Chapter 8: Continental 12th June 1939
The fallout from the dance at Our Lady Immaculate was spectacular, even by Derry standards. The Mallon and Devlin households were hit with financial demands from angry young men and women, whose suits and dresses were ruined by the actions of the daughters of the house. Martin's patience wore extremely thin with everyone other than his wife or James, the latter proving to be the hero of the hour, just as he had been for Erin that night. James paid every single bill that was forced upon either household, weeding out the faked ones first though. His Aunt and Uncle were ashamed of him using his wealth to fix the issues that Michelle had created for them, but he insisted upon doing so, without asking for anything in return. Martin even offered him the chance to choose his cousin's punishment, an offer which was promptly declined. He didn't feel there was any need for her to be punished at all… she was already paying for her drunken foolishness in other ways.
A red-faced Sister Michael could have quite easily throttled the two that night once the sheep were safely back in the correct field. The damage to the attendees was one thing, it took five people to lift Big Mandy up out of her trampled state, but the damage to the school was another. Though they hadn't managed to get into the main hall, a few of the sheep breached one of the side entrances, running amok through that part of the school, including the Sister's office. A couple of them saw fit to leave droppings in her office too. An unsettling rage upon her face, she decreed the punishment to the two girls as if they were still students. And they still were, for she held power over them on that night. Michelle was too drunk to challenge her authority and the cack-attack queen Clare would never have been able to convince her parents she wasn't involved if she disputed the Sister's version of events. They would be spending every Saturday afternoon for the rest of the year cleaning the school, with no financial gain whatsoever. The following day when both were sober and calm, the realisation of their stupidity punched them square in the face. Then when their parents agreed with the enforced labour, their fate was sealed.
The first Saturday of cleaning went by without a major drama, surprising Sister Michael and relieving the two girls. Neither were particularly adept when it came to cleaning the school, though the job was done to a standard that just about satisfied the Sister. That was one of the main points of discussion that occurred on a quiet Monday morning at the factory. The girls had only done a small batch of shirts since arriving for the start of their shift at eight, leaving plenty of time for chatting.
"Come on Michelle, it wasn't that bad". Clare insisted.
"Not that bad? I was fuckin' shattered when I got home".
"Go above and beyond did ye Michelle?" Erin snorted.
Shaking her head at her blonde friend, the young Mallon looked up to the gangway above to see a couple of blokes stood talking. One of them was Meyler the supervisor, the other Eddie Walsh, the man Michelle still insisted was having an affair with Norah.
"Someone should tell Eddie that Norah has a day off".
"Ach, come off it Michelle…". Erin responded to her friend. "… no one believes ye".
"I do!" Orla quickly countered.
"See, Orla does. It's not exactly surprisin' is it?"
"I don't know Michelle… I'd say an extra-marital affair is surprisin'!" The ever-fretting Clare added her opinion on the matter.
"Can ye blame him? Ever since Lyla ran off to Germany or Switzerland… or wherever the fuck it was, he's not been gettin' any".
"They are still married". Erin pointed out.
"Aye they are, but she's off ridin' German fellas so he's ridin' nine fingers Norah. Honestly don't see why you's are surprised".
The talk of the city at the time, Lyla Walsh's sudden decision to run off to a foreign country was seen as strange to those who knew her better. She'd been married to Eddie for twelve years, with their two sons Robert and John being born in that time. They were excelling at school, ensconced in what was believed to be a peaceful, wholesome family life until their mother went away. Luckily for the children, Eddie's parents were supportive and continued to uphold their traditional family values whilst their son tried to cope with his wife abandoning him.
"Anyway, what were you two doin' Saturday?"
"I was at David's so I was, Mammy let me spend the weekend with him". Orla replied to Michelle.
"Not long now eh?" Michelle gave her a playful smack on the arm. "Mrs Donnelly".
The wedding was less than two weeks away. Orla's excitement grew by the day, as did David's, and they had their last full weekend together that weekend. David would be busy seeing to his own tasks during the next weekend, including his visit to the tailors with James, and Orla would be spending it with her mother mostly, who was just as buzzing as the rest of them.
"I can't wait!" Clare delightedly spoke up. "I still can't believe it's happening!".
"I know it's mental!" An unusually giddy Michelle added.
"Aye, I can't believe it either". Erin agreed with her friends. "Strange to think I… ye know, liked David… and now's he marryin' Orla".
There were hums of agreement from around the group, hums that gave Erin hope that they might move onto a different topic and not continue to probe what her Saturday consisted off. Unfortunately for her, the hums did not.
