitched so much that another man had to stand in for him. They were thinking about the bombs. She tried to catch his eye, smile. He only saw the wood of the table, the bombs within it.

‘Here we are,' said Lotte, bustling in. ‘Berries and cream. Hilde picked them herself. Here you go, Celia. You first.'

After dinner, they played a little cards and Lotte sang an old German song. Heinrich talked at length of Johann, his excellent mind, gentle disposition, how he had excelled at school. He said again how pleased he was to see Celia, his eyes misting over. He talked of the beauty of the Hampstead house, how he longed to see Stoneythorpe, how they had lost so much. Celia wanted to say:
it isn't anything now. We've lost our money too! At least you still have Johann
.

Johann hurt her heart. He sat apart from them while they
played cards, making a windmill out of old matchsticks, sticking them on top of each other, one by one. Celia felt her heart crack as she watched him, utterly absorbed, fixing the sticks, his eyes alive with concentration. The bombs could not touch him there, while he patiently, carefully put one stick on top of the other.

As they got ready for bed, there was a bumping on the walls. ‘Oh, don't mind that,' said Hilde. ‘It's only Johann. He does that every night.'

Lying in bed, Celia thought of the melody of Lotte's song, letting it run through her head, the swooping scales sounding out. Her aunt's voice was still pretty, only cracking a little on the high notes.

Some time later, she woke to the sound of hard knocking on the front door. She looked around her; pitch black still. It must be the middle of the night. She saw the lights from candles shining under her door. She heard Lotte opening the front door, shushing the people who were crowding through. ‘They're sleeping,' Celia heard her say. Then there was a rush of voices, all in German, mostly men, some high-pitched women. They sounded upset, as if someone was hurt. Celia could hear her aunt agreeing with them, softly, trying to talk to them. Heinrich talked loudly until finally they all quietened.

When Celia woke the next morning, Hilde had already left and made her bed. Celia climbed out of bed, splashed water on her face, dressed quickly. She walked into the dining room for breakfast and the babble of voices stopped. The faces turned towards her.

‘What is it?' she said. The German words sounded wrong as they came from her.

‘Nothing, dear,' said Lotte. ‘Come, sit down. Have an egg.'

She let herself be manoeuvred to the table.

‘Dear,' said Heinrich, clearing his throat. ‘We've been talking. It is too dull here for a young person of your lively disposition! There is nothing to do – and you're used to London.'

‘I'm weary of London.'

Heinrich waved his hand. ‘No one could be weary of London. I myself have not been there for almost twenty years. And yet I remember now the pleasures I had. Such nice cafes!'

Lotte cleared her throat. ‘Heinrich, dear,' she prompted.

‘Oh yes. Well, anyway, London is a great city. And the Black Forest is simply dull in comparison. Thus we are going to take you to Baden Baden. We can take the waters. There is much to do there. Tourists come from all over the world. Queen Victoria even visited. Aunt Lotte and I went once, when we were first married. A most interesting place.'

Celia blushed. ‘I like it here.' She knew she was ungrateful to say it. Johann was smiling at her. The waters might give him strength, she knew. But she had wanted to come
here
, to the forest, full of the fairies of her childhood. ‘Wouldn't it be terribly expensive?'

‘Baden Baden is expensive. But it would do us all good,' said Heinrich, waving his hand, looking rather like Rudolf as he did so. ‘We haven't had a holiday, well, since before the war. What's the use of money if you can't spend it?'

Celia saw a little of the old Heinrich here, the man who loved late-night cafes, restaurants, making Lotte cross talking about his youth with Rudolf in London. She toyed with her bread.

‘Anyway, my little Hilde is growing older. I may like to stay in the country, like a hermit, but she needs to meet some young people. Find a—' He stopped and blushed, looked towards Johann. He was intent on his yoghurt and didn't look like he was listening.

‘When do we leave?' asked Celia, resigned. So that was it. They were spending all their money on a last-ditch holiday to find Hilde a husband.

‘Straight away! Straight after breakfast.'

‘Now?'

‘That's right. We'll all go and pack.'

‘But why so quickly?'

Heinrich grinned and stood up sharply. ‘When I make a decision, I like to stick to it.'

She looked up at him. ‘How long will we stay?'

‘Two and a half weeks. Just in time to take you to the boat
for home. So get all your things with you. We'll go straight from Baden to your train.'

‘I wish we weren't going,' said Celia, as she followed Hilde to their room. ‘I wish we were staying here.'

Hilde closed the door behind them. ‘I'm pleased to go!' Her eyes were dark, surprising Celia with their anger. ‘It's fine for you, going to London all the time. But what about me? I am stuck here and there is no one here for me to meet. I've been asking to go to Baden since the war ended. No one is going to stop me.'

Celia flushed. Hilde wouldn't be prettier next year, perhaps much more plain. She needed to make herself as appealing as she could, eat more, take the waters. ‘Sorry, Hilde. I just like it here.'

The other girl crouched down under her bed and pulled out a trunk. ‘That's because it is a holiday for you! Not for me. I'm stuck here, like Johann, except I have my legs.' She pulled open the wardrobe and began throwing clothes into the case. Celia watched them fall, dresses, cardigans, jumpers, blouses, no order to them.

‘Johann could meet someone too, you know. Wounded soldiers are very popular at home.'

Hilde pushed down on her gowns and pulled in some more from the wardrobe. ‘The same here. Because there aren't enough men to go round. So we have to have the blind ones, the lame.' She lowered her voice. ‘I want a proper man, one with all his limbs, who can see, who doesn't shriek when you drop a saucepan. I want one who wasn't in the war.'

Me too, Celia wanted to say. Because the only one she wanted from the war had been Tom – and she couldn't have him. ‘I'm sorry, Hilde. Maybe you should all go. I'll stay.' She could wander out to the river on her own, come back for bread and cheese like the old days.

Hilde stood up, shook her head. ‘What are you talking about?' she asked, her lip curling. ‘You know we can't. We are leaving because of you.'

‘What do you mean?'

Hilde's eyes were like a fire, blazing. She put her hands on her
hips, ‘What I said. They don't want you here. You're a stranger and they can guess you're the enemy. They came last night and demanded Father get you up to speak to them. He said you were French – that got you off the hook. Mother said you were asleep. But they're coming back soon, which is why we have to go.'

‘Me? The enemy? But we're at peace now!' Celia felt her legs falling away from under her. The women in the forest, the people banging on the door last night. ‘How can it be so?'

‘No, you English are at peace! You won. You're still the enemy for them, one of the people who makes them poor.'

The room was spinning. ‘I've put you in danger. I've put you in danger by coming here.'

Hilde closed her trunk carefully. ‘You did.' Her voice softened. ‘But you weren't to know. Father should have said no. I told him to. I said, the people around here aren't how they used to be. All the rich people have left, and now it is only the poor who suffer and blame others. But he was insistent. He said you were his cousin's child and you needed us.'

‘I'm sorry.' Celia's heart was banging hard in her chest. ‘I didn't mean – I didn't think.'

‘No. You didn't. And you know what Father really wanted you here for? Have you guessed his plan?'

Celia shook her head. Hilde's face was all pain. Celia wanted to say to her cousin,
no, don't tell me any more
. ‘I don't know.'

‘So naïve of him. Ridiculous, really. He thought—'

There was a knock at the door. ‘Hilde, Celia.' Aunt Lotte's voice. Are you ready to go? The cart is here.'

‘Nearly, Mama.' Hilde gripped her arm, hissed. ‘This is my chance to get out of here. And maybe Johann's. Don't spoil it for us.'

‘What was it?' said Celia. ‘What was Uncle Heinrich's plan?'