The Girl Behind The Curtain (Hidden Women) (13 page)

What did it mean? In my dream, my eyes swam with tears as though I knew that what was lost had huge importance. I seemed to understand that the diary had held the key to something. And now its secrets were gone for ever. I would never get them back.

While I was still staring at the blank pages, as though sheer force of will might cause the swirling ink to reappear, I heard footsteps in the room behind me. I turned to see who was there.

It was the man in the mask. My dream Marco, his face half-covered by the unchanging white carapace. I stared into his eyes. They were as impenetrable and powerful as ever.

He drew closer. I didn’t want him to touch me. He reached for my arm but I shook him off with a snarl. However, he would not take no for an answer. As I tried to leave the library, he prevented me. He stepped in front of me and physically blocked my way. He seemed taller and stronger than I remembered. Almost superhuman. He put his hands on my shoulders and walked me backwards into the centre of the room.

‘You have to let me go,’ I told him.

‘I don’t want to,’ he said. ‘You don’t want me to.’

He pulled me to him and silenced my protestations with a kiss. I felt small and weak in his arms, like a rabbit giving up in the coils of a python. When he stopped kissing me for a moment, I found all I could do was look into his eyes. Dark eyes. Animal. Kind and hurt and dangerous all at the same time.

Marco continued to walk me backwards until, suddenly, we were against a bookshelf. The sharp corners of the books pressed into my skin as Marco leaned heavily against me. He devoured me with kisses. He touched me roughly, pushing up my shirt and squeezing my breasts. He wouldn’t rape me, I knew. I was certain I could make him stop. But I didn’t want to. Part of me – a strong and vocal part – wanted him more than ever. I started to kiss him back, every bit as violently.

We made love angrily, pinching and twisting flesh and pulling each other’s hair. And yet there was still love in there, beneath all the fury. We both knew that. It was as though we were each trying to force the other to see our point of view with those harsh, almost painful kisses and unforgiving thrusts that filled me with molten desire. Still joined, we stumbled towards the fireplace and sank down onto the rug.

He pounded into me and I pushed up against him. The sex was crazy. Frenzied. We were unstoppable force and immoveable object. Which one of us would give in first?

I came with tremendous force, crying out and writhing in the flickering light. I thought it would never stop. He yelled out as he pounded into me, flooding me with the ecstasy of his own orgasm. We clung together. My fingernails dug into his back. It was as though gravity had ceased to exist and we had to hang on to each other or risk flying away.

Afterwards, however, it was as though someone had thrown a blanket over a fire. The flames were out. We were exhausted but calm. I rolled over to take Marco’s hand. I wanted to look into his eyes and find out what he really needed from me. But he had rolled away to face the wall.

‘You don’t understand,’ he said. ‘You have to understand.’

Chapter 16

Berlin,

Monday 25th July 1932

Dear Diary,

Otto is still being wonderful. Everything is exactly as it should be. It’s clear to me that our relationship is not just a fling to him. He wasn’t at work this evening – he had a paper to write – so I was able to corner Marlene and ask her for the gory details at last. She said that in the three years Otto has been playing at the club, she has never known him flirt with anyone. Not a staff member. Not a dancing girl. Not a customer. And it isn’t as though he doesn’t have his fans. There are often tables full of young women making moon eyes at Otto across the dancefloor. He never seems to notice them at all.

‘It was different when you arrived,’ Marlene said. ‘I could see the instant connection. He could not take his eyes off you. I’m not in the least bit surprised you’ve managed to bag him. But he is a good boy, Kitty. He’s a romantic. All I ask is that you don’t break his heart.’

‘I have no intention of breaking his heart!’ I protested. ‘Marlene,’ I dropped my voice low, ‘I think I may be in love with him.’

Marlene grinned. ‘That’s just marvellous, because the feeling is so obviously mutual.’