"What about you then Erin, what did ye get up to?"
Clare asked the question in a more than amicable tone.
But even considering the amicability, it was a question that Erin didn't want to answer truthfully…
Flashback 10th June 1939
With little to get up urgently for, Erin allowed herself a lazy morning in bed. She'd done that many chores around the house that week, even Mary deemed it enough for a reprieve on Saturday morning. The vegetable patch would have been her normal morning task, but her parents had insisted they would cover the job themselves. Quite how they would, with plenty of other jobs to do themselves, was a mystery, but a mystery that she didn't need to spend her time on. Despite the heat, the covers were comfortable to be under as the sun shone into her room through the net curtains that covered the window overlooking the garden. The window remained open throughout the night and through the small gap where the fresh air crept in, the sounds of digging filled the room. No doubt Gerry was out working on the vegetable patch in her place, sweating profusely out in the morning heat like she would have been.
"How are ye gettin' on James?"
JAMES!
JAMES!
WHAT!
"All's well so far Mary. Thank you for the lemonade, it is most refreshing".
JAMES!
"Ach that's fine love, yer doin' me a real favour, it's the least I can do".
Any hope of a lazy morning in bed was shattered once the Englishman opened his mouth. Before she even realised it, Erin was on her feet, charging towards the window. The curtain almost came off its rail, it was opened with such ferocity, the clattering ringing in her ears. Not that she cared about the noise though, when her eyes were set upon him.
James wasn't wearing a shirt…
JAMES WASN'T WEARING A SHIRT!
HOLY SHIT!
With her brain in a different world, her legs suddenly failed her, stumbling backwards and falling back onto her bed. If either of her parents or her sister walked in at that moment, her feelings for James would have been outed on the spot. Just seeing him without a shirt was enough to fell her like an old oak tree that had been set about by a seasoned lumberjack. Her head was immediately bombarded with images of his shirtless chest, the muscular frame that he hid so well, suddenly on show for all and sundry. His shoulders were incomprehensibly broad, gleaming in the sunlight in the same manner which the muscles of his stomach were when she cast her eyes towards that part of his body.
CHRIST!
For a second time, she'd not realised that she'd moved, this time hastily throwing on her clothes, rushing off to the mirror to put some makeup on to look presentable. She needed to look her best for James…
Two or three minutes later, Erin bounded down the stairs in a manner reminiscent of Napoleon, though without the tail, ignoring the confused stare that Anna shot her way. Her little sister was years away from understanding what the body of a shirtless James could do to a young woman. Mary and Gerry were both in the kitchen, and it was her father's brow raising that she noted first. Whilst his daughter put on her shoes, Gerry decided to find out what the urgency was for her sudden need to be downstairs with them.
"Morning love. I wasn't expectin' ye up yet…".
"It's a nice day isn't it?" She replied, back turned to him. "Ye never said James was coming over".
The snarky nature of her comment brought a smile to her father's face, Gerry sharing a look with his wife that confirmed what they were both thinking.
"Well, yer mother didn't want to overwork me, and James was keen… wasn't he love?"
"Aye that's right Gerry. Must be an English thing".
"You could have said something Mammy… I could have helped!" Erin protested, turning back to meet the eyes of her parents.
"I said ye could have a morning off Erin. Don't ye want to rest?"
"Well… I... I…". She stammered, teetering on the edge of spilling the truth. "… I can't rest… ye know… knowin' he's havin' to do my job".
Unwilling to give the wily old foxes that were her parents, any further chance to deduce her own keenness, she exited via the back door. Running up the garden, actually running up it, she called out to him, watching as his head raised up from where it had been focused on a patch on the ground.
"James!"
"Erin! My apologies, I was told you were sleeping". He smiled at the sight of her.
Her feet weren't stopping and before she knew it, she'd practically dived on James, forgetting that she was in the back garden, being watched by her parents and any of the neighbours who had little else to do. He caught her easily, giggling at her salmon-esque dive.
"What have I done to deserve this honour?" He asked, gingerly placing his hands on her back.
"Nothin!" She responded sharply, pulling herself off of him. "Nothing at all, just happy to see ye".
Her voice contained disappointment, but not from him questioning why she'd hugged him, instead pertaining from no longer being able to feel the bare skin of his back on her palms. It was so soft yet so well-toned, a beautiful texture that warmed every inch of her, initiating a rush of thoughts that were most unbecoming for a young lady.
