Chapter 4: Wrong or Reich 25th April 1939
Smoke break rolled around at half ten that morning. Michelle found herself out with all of the older women in the yard, including Mary and Sarah, whilst Erin, Orla and Clare stayed inside. They all thought smoking to be bad for their bodies, but Michelle was of the opinion it made her a stronger woman in copying what the men would do. It was a chance for a different standard of conversation too, one where she could show off a bit to the women.
"So yer Orla's pregnant then?" Maureen asked Sarah.
"Aye she is Maureen. I can't believe I'm becomin' a Grandma' at my age".
"Too young". Sinead murmured.
"Ach give over Sinead, ye were barely sixteen when ye had yer Paul". Mary replied hastily, in defence of the family's honour.
"Aye I don't see the problem with it, that Donnelly fella is a good lad".
"And how do ye know that Maria?" The embittered old Sinead moaned again.
"I know his Ma, so I do. Good woman". Maria clarified.
Sinead continued to mumble her complaints, to the ignorance of the others. They were used to the old hag whittling on about the world getting worse as people ignored traditions and forged their own paths. She was of the old school when it came to the life of a woman. Everything should be done by the book, right and proper. It was born out of her own mistakes in getting pregnant so young, with her Paul turning out to be no good on top of being a mistake in her eyes, currently serving time behind bars after his latest string of crimes.
"I hear ye have a cousin then 'chelle". Maria addressed the young Mallon.
"Unfortunately…".
"Unfortunate?" Maureen scoffed. "I got a look of him on Sunday… Christ!"
"He's certainly handsome…". Mary's mind wandered as she thought of him stood there in the garden next to her Erin, his well-kept features being a wonder on the landscape.
"Mary!" Michelle complained. "Ye spoke to him, he's a right arsehole don't ye think?"
"He has got a fine arse on him, mind…". Sarah pointed out, earning the full fury of Michelle' stare.
"Christ girls, I need to see him I think!" Maria joked.
They all burst out into giggles except from Michelle and Sinead, with the older woman finishing her cigarette and heading back inside, to their unbridled relief. She could be a real miserable old cow on her worst days, and it appeared to be one of those days.
"He seemed like a nice young fella". Mary started again, this time more sensibly.
"Surprisin' I must say…". Maureen commented. "… Kathy could be a right bitch at times, and I mean no offence there Michelle".
"Doesn't bother me. Me ma rarely talks positively about her".
Kathy was a sore subject at home. Having James in secret, in the way in which she'd done so, didn't appear to have upset Deirdre too much. Her anger with her sister was over Kathy running away and not turning to her family to help in getting through the tough time after she fell pregnant. The level of trust between siblings had been broken at the time, and Deirdre had never truly forgiven her, even if they'd always communicated via letters since. Keeping the truth about him away from everyone other than Martin and Michelle was a challenge, often feeling wrong, but it was ultimately necessary in her eyes.
"What was me Auntie really like… ye know back then?"
Curious, and unable to ask her mother, Michelle decided to ask the question to the other women, as they all spoke of knowing a younger Kathy and appeared more open to discussion about her.
"She was gorgeous ye know love…" Sarah started.
"All the boys wanted her back in the day…". Maria continued. "… that bein' the problem".
"That and Kathy always wanted them". Maureen added, hums of agreement from them all.
"Bit of a goer then?"
"That's… one way of lookin' at it Michelle". Maria's voice trailed as she spoke again.
"But not knowing who the boy's father was. Well… that was shameful in my book". Mary sneered.
The women all agreed, giving Michelle the confirmation of her belief that Kathy was no more than a tart who'd done well for herself. She might have possessed wealth and a plush job that required her to work on the continent, but she was a jumped-up harlot in her niece's eyes. Quite how she'd came across the money was a mystery to her too. She could ask James of course, but that would require having to be around him for more than five seconds, which was a very unpalatable choice for Michelle.
"Ach we haven't mentioned the eyebrows either".
Mary didn't wish to stomach another monologue from her sister about Kathy Maguire's magnificent eyebrows and how James had inherited them, deciding it was time for the smoke break to end. Besides, they had a lot to get out that week; they couldn't afford to be slacking off for too long.
"Back to work then girls, we can talk eyebrows another day".
