The Sea House (19 page)

There was the wardrobe, the round table and the chairs, the bed, the quilt thrown back. But Elsa wasn’t there. A book lay on the bed. He walked over to it and sat down. It was new, unread, its cover smooth.

Anne Frank
The Diary of a Young Girl
An Extraordinary Document of Adolescence.

Max looked into the girl’s face. Dark hair parted far over to one side, round eyes in pools of white, and her mouth, the top lip wide and hopeful and somehow reminding him of a duck. Max opened the book. On the inside flap there was a photograph of a house, four storeys, with hardly room for a brick between the glass, and beside it another picture of a landing and a shelf of files.

And then Elsa rose up out of the trap door. He saw her scream, cover her mouth, all in the second before she realized it was him.

‘I’m so sorry.’ He sprang up. ‘I couldn’t come before and I wanted to wish you…’

She was wearing a nightdress, ruched around her shoulders, and her hair was unpinned. She came towards him. ‘What time is it?’

‘I’m sorry…’ he started again.

‘It’s all right.’ She put out her hand to him. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

Max was too close to her now, and, not knowing how else to get away, he sat down. Elsa sat beside him. The bed sighed and rocked, threatening to throw them together, and with every muscle in his body Max held himself apart. Elsa reached for the book and they both looked down into the girl’s bright face.

‘Maybe it is better to have had no children.’ She shivered in the thin cloth of her nightdress and Max said, ‘I should go.’

‘Yes. Thankyou.’ Her hand was on his arm. ‘Be happy,’ she whispered, and then, as if she’d had some sudden thought, she leant forward and kissed him. Max stood quite still, the flutter of her lips on his cheek, and then he was drawing her towards him. He kissed the top of her hair, her eyebrows, so straight and serious, and the wide lids of her eyes. She didn’t struggle, so he kissed her nose, her chin, her neck. He knelt before her and pressed his head against her stomach, felt the warmth of her through the folds of cloth. And then she was kissing him too. She kissed his forehead, the stubble of his chin, his neck, his shoulders, his arm, his ears. He took her then and pressed her down, and frantically he began to pull off his clothes. He kicked away his boots, ripping at the laces, terrified, pleading with God, with anyone, to allow him to go on. He felt tears welling in his eyes, unable to look at her, afraid she was drawing away from him in the muddle of tearing off his clothes. But when he turned back, she was kneeling before him, naked, her body narrow as a girl’s, her breasts so full, the undersides a perfect curve. ‘You see,’ she said, glancing down, ‘I never did have children,’ and Max reached for her and with one sock still trailing, his shirt half-buttoned, he steered her to the bed. They fell on to it just as he had dreamed they might, and he opened his mouth and laughed with happiness as the great quilt folded them in.

28

The Sea House, Steerborough, Suffolk
. Lily spread the letters out over the table, stroking them, her fingers sensuous, her skin still papery from lack of sleep. She felt light-headed, the thought of Grae, his hands on her, the sweet tip of his tongue against her teeth.

My sweet wife Elsa
, Lehmann wrote in 1953.
Last night I dreamt I was parachuting into Germany just as we did in the last months of the war. We were crowding round the door, ready for the drop, when the green light appeared inside the plane. I fell into the darkness, my parachute opening above me, my rucksack hanging below me on its line, and in my dream, just as it happened then, I floated, drifting, weightless, not knowing where I was going to land. There I was, dangling above Germany, a place I’d taken so much trouble to leave. And then a most peculiar sensation took hold of me. My mind separated itself from my body. It seemed to float above me as if it were asking, Who is that madman? What can he be doing? Never have I had that sensation since, until last night when I jolted awake with such a feeling. Is everything all right? I think of you now, as I thought of you then, and, more than anything, I hope you are finally learning to be happy, just as you are, living in your hut above the beach.

My sweet,

I am so glad that you are managing without me and that the mosquitoes are able to resist your left ankle at least. Here the work is busy, especially when I think back to Before when I thought I would never find anyone to commission me at all. So now I must remember to be grateful. Sammel, Liebnitz, Koenig, are all long gone to America, but I could not start again in a third place. And, I know, nor could you. I hope the mood in your letters is quite genuine. Don’t hesitate to come here if you are lonely, but
it is hard to be lonely in Steerborough, I know. This receiving of letters is a wonderful thing, and now they’re arriving so swiftly. Do you remember when I used to have to reprimand you for leaving too much space between one letter and the last, or order you to write shorter, more frequent letters so that after one huge monster letter you did not need to rest. I’m sorry to have been so harsh with you, my El, but from the first I couldn’t bear to think of you living your life without me, and now after twenty years of marriage I can tolerate it just for a few days at a time. If I can I will take the train to you on Saturday. Will you meet the fishing boats and buy me flounders to poach. I have a sudden craving for them, and for those salty-brown prawns they sell at the harbour. Just like the mosquitoes I also am particularly fond of your right ankle. And of course your calves, your elbows and your wrists. Keep them safe and covered up for me.