"He doesn't realise, does he?"
Gerry asked the question of his wife, surveying the scene of their daughter's cannonballed jump into the English fella.
"She's our daughter… he'll work it out soon enough…".
"Erin…".
"Erin…".
She was caught daydreaming about James' exposed top half in the golden sunshine, cheeks turning to a blinding pink colour.
"Wh… Yeah… I erm… well James was helping me with the… with the vegetable patch".
"James? What the… what was he doin' at yer's again?" An angered Michelle enquired.
"Mammy thinks he's useful".
"Useful? Christ, I thought Mary was a good judge of character like, but if she thinks James is useful… then fucking hell have I got yer ma wrong!"
Resisting the urge to slap Michelle for being rude about him, Erin started work upon on her machine again after shaking her head. Her decision to continue working, despite only having about an hour's worth of machining to do, appeared to spear them on all. It was a good job too.
One more comment against James and a very different Erin Quinn would have faced her friend.
James' day wasn't going very well.
At all.
The moment he'd got in that morning, just about everything seemed to go wrong. He knocked his tea all over one of the ledgers to start with, only a bit of quick thinking on his part keeping them from being completely ruined. Then an irate elderly gentleman kept him preoccupied for over an hour, convinced that the bank had an agenda against him, ripping him off with interest rates. To make matters worse, the moment he'd finished sorting out the man's complaints, he was called into a meeting with the bank manager. Mr Feeney wanted him to go out to see Professor Joyce at the mansion that afternoon to discuss a query that the Professor had. Which would mean another afternoon of trying to fend off the categorically unwanted advances of his daughter.
"Oi English, chin up!"
One of the McLaughlin's brothers, Ian, shouted over to him as James attempted to enjoy a moment's tranquillity after the busy morning.
"I'll try". He called over in response.
Just then, Ian's brother Tommy returned indoors, having collected their post. There was a large sack of it that lunchtime, with the brothers setting to work sorting the post out whilst the bank was quiet. It was empty in fact, bar a gentleman who was in with Mr Feeney himself. As it was his lunchtime, James got up from his seat behind the counter to return to his office where his sandwiches awaited him.
"James, there's a letter here for ye". Tommy said to him as he walked by.
"For me?"
A letter being directly addressed to him was a new experience. Most the letters that they received were either addressed to the Ulster Bank or to Mr Feeney; it was a surprise to find one for him.
"Yer name's James Maguire isn't it, ye boneheaded Englishman".
"Alright easy Tommy, ye don't want Feeney hearin' that".
"Aye that's true".
The letter was handed to him, revealing some writing that indicated that it had already travelled some distance to get to him. An abbreviation on the back of the letter suggested that the letter originated from Switzerland, which unravelled its odd arrival.
Mum.
Upon realising, he retreated to the sanctuary of the office. Lunch would have to wait, even though his stomach yearned for it, his head blocking out every thought other than the thought of her. He'd been patient in waiting so long for the letter to come and it hadn't been an easy wait by any means. There were some nights he would wake up worrying about her. Not knowing that she was safe frightened him to an extent that it had never done before. He was used to her spending time out of the house in London, sometimes for over a week, but Kathy being in a different country altogether had proven to be an exceptionally difficult emotional situation for him to manage.
With a deep breath, he opened the letter…
To my big handsome boy James,
I cannot comprehend how sorry that I am for leaving you this long without even a short note to confirm my safety. It has not been easy to find the time to write to you since I have moved here, but I have finally found my moment.
I suppose I should explain where here is first.
I am working for a very wealthy Swiss nobleman at his estate on the outskirts of Martigny, in Switzerland. I cannot go into the details of my work, but you can be assured that I am enjoying it just as I enjoyed my work in London. The fresh air in the countryside is a far cry from the dirty conditions of the city. My lungs feel far more free with this change of air. The people are all very friendly and have been ever so kind to me as I've settled down.
There are drawbacks to living here too though. There is little to do outside of working or walking in the fields on the estate. Despite the friendliness of the people, I find I have little in common with any of them, which has made making solid friendships particularly difficult. I am also told that the snow can be quite unpleasant in the depths of winter. Alas, winter is months away, so I shall enjoy the summer sun whilst it lasts!
You are always on my mind. I long for the day that we can spend time with each other once more, though I confess to not knowing when that day will be. I hope that life is not too difficult in Derry, and I trust you are helping your Aunt Deirdre with anything she wishes. Perhaps you have made some friends too?