The group shuffled off inside, Michelle returning to the rest of her group, taking her seat next to them, with the girls having already started working again. Clare was panicking about not getting all of her work done on time after their shift supervisor Mr Meyler relayed the importance of finishing their batch that afternoon. Orla didn't seem too bothered in contrast, though in reality she never did regardless of what Meyler said, and Michelle couldn't really care less if she met her targets or not. Meyler was an old perv, who could be persuaded to let any punishment slide with some crafty clothing choices on her part.
For Erin though, every spare second not working became torturous. She'd not seen James since after church on Sunday morning, a full forty eight hours or so, and her heart already ached over it. Quite how she could fall so helplessly in love with him was insane to her, but she would not seek to deny the feelings that overwhelmed her. It would be incredibly painful getting through the week without him, not expecting to see him until at least Saturday. Apart from in her dreams.
He was always turning up there with his fancy red car… his hair that stayed slicked and sharp every time… his muscular chest where his shirt usually was…
It wasn't taking too long for James to settle into his new job. He'd held a similar one back in London, albeit at a far bigger bank, though with less responsibilities. An interest in banking did not resonate within him, but he was good with numbers and there wasn't much use for his other passions when it came to meaningful work. It was all a breeze to him really, a layer of comfortability that he welcomed in the backdrop of his new surroundings. His colleagues were not so welcoming though. Having a Junior Manager would normally necessitate significant disapproval from the older workers, but to have an English Junior Manager was a completely different story. The McLaughlin's brothers, Tommy and Ian, were particular scathing, consistently commenting on James' country of birth and how shameful it was to be English. He hoped to get a clean break from those types of comments with no Michelle around… but it was not to be.
It was early that afternoon when a familiar face strode in, accompanied by an older man. It took James a moment to remember her name, recognising her face from the night at the pub with David. Her dark hair was tied up in the style of one of the factory girls, though it was clear that she didn't work there. Her exquisite dress told him that extremely conclusively.
Jenny
That was her name.
Being the only available member of staff at the bank, the man, who James assumed to be her father, walked over towards him. He was a tall man with a stout posture drummed into him. Each step sounded firm and commanding, an air of regality hugging to the man as his eyes locked with the Englishman.
"Good Afternoon Sir, how may I help you?" James addressed him.
"Good Afternoon to ye. Is Mr Feeney available?" The man asked.
"I am afraid he is out Sir". James replied about the Bank Manager's whereabouts. "May I help?"
"I don't know you. Are ye new?"
"Yes Sir. James, James Maguire".
He held out his hand, the other man accepting the handshake with a smile on his face, touching his hat in a sign of respect.
"Professor Michael Joyce. And this is my daughter, Jenny".
"It's a pleasure to meet you Professor. Jenny and I are already acquainted".
"You didn't tell me about this Jenny?" Her father turned to her. "Is there something going on here that I need to know about?"
"No! No Daddy!" Jenny spiritedly protested.
"It was a mere passing welcome, Professor Sir, one which I remember with fondness".
It wasn't the first time that James had met a father with the wrong impression, having to frequently negotiate scenarios like that back in London. There was an art to diplomatically dealing with a misunderstanding such as the one he was facing at the bank that afternoon, one which he'd began to master.
"I am glad to hear it. I need to discuss Jenny's finances, do ye know when Mr Feeney will return?"
"He is not going to be back until tomorrow morning Sir".
"Then perhaps you could assist Mr Maguire?"
"Certainly Professor. I'll show you through to my office and if you just give me a moment, I will get all of the relevant files".
"Grand". The professor nodded.
Jenny watched from beneath her lashes as they were ushered into James' office. She'd only seen him for the first time on the Saturday night, yet was already of the opinion that he would be a good match for her. He was clearly of wealth in some form. His clothes were too fashionable, his manners too perfected, for him to be of the same ilk of the rest of the Mallon's or the Quinn family. The meeting with herself, James and her father continued on for over an hour, the men having plenty to discuss about her finances. She was a lucky young woman when it came to money. Unlike most girls in Derry, Jenny would never work a day in her life due to the family's wealth and affluent standing, able to go about her days doing whatever she pleased. It didn't completely please her father, who wished for her to be self-sufficient, but he'd do anything for her. She had him wrapped around her little finger in that regard.
"Thank ye again Mr Maguire". The Professor said to him as the three exited the office.