Your L.

As Lily reached for the next letter, she caught sight of Ethel on the corner of the Green. She was swaying, the belt ends of her dressing-gown flapping as she fought for balance with one arm. Lily pushed open the window. ‘Are you all right?’

Ethel straightened up, steadied by her voice. She took a few stiff steps towards her. ‘There’s nothing to recommend it,’ she told her. ‘Nothing to recommend getting old.’

‘No,’ Lily said, although she hoped there might be, something, anything at all. ‘Are you going for a swim?’

‘I was.’ Ethel frowned. ‘I’m all right once I’m in the water, it’s just getting in and out… There’s no warning, you see, and then I lose my bloody balance.’

‘Wait there…’ Lily ran upstairs and snatched up her swimming costume. Sand in sugary sprays flew out from the elasticated seams. She rolled it into a towel and slammed out of the side door.

Together they walked across the Green. Ethel bobbed along beside her, her body stiff, her legs straight. She reminded Lily of a chick with her white fluff of hair, and the soft oval of her dressing-gown crossed in the middle like an egg. As they neared the beach Lily glanced round nervously for Grae. The huts were to the right of her, shielded from view by the ridge of the dunes.

‘We’ll see you later?’ Grae had looked at her, his fingers just moments from her hand, and they’d both known he meant this afternoon, or evening, not in half an hour, before either of them had had time to change their clothes.

‘So you’re coming in?’ Ethel asked, letting her gown drop on to the sand.

Lily pulled off her jeans. Her shirt was creased, half buttoned, raw with the smell of wood smoke and fresh air. Her fingers brushed against her skin as she peeled away the last of her clothes, closing her eyes for a split-second as if her touch were his.

‘Ready?’ Ethel coughed, and Lily, blushing, pulled her costume on. Shyly they reached for each other’s hands and walked down to the shore. The water was freezing. The tide was high, and soon, too soon, they were wading, sinking, spreading out their arms. Lily felt the water burn as it crept in under her costume, a cold well at her navel, ice in the tips of her bra. ‘I’ll be all right now,’ Ethel shouted, unclasping her hand, and happily she struck out for the horizon. Lily was knocked under by a wave. She fought and choked and wrestled and when she came up she was warm. She tipped on to her back, her arms and legs stretched out like a starfish, her face in the sun, and then, from nowhere, a streak of pure gold happiness spread through her. The feeling was so powerful it sent a tremor down her spine, tingling in the bones of her toes and fingers, leaving her afraid. She turned, straining for the white seal head of Ethel. She could see her, on the froth of a wave, and she struck out in a ragged crawl, mouth closed, eyes squinted into the sun. Eventually she caught up with her. She was treading water at some invisible boundary, arms spread wide, resting on a wave. It took Lily a moment to realize she was naked. Her orange costume was floating beside her on a string, and just below the water her body, white and happy, was overlapping with relief.

‘My salt bath,’ Ethel smiled, ‘there’s nothing like it,’ and Lily, feeling over-dressed, slipped off the black straps of her own costume and pulled it off. Water gushed around her, making her want to leap and spin, and it seemed then that the thin case of nylon she’d been wearing was in fact chain mail weighing her down.

‘It’s this that keeps me young,’ Ethel told her, and she lay back on the cushion of a wave.

‘So how long have you lived here?’ Lily asked.

‘How long? We moved… Let’s see, I’m eighty-four, must be twenty years now. When my husband retired.’

‘And… Is he…?’

‘Oh no. He died, not long after. But to be honest we never got on. I’ve got a lovely boyfriend. Lives in Stowminster. He’ll be coming up this weekend.’

Eventually they swam in, towing their water-logged costumes behind them, idling in the shallows to pull them on. Lily put her arm out as they scrambled up and together they stepped on to dry land.

My El,

I know you will be furious. I can’t come, and I am sorry.
Lily sat in a rust-red bath eating toast, straining to see the grey type of Lehmann’s letter propped between the taps.
Please don’t take my absence as a Sign. I had an urgent call to look at workmen’s cottages in Sussex, and from there to Hambledon to check on a wall that was in fact being built in the wrong place. Once I am finished I shall get the first possible train. Have you looked in at our house? Has Kett begun? Is everything covered and protected? How is that strange creature Meyer with his scroll? I do think it very kind of you still to talk to him after he missed out our house. Please forgive me. I allow you five minutes to be angry and then I want you to write to me and say it is all in the past.

Lily lay back in her bath. Thoughts of Nick crowded in on her. ‘Bastard,’ she muttered as if it were he who had been unfaithful, and cursing she tried to push his face away. But her mind was chattering on with all the ways in which he’d slighted her, denied her, kept her guessing and hoping, refusing to say what surely it must be obvious she most wanted to hear. She caught sight of her face in the strip of mirrored tiles, cut up into pinched and miserable squares, and to purge herself she poured shampoo on to her hair and began to cuff her ears. Later, feeling punished and worn almost to the bone, she climbed the stairs and with her letters got into the twin bed.