I would love to hear all about it from you, but regret I cannot divulge the address of the estate, for the Lord does not wish for me to receive letters. However, I shall endeavour to write to you when I next come upon a chance to do so.
I miss you terribly.
With loving regards
Your mother Kathy.
Breathing out, James couldn't stop the few tears that crept out from the corners of his eyes. He hadn't quite realised that the depths of missing his mother would be as vast as they were, stabbing during every beat of his heart. She was safe at least, even if her new job appeared to carry stipulations that seemed bizarre to him.
Without knocking, Tommy opened the door, oddly not in the usual manner of barging in rudely that James was accustomed to from him. There was a gentler air about him this time.
"Are ye alright James?" He asked softly.
"Y-Y…". James sniffled. "Yes. Just… it was just a letter from my mother, that's all".
"Is she well?"
His colleague adjusted his feet awkwardly as he spoke. The brothers were both aware of the circumstances of Kathy's departure to the continent and knew better than James did when it came to how much it would affect him. They'd lost their mother years earlier, after she'd been declared insane and sent to an asylum, where she passed after only a few months. Being away from her almost killed the two of them up until her eventual demise.
"Alive and safe. That is all I can ask for".
"Aye. Ye know if ye ever want to talk about it… me and Ian, well… we might tease ye but yer not too bad for an Englishman, so just ask like".
James could at least laugh the tears away at Tommy's kindness. He would accept the description as one of the most favourable comments he'd received in his life. Earning the respect of his close colleagues was another triumph to add to his list, a list that still had space for Michelle's name to be added to it.
"There's a slice of cake for ye if ye want it?" Tommy informed him.
"Thanks Tommy". He smiled sincerely, placing the letter down on his desk.
"Come on".
The two walked out of his office a couple of seconds later laughing and joking as if they'd been friends for years. The slice of cake went down well ahead of his drive out to the Joyce mansion, where he spent a couple of hours discussing the Professor's accounts. His prior stress over Jenny's continued advances on him turned out to be unwarranted, finding her to be out in the fields with her mother, only talking to her just as he was leaving.
His destination was his Aunt's house, like it normally was. Though this time he was armed with the letter, in a pressing need to talk to his Aunt.
Because he really was worried about his mother.
Sat in her living room, Deirdre digested the letter her sister had penned to James. Like the Englishman, she too had her concerns over the lack of correspondence from Kathy, and in the exact same fashion, her thoughts after reading it did little to change those concerns. Kathy might well have been alive, safely living with a job to support her, but the setup of the role screamed odd and quite unsettling.
She could send letters…
But couldn't receive them…
People were friendly…
Yet she struggled to make any true friends…
She was settled…
Though without much to do…
It was mightily strange to say the least.
"I'm worried for her Aunt Deirdre". James admitted. "I… I don't like this… 'wealthy Lord'… with his fancy country estate".
"Too right James. Yer ma has never been afraid to be different but this… even for her this is too much".
She handed the letter to Martin, who scanned down it himself. James watched his uncle's brows furrow a few times whilst he read through it. A man never too shy to share his opinions on certain matters, Martin soon made his thoughts perfectly clear.
"What a load of shite!". He grumbled.
"Martin!" Deirdre reprimanded him for his language.
"What? Come on love, ye don't seriously believe any of that do ye?"
It was the reaction that the Englishman was expecting. Deep down, he'd contemplated whether it was all a total fabrication and if it was his mother who'd even written it at all. It did look like her handwriting, but it was hardly a distinctive style, leaving him unconvinced that it truly did belong to Kathy.
Then again if it wasn't her… who wrote the letter?
He shuddered at the thought, shaking it out of his head, deeming it preposterous. Of course she'd wrote it… of course she had.
"I can't see who else would have, can you?" Deirdre quizzed her husband.
"Well…". Martin stopped, seemingly considering his answer for a few seconds. "… no, yer probably right love. Sorry James, I didn't mean to upset ye".
"An apology is unnecessary Martin. I have thought the same myself. I just wish I could write back to her instead of this… eternal wait for her to put pen to paper again".
Seeing his distress, Deirdre wrapped him into a hug. Martin joined them too in a rare display of affection and for a moment, James was at peace. He at least could count on their support. Michelle's shift not ending until eight o'clock was his saving grace, as in his mind, she would no doubt have gone off on a rant about the conduct of the Aunt she barely knew.
"Do you think she will come back?"
James' voice wavered asking the question to them both. He didn't want to think of a life where he never saw her again, but it wasn't out of the question at all.