"Not at all Sir. And please, friends call me James".
"James it is then".
They strode out through the bank, James receiving angered stares from his colleagues, who'd been busy without him to assist them. In reality, they were jealous of him. Not a single one of them had ever been trusted to assist with the finances of a man of standing such as Professor Joyce, even those employed for years. Mr Feeney wasn't particularly happy about having the Englishman working there either, but recognised his ability in spite of his nationality, and was trusting enough to leave the young man in charge whilst he was absent for the day. James hoped he would be pleased upon his return.
"I shall speak to Mr Feeney the next time I see him…". The Professor began, James's breath catching, fearing the worst. "… let him know what a wonderfully capable young man he has working for him".
"You are too kind Professor". The relieved English fella replied.
"Nonsense James. I've never left the bank feeling as confident about Jenny's finances as I have just now".
He might not have held an interest in banking nor particularly cared for it in the long term, but James was satisfied by the praise lavished upon him from the Professor. Knowing from records that the Professor had banked with them all his life, it was pleasant to hear of the man's confidence in the bank's handling of Jenny's finances, as well as the rest of the family finance as a whole.
"Might we ask for your presence at dinner, James?" Jenny finally spoke up.
He looked to the Professor, who awaited an answer, and for the first time he hesitated in his reply. The memory of David's warning from the pub on Saturday night flooded into his mind. Jenny was someone to stay away from in his newly found friend's eyes, a 'head melter'… whatever that meant…
What James was unaware of on Saturday night, however, was her father being one of the banks biggest clients. It would serve him well to maintain a good standing with the man, especially given his prior comments of positivity towards him… but it could mean being drawn into a more serious relationship with Jenny. She appeared to be a smart and friendly young Lady, which counted a lot in his eyes, as well as her wealth giving her an air of grandeur. Romantically though, the Englishman felt nothing for her. She wasn't unattractive by any means at all, she just wasn't the right person for him. He couldn't ruin his progress though, and with the job at the bank being one for the foreseeable future, he would of course have to accept the invite.
"Y-Yes. Of course".
"Excellent. You have the address from the file, shall we say six o'clock?" The Professor enquired.
"I have to visit my Aunt after I finish today, perhaps we could say seven?
"Seven it is". The professor nodded, Jenny beaming at her father's side.
"Wonderful!" She spoke again. "I'll see you then James".
"I look forward to it".
Nervously smiling, he cursed to himself under his breath. Everything about the evening came across to him as wrong for some reason. It was almost as if he felt he was betraying David by ignoring the advice when it came to Jenny. The olive branch of friendship was one he hadn't expected from the soon to be married man; jeopardising it so quickly was not in his best interest in the same manner that declining the invite wouldn't have helped him. Sometimes there wasn't a right answer, and it seemed this occasion would be one of those frustrating times.
When it came to the English fella though, there were plenty of female suitors who were willing to offer friendship, if not more.
In the race for his affections, it was first blood to Jenny Joyce.
Taking one look into the living room of the Quinn house, Joe huffed, walking straight back out the door and back over to his house next door. The reason for his dismay came in the form of a very mouthy young woman, who's confessions list at Church must have been longer than any politician could muster at the most stirring of rallies.
Michelle Mallon.
She'd arrived with a mouth that required a good clean out with soap at around quarter past nine, angered by this, that and the other. Joe didn't want another evening ruined by her moaning and swearing, instead favouring a quiet night's reading.
"I'm tellin ye girls, I caught 'em".
"Not this about Norah again…". Erin rolled her eyes.
"Ye think I'm lyin'?"
"It wouldn't be the first time…". The young Quinn mumbled to herself.
Michelle glared at her, prompting a change in demeanour as she backed off. No one was in the mood for one of Michelle's verbal assaults that evening. Mary wasn't best pleased, watching on whilst she tidied up in the kitchen. She could at least be contented in the knowledge that the dark-haired girl wouldn't be visiting for too long, needing to get home to get to bed, though it meant everything came out in a startling whirlwind of vulgarity.
"He was really goin' for it with her as well…".
"Michelle!" Erin screeched at her.
"Relax Erin, ye'll be that way with John-Paul before long!"