How could any girl not fall in love with Otto Schmidt? Every day I learn something new about him and every time it is something that fills me with delight and makes my heart expand a little more. Yesterday, he was unable to join me at lunchtime because he had to go shopping for an invalided neighbour. Can you imagine? He is handsome, he’s clever, he’s kind AND he dances like a dream. I am definitely hanging on to this one.

Berlin,

Wednesday 27th July 1932

Last night, Otto told Schluter about my singing voice.

‘Let’s hear it,’ Schluter demanded.

‘Oh no,’ I protested. ‘I’m not really any good at all.’

Otto gave me a stern sort of look. ‘Don’t hide your bushel,’ he said.

‘It’s “don’t hide your light behind a bushel”,’ I corrected him.

‘All the same.’

‘Don’t hide your bushel either,’ Marlene laughed. ‘Come on Kitty. We want to hear you sing. You can’t be any worse than the people who come here on amateur night.’

‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ I told them.

Otto had already opened the piano. ‘What will it be?’

‘This is silly,’ I said. ‘It’s so embarrassing and you’ll wish you hadn’t asked.’

‘Let us be the judge of that,’ said Schluter. ‘Get up there.’

Reluctantly, I climbed up onto the stage, feeling like a proper fool. I wasn’t sure if I felt better or worse when Young Hans turned on a spotlight. It meant I couldn’t see my audience, only Otto at the piano. Perhaps if I imagined I was singing only for him. He started to play. ‘Join in whenever you want.’

I sang ‘I’m Good For Nothing But Love’. I made a terrible start. My voice was all over the place. Darling Otto did his usual trick and changed key in an attempt to make me sound vaguely in tune. But once I got going, things were better. Eventually I was almost enjoying myself. When ‘I’m Good For Nothing’ finished, Otto kept playing so that I had to segue straight into ‘I Got Rhythm’. I ended up singing three songs. The last – ‘Love Me Tonight’ – was all but perfect.

Marlene pursed her lips and nodded. ‘She’s not bad.’

‘Not bad at all,’ said Schluter.

‘But you need a dance to go with it,’ said Marlene. ‘You can’t just stand there like a shop dummy.’

‘Oh, I don’t really dance,’ I said. ‘Except for Scottish reels.’

‘I’ll do the choreography,’ Marlene assured me. ‘Thursday night?’ she suggested to Schluter.

‘Great,’ he said. ‘And if Kitty isn’t waitressing, it will save me a fortune in broken crockery.’

‘See?’ said Otto, when we were alone together later on. ‘You have a true talent. You’re going to be a star.’

‘Whatever will your mother think? You with a dancing girl?’

‘She will love you because I love you. Even if you were a dancing bear.’

‘Did you just say you love me?’ I interrupted. Otto blushed.

‘I think I did,’ he said.

‘Oh, then say it again,’ I begged him. ‘Assuming you mean it, that is.’

‘I definitely mean it,’ he told me. ‘I love you, Kitty Hazleton.’

I threw my arms around his neck and we kissed more deeply than ever before. My heart was beating fit to burst. When I placed my hand on his chest, I could feel his heart pounding too. I pressed myself against him and felt his hardness against my thigh. It was reassuringly long and substantial.

‘Otto,’ I murmured. ‘I love you too. Perhaps . . . tonight . . .’

‘You should go inside,’ he said, putting me away from him. ‘You need to be ready for your first practice tomorrow, Miss Star.’

I had the feeling that he was struggling to control himself. I decided I had better not tempt him. Instead, I kissed him on the end of the nose.

‘Even when I’m famous,’ I said, ‘I will only have eyes for you.’

Friday 26th August 1932

I’m officially an artiste! Tonight my name will be on the Boom Boom’s hoarding. Well, not my real name, of course, but my stage name. We’ve decided on ‘Kitty Katkin’. It took ages to make it up. I quite fancied something like ‘LouLou Lamora’, but Marlene said that my role at the club is to provide light relief. I must be playful, not too sexy and LouLou Lamora sounds like a slut.