"She will love. She's got you to come back for". Deirdre smiled, stroking his arm.
"Yes. Yes she does".
The words fell from his lips, but he didn't know if he believed them himself. The major female figure in his life and, in reality, the only major figure in his life, Kathy's love and care for him had made his time on Earth exceptional. To not have her there to see him succeeding in the rest of his life, to not have her there on his wedding day or the day a grandchild would be born… was harrowing.
She might have been in Martigny in person, but she would always be with him in his heart.
A heart that threatened to break.
He couldn't confide that in his Aunt. He loved her dearly, but she was not the right person to share such turmoil with. Martin wouldn't be the right person either. The person that James required was someone that he felt comfortable confiding in, who would just listen to him and not jump to any harsh judgements. That person had always been his mother in the past, but in Derry, he'd always assumed that role would never be fulfilled and he would have to do without.
But he had someone. There was one person he could talk to… wanted to talk to.
Erin Quinn.
It was Friday lunchtime.
Erin's favourite part of the week.
She'd become progressively quicker on the walk from the factory to the bank. Or what she insisted was a fast walk.
To the naked eye it was a run. Running to the bank to be able to squeeze out an extra few seconds with James. If she could cut the journey time down from five minutes to nearer four, then it was nearly a whole additional minute with him. Cracker!
Yet she knew immediately on getting to the bank that Friday, that something was different. Michelle had mentioned the letter from Kathy in conversation at work earlier in the week. On the day she had brought it up, Erin thought of how happy he must have been in hearing from his mother after a couple of months separated from her. But Michelle neglected to share all of the details. Something Erin was about to find out.
James' usually knee-weakening smile had given way to a more… haunted look. There were bags under his eyes that told her of the trouble he'd had sleeping that week, a truth he hadn't told anyone of. He did still try to force a smile upon seeing her, but it was strained to say the least.
"James… what's the matter?"
Not standing on ceremony, she made her enquiry into his wellbeing straight from the off. He sighed in return, another pained look flashing across his face.
"Can… can we talk outside?"
"Aye we can… but ye best sort this out first".
She handed the money over to him with a laugh, forcing a slight chuckle out of him. A chuckle was a start, and she was instantly happier on seeing his own joy, even if only for a fleeting second.
It took him a couple of minutes to sort out the money that was being paid in and when he'd finished, they headed straight for his car. No words passed between them, but she didn't force the conversation either, wanting him to tell her of his destress on his terms not hers. He opened the door for her, gentlemanly as ever despite his melancholic appearance, quickly sitting beside her in the drivers seat, but without starting the engine. Erin didn't know what a vulnerable James looked like, but if she had to guess, this would have been it.
"I…".
He could have punched himself in the face if he were not in the presence of Erin. His words simply would not form, trapped in the swirling winds of his throat.
"I… had a letter… from my mother".
"I know". She replied honestly.
"Michelle told you?"
"She did. She said you'd talked to her Ma about it but nothing else".
There was a pause for a few seconds. Once again, the usually able communicator became unstuck, unsure of how to broach the subject that was so dear to him. A look into Erin's warm irises fixed the issue. Her words were not required, for her eyes told him that she would listen to him all day long if that was what was to be needed. Mustering up some courage, he started to speak again.
"I… would you like to read it?"
Erin nodded, James retrieving the letter from inside the pocket of his suit jacket. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, Erin reading through the letter whilst James watched her expressions with a keen interest. She was just as, if not more, expressive than his Uncle Martin, but he found it far harder to place her expressions when it came to emotions. With Martin, it was quite simple, he gave his view on everything as he saw it. Erin was not like that. Emotionally unpredictable, a lesson David had drummed into him since the early days of his arrival, she could hide her true thoughts quite easily until pressed for them. Or alternatively, she could just spew the thoughts as they arrived in her head. Luckily for him, it was the first Erin that was sat with him in the car.
"What do you think?" He asked her once he'd noticed she'd finished.
"Well… I think ye have a Ma who loves ye…". She chirped. "… but her job seems a little…".
"Peculiar?" He interrupted.
"Yes. She hasn't really said much about this job has she? But ye did say ye've never been sure of what she does… I suppose this is no different".
"No I… I suppose you are right. I'm worrying unnecessarily aren't I?"
"Ye have every right to be worried James… I would be if it were my Ma too".