My dear El
, she read.
I seem to be reliving all the great moments of my life. Last night I dreamt that I was at a huge round table with a group of Army Mandarins. I was there as a member of the British Army, come to demand they hand over their aerodrome to me, and as they talked on and on, unable to make a decision, someone tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Lieutenant Lehmann…’ It was a high-ranking Nazi, asking if I would come outside for a private word. ‘Lieutenant Lehmann,’ he said, ‘I love the Jews. I had a second cousin who was Jewish who I protected during the whole war. Please, can this be taken into account when everything is over?’ ‘Yes,’ I told him, ‘all things will be taken into account.’ And I went back to my seat. Five minutes later I was tapped on the shoulder again. ‘Can I have a word in private?’ It was another Nazi and he also took me outside. ‘The sister of my best friend’s wife was married to a Jew,’ he said. ‘I did all I could for her.’ So it went on. ‘Yes,’ I said to them, ‘all you have done will be taken into account.’ They knew, these men, that the War Crimes trials were coming, and it gave me an unearthly pleasure to see the fear on each face. I looked at them in their fancy uniforms, with braids and decorations, trying to smile, doing their best to be civilized, when civilization to them had meant the enslavement and extermination of a man like me. If they had any courage
– the words were swimming now before Lily’s tired eyes –
they would have had me shot
.

‘Lily. Lily!’

Had someone called her? It felt like minutes since she’d gone to sleep, but it was already late afternoon.
If they had any courage they would have had me shot
. The words lay beside her on the pillow, the letter still in her hand. She listened but there was nothing. Just the low hoot of wood pigeons chortling in the trees. ‘Lily?’ There was someone calling her from just inside the back door. Her heart leapt and then lay still. Nick? She hardly dared breathe and then the door slammed shut and whoever it was had gone. Very slowly she got out of bed and crept towards the window. Three small children with buckets and spades were piling wood chips on to the end of the slide. She ran into the back and stared down at the garden. But there was no one there. Who was it? She had to know. She pulled jeans and a T-shirt on and ran downstairs. There was no car parked beside hers.
Lily
? She tried to recreate the voice. Grae? Maybe it was Grae, and she ached for him to have taken courage, to have climbed the stairs and found her in her bed. She ran back into the kitchen and caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her hair was flattened on one side, tufted like a koala on the other. The sight stopped her, made her laugh, reminded her that she was starving, and, instead of rushing out on to the Green, she put the kettle on and began preparing food. Those children playing on the slide, one of them, or more than one, might have been called Lily. She sat with her omelette and her salad in the garden, trying to eat slowly, allowing herself only one glance towards the gate each minute, less hopeful with each mouthful that Grae was about to return. How would they greet each other? She wondered, would they have to wait through the whole evening before they could touch? Her stomach hurt, her throat constricted, and all the while the sweet hot sun, the distant humming of the waves, forced her into a daze.

At seven o’clock she took a jacket and a bottle of wine and just as if she were going out officially for the evening she locked the door. Slowly she walked along beside the river, over the wooden bridge and down the path towards the huts. Grae’s door was open, the slice of bright blue startling against the worn grey of the wood. There was a small table set up outside with three chairs, and, although there was a mug of half-drunk tea and a plate of crumbs, there was no one there. Lily stood in the doorway of his hut looking in. A shelf of books, mostly children’s, a car maintenance manual, and a history of the East Anglian coast. Below each bed there were suitcases of clothes and the orange-crate of toys Lily imagined the girls had pleaded must not be left behind. On the floor, as if it had been delivered, was a copy of the
Village News
. Lily picked it up. There was to be a Millennium exhibition – photographs of Steerborough. It would be open to the public, admission 20p, for three days over the August bank holiday weekend. ‘Any help or suggestions willingly accepted. Contact Alf and Cassie Wynwell.’ Underneath in bold black letters:

Surprise Exhibit.
Raffle. Teas.

A hand clamped down on Lily’s shoulder. She started, dropping the
Village News
, although, even as she did so, she knew it was Grae. She turned and stared into his face. He was so close she could hardly see him.

‘Where are they?’ she whispered, and, knowing what she meant, he grinned and pulled her down on to the bottom bunk.

‘They’re out.’ His eyes were sparkling. ‘They’re with their mother. They won’t be back tonight.’

‘But…’ Lily was wrestling between curiosity and desire. ‘I thought…’

But Grae was kissing her, peeling off her clothes, only leaping up for an instant to shut the door. Lily watched him unbutton his shirt, tug the T-shirt off over his head, and there he was, half naked against her, squeezed on to the ridiculously narrow bed. His body was tawny, the same colour as his hair, and he smiled at her as he kicked off his boots.