‘Perhaps when you’re older,’ she said.

‘How about when I’m seventeen?’ I asked her. Everybody laughed because I’m seventeen today. Happy Birthday to me! When I went down to breakfast this morning, Enno brought me two fried eggs on toast instead of the usual one. What’s more, they were almost edible. He also brought a handful of cards and a present. The cards were from Enno and everyone at the club. The present was best of all. Apparently Otto secretly dropped it off last night because he wanted me to have it first thing. It’s a little Steiff teddy bear with a very fierce face and perfect button eyes. I love him. Almost as much as I love Otto. I have called him ‘Little Adolf’.

I was upset of course that there was nothing from Mummy and Papa but I have just about given up on them. They’d certainly give up on me if they knew I’d become a dancing girl. But needs must. Schluter has upped my wages by 100% and, what’s more, I’m having fun. I love spending my days practising the dance routines. Marlene and I have just created a wonderful dance in which we play twin sisters, in matching dresses and wigs with only a height difference of fifteen inches to help the audience tell us apart. It’s terribly funny. I think it will bring the house down when we debut it tonight.

And after the show tonight, Marlene says she’s throwing me a birthday party. Otto will be there of course. A very Happy Birthday to me!

Monday 29th August 1932

Dear Diary,

Something has happened which makes me absolutely certain of Otto’s intentions towards me. He has invited me to join him on Sunday. At his family home! He said he has told his mother all about me and she is very keen to see me in person. Can you believe it? It’s proof. You don’t just take any old girl home to meet the family, do you? We’re in love! We’re in love! We’re in love!

Sunday 4th September 1932

Dear Diary,

It took me a very long time to get ready for my lunch with Otto’s mother. What on earth should I wear? I’ve become very sensitive to the meaning of clothes since my awful experience in the café. Those green boots were definitely not going to be part of the ensemble.

In the end, I put on my most sober dress. It’s one I haven’t worn since Munich. It’s a little heavy for the weather and too dark in colour but it has a high collar and long sleeves. I did my hair in the most sensible fashion I could think of.

Enno smiled his approval.

‘You look wonderful. You could have tea with the King of England in that get-up.’

Otto too seemed pleased.

‘You look beautiful,’ he said. ‘My mother will be very happy to see I’ve made such a catch. Though I think I prefer it when your hair is not quite so severe.’

‘Me too,’ said Enno. I reminded them both that I wasn’t dressing with them in mind.

Otto and I caught the tram towards Prenzlauer Berg. It’s quite a nice area. The house, which is very close to an enormous park, is tall and white, elegant and imposing just like the boy who lives there. The Schmidt family have been there for years apparently. Otto’s grandfather bought the house and Otto was actually born there, twenty years ago this month.

Otto’s mother is exactly as I imagined. She is warm and kindly but she also has a sense of humour. At least, I think she has a sense of humour. She speaks only German and my German is nowhere good enough to get all the nuances of her speech. Otto and his younger sister translated, thank goodness.

Oh, his sister Helga is a delight! She is so pretty. Like a feminine version of Otto. She has his startling blue eyes. She is obviously very bright. She told me she wants to become a doctor and move to London when she has finished her training. She asked me lots of questions about life in England and much admired my dress. I told her that she can have one just like it. I’ll get Mother to send the pattern over from Surrey. If she ever writes to me again. Mentioning my mother made me just a little sad. Still no sign of a birthday card. They really must have cut me off.

Later Otto’s mother told me that she likes my pretty hair.

‘But you should wear it a little looser,’ she said.

All in all, I think the meeting was a terrific success. Only Otto’s brother seemed reluctant to be charmed. He was not at the table for lunch. He joined us later. Having made such a hit with Otto’s mother and sister, I was very much looking forward to meeting Gerd, the middle child. Otto’s mother talked very proudly of her son. She said that, like Otto, Gerd had excelled at school. He was also an excellent sportsman. He took after his father in that respect.