Putting her usually rampant thoughts to one side, Erin put her hand over his where they'd remained clasped together. Their friendship came first that lunchtime. James needed a friend to talk to, not a lover to kiss, and she was honoured to be the friend that he turned to in his hour of need. He met her eye for a moment, before the unexpected happened.
James burst out crying.
Instinctively she wrapped herself around him, allowing him to sob into her shoulder. The strain of his thoughts had finally cracked him. He remained with his head buried into her shoulder for a good five minutes, with the odd tear falling from Erin's eyes as she held him. Seeing him so deflated heightened her emotions, the damp feeling of his tears met the skin of her neck causing her own heart to break on his behalf. She'd dreamt many a time of finding herself in his arms, but not in the way she held him in the car as he cried. It was gutting.
"Sorry… look at me…". He quipped, pulling out of her embrace.
"Don't apologise James. Sometimes a good cry is what ye need. Nothin' to be embarrassed about". Erin softly explained to the sniffling Englishman.
"I should not, I…".
"James!" She was sterner with him. "Stop it. Even a gentleman is allowed to cry".
An underlying mockery, of the jesting kind, accompanied her words, which brought back the smile to his face. The James that Erin, and everyone else preferred to see, was restored, the bumbling mess of an Englishman from moments before vanishing into thin air.
"Once again I find myself in your debt". He grinned, returning to a calmer tone.
"Ye owe me nothin'". She replied. "I'd say I owe you for the dance actually".
Beaming back to her, the Englishman was confused at why she believed she would owe him for the dance. It had been a privilege for him to be able to take her to the event, to dance with her whilst Michelle and Clare created woolly hell in the school field. It was one of the best nights of his life.
"You do not. But perhaps we could come to an arrangement…".
"An arrangement? What tricks are ye playin' on me, Mister Banker?" She swatted his arm, giggling.
"I would not dare play a trick on a friend so dear to me". He placed his hands over his heart with an equally jokey tone. "It is a question actually".
"Do ask me Lord Maguire…".
Before speaking, he took her hand in his, sending her heart back into an infernal rhythm that had been lacking during their lunch break rendezvous.
"Would the beautiful Countess Quinn be my companion for the post wedding dance next week?"
Erin's cheeks were ablaze at his request, one which she'd hoped for. The dancing after the wedding would be another chance to be in such close proximity to him, jiving into the night after witnessing Orla and David's big day. And hopefully a kiss. The ultimate dream…
"She would have been offended not to be".
"I do believe I am the luckiest young gentleman in all of Europe".
Placing a chaste kiss to her knuckles, it was becoming increasingly harder for her not to break down her self-imposed barriers and snog the face off of him. Mary would no doubt admonish her for such a public display of affection, but Erin wouldn't have to worry about it. Holding her true feelings down with every last drop of effort, she smiled back at him and suggested that they go inside to eat their lunches, a suggestion accepted wholeheartedly by James.
Walking back to the factory with an additional spring in her typically confident step, Erin felt proud of herself in acting as such a good friend to James. An already prosperous friendship that she dared could be more.
But that was for another day.
Meanwhile, In Berlin…
The skies threw unending droplets over the beautiful streets of Berlin, where men and women returned to their families after long days at work. Cars trundled through the streets that the children would usually play on, watched vigilantly by their loving parents, but they were not out on a wet evening such as the one the city was experiencing. The city that was a paradise for those that were championed by the state that they worked themselves into the ground for. A hell for those who were considered enemies.
Those very streets were the same ones that brought Lyla Walsh into his life. The longest true relationship he'd had with a woman in years, Doctor Van Der Heijden thanked God for her presence. Ever since he'd first laid eyes upon her from his window, he did not doubt that she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Once Lieutenant Hartmann had tracked her down, she also proved to have a better personality than any of the women he'd been with previously. A delightful laugh to accompany her radiant smile, they first spoke in English when he'd introduced himself, but after a few weeks, were conversing in German. A friendship had developed between the two, which had resulted in a few kisses along the way, something which he was pleased about.
Inviting her for dinner at his offices that evening was his intention of taking the friendship to the next stage, his bed ready for them in the adjoining room. Lieutenant Hartmann had worked for hours to be able to set the scene for his friend and father figure, preparing everything from the seating to the lighting. He'd been dispatched to escort the ravishing Lyla from her home, allowing the Doctor some time to himself. Finding an old photo on the mantelpiece rekindled memories of his days spent in London years before, where he'd lived for a couple of years whilst studying. The picture was of his class on a summer's day, all thirteen young men on the cusp of a prosperous future. A note underneath reminded him of those he'd studied with when he read their names.