Receiving a playful slap on the shoulder from her friend, for the first time in a long time, she never felt her cheeks heat up at the mention of any liaison with John-Paul O'Reilly. From the minute she'd set eyes on James, it was as if the strong feelings she had for the other man evaporated and faded into the abyss of her mind. A mind occupied of images of the young Englishman. Many… many images of the young Englishman. Not many involving him wearing a shirt…
"Can we talk about somethin' else?". Orla asked.
She was sat with her head on David's chest, his arm around her shoulder, listening in to the conversation between the other two girls. David's attendance at either of the houses was going to be a regular fixture going forward, wanting to be protective over her as the pregnancy progressed.
"Ach here's a good one, fuckin' James!"
Erin nearly fell out of her chair at his name, caught daydreaming about the very same young man that she'd be thinking of the whole time since Michelle's comment about John-Paul.
"Michelle! Yer never too old to get the spoon, ye hear!?" Mary called out from the kitchen.
"Sorry Mary, but… he's English!" She called back.
"I couldn't care if he was English, Italian or Japanese, it doesn't give ye the right to start usin' that language in my house!"
Michelle grumbled on, far too loudly for sensitive ears, attracting the attention of Mary once again. The two briefly locked eyes, the chance of further conflict seeming highly likely until the older woman backed off and went back to tidying the kitchen. Not without getting the wooden spoon out ready on the dining table, should the need arise for it to be wielded against the younger woman.
"What about him?" Orla turned the conversation back to James.
"He's comin' round our house every night after he finishes…".
"And what's yer problem with that Michelle, ye don't see have to see him". Erin instinctively challenged, terrified by the realisation that she was defending him without a good reason.
"That's the only good bit. The creep's already gettin' in with the other rich bas-…". Michelle stopped looking up at Mary, who held the spoon ready from back in the kitchen. "… rich doses around here".
"What do ye mean?"
"What I mean, Erin, is that he's already tryin' to ride Jenny Joyce! Got himself an invite to the mansion, from the Professor himself apparently…".
He was... WHAT!
A burning flash of anger sliced through Erin at Michelle's words. Jenny Joyce was not getting her pampered claws on him, not a chance! She would only be using him in order to appease her rich parents, finding another man of wealth to match with… she wouldn't love him! He'd be stuck in a miserable relationship for the rest of his life, with all the money in the world and no happiness. That was not a scenario that could be allowed to occur.
"Jesus, he's ignorin' me then". David said to the girls.
"Ignoring ye?" Orla mumbled from where she rested on his chest.
"Aye, I told him to keep away from Jenny like… ye know, didn't want her bein' how she can be around him".
"Ye knew about this!?" Michelle demanded from him.
"No… Christ no, not at all". He replied. "We just saw Jenny in The River the other night, that's all".
"What was Jenny doin' down The River?" Michelle replied.
"She was there with Aisling, I guess they were just enjoyin' themselves…".
By the sounds of it, they were enjoying themselves far too much, if Jenny was using the visit to lure James in. Erin was not ready to let Jenny's actions stand and needed to make her thoughts clear on the matter… at least the thoughts she deemed appropriate for them to know when it came to the English fella.
"It's not right! She's playin' some… perverted game with him!"
"Yeah…". A rather tepid response fell from Michelle's lips. "… I'm strugglin' to see it that way really…".
"She'll make him unhappy and… and… he's yer cousin Michelle, ye need to help him!"
"Why?" She snorted in return. "I mean… he's a right perv for tryin' it but if he wants to ride Jenny… and Jenny wants to ride him… so what. No one else in their right mind would…".
The urge to shout, 'I WOULD!', bubbled dangerously close to the surface as Erin's vocal cords shivered in an attempt to respond. It was ridiculous how quickly she'd fallen for the English fella… ridiculous…
"Well ye… well all of us… we should be lookin' out for him".
"I tried…". David protested meekly.
"Shut it David, yer not helpin!" Erin snapped, his hands going up in surrender.
"If yer that bothered, why don't you help him?" Michele suggested to her. "Why ye care I don't know…".
"Maybe I will!".
From inside the kitchen, Mary was beginning to have an understanding of why Erin cared, just like David was from his spot sat a few feet away from her. She might have thought she was doing a reasonable job in hiding her feelings for James, but there were certain people who saw through her guard. David would say nothing, at least not yet, and it wasn't Mary's place to get involved in directing her daughter's affections.