Bentley, Harris, Wood, Van Der Heijden, Leroux, Davies, Stephenson, Molinari, Christofferson, Smith, Joyce, Etxeberria, Thompson.
He'd not seen any of them in years, though was aware of the achievements of many. Unlike his scientific peers in the Fatherland, those he'd studied with in England were supportive and among the best men he'd ever met. Men of science but of sensibility too.
Van Der Heijden's reminiscing came to an abrupt end, the door being knocked. Knowing it would be the returning Hartmann with Lyla in his care, he beckoned them in. Lyla was the beacon of perfection that night, a loosely fitting dress covering her slender figure, a face maintained expertly with the finest makeup. He placed kisses to both her cheeks when they came together, as Hartmann moved around them to head to the kitchen.
"Es freut mich, dich zu sehen." She spoke first.
("It is good to see you")
"Gleichfalls, meine liebe Lyla."
("It is good to see you too, my dear Lyla".)
He showed her to the table in front of the fire in his office, holding a chair out for her to sit on. Her eyes remained locked with his at all times, neither seemingly able to stop the gazing stares that lingered between them. Fine cutlery adorned the two places that had been set, along with glasses and a bottle of wine that he'd imported in from France for special occasions such as the one that night. Uncorking the bottle, Kurt poured glasses for them both before taking his seat opposite her. Conversation continued on how she'd been keeping that week, without each other since the two had met for lunch that Monday, his only free time during a hectic week of research and experimentation.
Hartmann returned a few minutes later with their meal for the evening, which he presented in the fashion of a waiter rather than of a soldier. Another one of Kurt's lessons paying off.
"Du has uns ein schönes Essen vorbereitet, Kurt. Fisch?"
("You have prepared a beautiful meal for us Kurt. Fish?")
"Forelle. Leutnant Hartmann ist ein ausgezeichneter Fischer. Er hat die selber gefangen."
("Trout. Lieutenant Hartmann is an excellent fisherman, he caught it himself".)
"Danke dir, Herr Leutnant."
("Thank you Lieutenant".)
"Gern geschehen, Frau Walsh."
("It is my pleasure, Miss Walsh")
Lieutenant Hartmann retreated to the kitchen to eat his own meal, leaving the Doctor and Lyla to enjoy theirs. She looked heavenly to him, even with a mouthful of a trout churning away, her cheekbones showing strength and divinity. He hadn't met any Irish women in his years, but if they were all as pretty as she was, then he would strongly consider moving to the Emerald Isle. Laughter was a given during their conversations, with Lyla inciting most of it through her many jokes and japes. She ranted of her difficulties in adjusting to the life of a single lady in Berlin, complaining about the many men who would set eyes on her, to find their affection was unwanted. Her anger at them both amused and satisfied Kurt. On one hand he found her annoyance with other men to be humour of the highest order and on the other, he was pleased not to be considered one of those men. He liked that… he liked that a lot.
After half an hour or so, Hartmann returned to the room to remove their empty plates from the table. The offer of dessert was waved away, with the pair of them both full after the delicious meal that the Lieutenant of seemingly multifarious talents had cooked so expertly for them.
"Wie war dein Essen, Frau Walsh?" The young man enquired with her.
("How was your meal, Miss Walsh?")
"Wunderbar, danke dir, Herr Leutnant. Du bist genauso gut als Koch wie als Fischer."
("Amazing thank you Lieutenant. You are as good a cook as you are a fisherman".)
"Du schmeichelst mich."
("You flatter me".)
The young Lieutenant enjoyed the praise that was lavished upon him by the Irish woman. Not often seeing too much of the women that Kurt would hold relations with, he held an instant respect for Lyla, who in turn respected him. He admired her vigorous approach to the new start she'd had in Berlin, a life they had talked about on their short trip between her home and the Doctor's offices. Topping up their drinks, Hartmann stood to attention upon completing the action, awaiting any further instructions from his mentor.
"Schönen Abend noch, Hans. Ich glaube, ich kann mich um den Rest kümmern."
("Go and enjoy your evening Hans, I think I can handle the rest".)
"Danke, mein Herr. Schönen Abend noch wünsche ich dir und Frau Walsh."
("Thank you Sir. Good evening to you and to you Miss Walsh")
Gathering his belongings, Hartmann vacated the offices a couple of minutes later with a final goodbye for the night. The young man would no doubt be off to read one of his many books, a pastime encouraged by Kurt for the purposes of knowledge. Even books that their leaders would consider to be criminal, for they were the ones that were often worth reading in the Doctor's eyes.