But she wouldn't stop her either.
Berlin, the morning of Wednesday 26th April 1939
There was a general quiet around his office. One which was welcome whilst he prepared for the important event that was taking place within the hour. The most important one of his life. The long days and often longer nights of hard work. Of failures and disasters, successes and triumphs. Finally, he would be able to share the outcomes of his scientific work, all undertaken for the glory of Der Reich. There would be a day in the future when the wider world come to appreciate his work, work often scoffed at by his contemporaries, who criticised his approach.
Illogical.
Mad.
Psychopathic.
All terms that Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden was used to hearing.
After the initial criticism, he'd assumed the abuse was directed at him for not being German by birth, being born in Emmen, in The Netherlands, to Dutch parents. It was only when he was twelve years old that they moved to Berlin to live, his father working in the city for a couple of years before going off to fight in the Great War. He never came back, dying near Cambrai in 1917. The then seventeen year old Kurt was devasted, but threw himself into his scientific interests to ignore the grief plagued him following his father Koen's death. Years of hard graft and taunting from his peers ensued. Those same men were most likely bursting into cacophonous rage on hearing just how far his research had come, and the audience that he could command to see it.
Yet the pursuit of Science was not his only interest. Carefully hidden from the majority of the small circle of associates that he considered friends, he was a great libertine, with countless lovers over the years. Seducing women for his own appetites would often replace the emptiness of life away from his work, where a normal social life simply did not exist. There were rare gatherings with those he called friends, perhaps every couple of months, his spare time instead being devoted to the search for a companion to spend the night with. Some he went back to on a regular basis, until they found out about his next lover and promptly refused to see him. The thrill of the hunt was electrifying for him though. He had a type too, preferring newly arrived women to the city, preferably ones who spoke little to no German. There was a vulnerability about them that he enjoyed, without ever forcing himself upon them. He would never assault a woman in that way. Never. If they didn't want him, he would take it on the chin and seek comfort elsewhere.
The latest woman to catch the eye of the Doctor was different. There was something about the mysterious woman that he'd set eyes on the night before that screamed class and elegance to him, accompanying her evident beauty. They hadn't spoken, having only seen her from the window of his office as she stopped outside to ask a gentleman a question. He wanted to speak to her though, so desperately in fact, he'd already arranged for her to be investigated.
Lieutenant Hans Hartmann was one of those he called friend. The nineteen year old soldier was assigned to him the moment that the research project received the backing he sought. The young man originally came across as a shy, nervous teenager, very unwise about the ways of the world. Taking him under his wing, Van Der Heijden bought out the confidence in him, quickly recognising Hartmann's ability to acquire information deftly. A vital technique for the Doctor, whose project attracted jealousy from others, the likelihood of sabotage being very high. Having pre-warning of any threats became paramount. That deft ability could be used to aid the Doctor in his carnal desires too, with the young Lieutenant always willing to help the man he looked up, treating him as a superior officer in military rank rather than just a Doctor like most did.
"Komm herein, Hartmann!"
("Come in Hartmann!")
"Sie wollten mit mir sprechen?"
("You requested me Sir?")
"Ja wohl! Wer ist die Frau von gestern Abend?"
("Yes. The woman from last night, who is she?")
"Sie ist neu in Berlin angekommen. Sie spricht Deutsch, Englisch und Französisch."
("She's a new arrival in Berlin Sir. Speaks German, English and French".)
"Interessant. Wissen Sie was sie für Arbeit macht, wo sie wohnt?"
("Intriguing. Do you know what she does, where she lives?")
"Nein, aber das kann ich herausfinden."
("No Sir, but I can find out".)
"Guter Mann! Ist der Führer bereits für unser Gespräch angekommen?"
("Good man Hartmann. Has the Führer arrived for our meeting?")
"Seine Begleitung nähert, mein Herr."
("His convoy is approaching Sir".)
"Gut. Das ist alles, Hartmann."
("Good. That will be all Hartmann".)
"Jawohl!"
("Yes Sir".)
As soon as Hartmann returned with the information, Doctor Van Der Heijden's destination that evening would be the woman's address. It would be a slow process to begin with, painfully slow, and he sensed that the pretty woman who radiated the night sky of Berlin would be a challenge too.
But she would have to wait.
He had his other passion to attend to.
His duty in serving Der Reich.