Kurt and Lyla remained at the table whilst the trout dinner settled in their stomachs, sipping away at the exquisite wine. He only rose to stoke the fire that the young Officer started in the background as they were tucking into their meal. Despite the warmth of the summer's day, Kurt knew all too well how cold his office could get in the evenings and Hartmann was aware of it too, guiding him to start it without the need to ask.
"Erzähl mir mal über deine Familie, Lyla. Warst du schon mal verheiratet...hast du Kinder?"
("Tell me about your family, Lyla. Have you been married… do you have children?")
She did not give an answer immediately. Looking away from him and to the side, her emotion did not pass unchecked. Almost as soon as her head was away from him, a handkerchief was in his hand ready for her. Accepting it, she dried her eyes tentatively. He waited for her to be ready with her story, unwilling to probe a subject that clearly upset the beautiful woman rather dearly.
"Mein Mann ist vor sieben Jahren plötzlich gestorben. Er hat mir einen Sohn hinterlassen aber...er ist auch kurz danach gestorben."
("My husband died suddenly seven years ago. He left me with a son, but… he died as well shortly after".)
"Es tut mir leid."
("I am sorry".)
"Bitte entschuldige dich nicht, Kurt. So ist das Leben halt manchmal."
("Do not apologise Kurt. That is the way of life sometimes")
"Wie hießen dein Mann und dein Sohn?"
("What were their names?")
"Mein Mann, Robert, mein Sohn, John."
("My husband was Robert and my son John")
"Ich bin sicher, dass die beiden stolz auf dich wären. Du bist eine mutige Frau, Irland zu verlassen um ein neues Leben hier in Berlin zu suchen."
("I am certain that they would be proud of you. You are a brave woman, leaving Ireland to seek a new life here in Berlin".)
There was another pause as she began to cry again, the handkerchief soon back in her grasp to ensure that the tears wouldn't remain at the corners of her eyes for too long. The memory of the life she'd left stung back at her bluntly in the freedom of open discussion.
"Danke dir, Kurt. Ich weiss ja, dass sie stolz auf mich wären."
("Thank you, Kurt. I know they would be proud of me… I just wish they were here with me".)
An exchange of merrier smiles occurred between the two, with Lyla finishing her second glass of wine during a brief lull in the conversation. The lull came about because of Kurt's willingness to simply stare at her breath-taking beauty and how it invaded his conscience. She was different to the long list of other women he'd loved and cared for during his time. There was a tenderness to Lyla that those women did not possess, their value being judged in their sexual capabilities more often than not, rather than their personalities, which were mostly bland away. Lyla Walsh was a league apart.
"Und du, Kurt? Hast du eine Familie?"
("What about you Kurt? Do you have family?")
The torch of uncomfortable feelings of a previous life, passed over to Doctor Van Der Heijden. He never usually spoke of his family and few ever thought to ask. Hartmann knew the ins and outs being the only other person ever to do so, but from that day forward, he knew not to talk to Kurt about family. But in Lyla, he found a soul that was easy to talk to and eager to listen.
"Ich habe einen Bruder in den Niederlanden. Er hat seine eigene Familie aber ich habe schon mehreren Jaren nicht mit ihm gesprochen. Sonst habe ich nur Herrn Hartmann."
("I have a brother in the Netherlands. He has a family of his own, but I have not spoken to him for some years now. Other than that, I just have Hartmann".)
"Du bist mit ihm eng befreundet?". She enquired over the relationship between him and the Lieutenant.
("You are close with him?")
"Hans...er ist mir...ein Freund...ein Bruder..und ein Sohn. Es sind viele jünge Männer die Rat, Steuerung brauchen und er ist zu mir zu einem Zeitpunkt gekommen, als ihm noch nicht klar war, dass er diese Sachen gebraucht hat. Aber jetzt befindet er sich auf dem richtigen Weg.
("Hans… He is… a friend… a brother… and a son to me. There are many young men who need guidance, and he came to me at a time when he did not realise that he needed it. But now he is on the right path".)
"Welcher Weg wäre das denn?"
("What path would that be?")
"Na ja, meine liebe Lyla, das wäre der Weg, dem alle guten deutschen Männer folgen sollten."
("Well my dear Lyla, that would be the path that all good German men should walk along".)
Easy laughter distilled the precariously tense air that the topic of Kurt's family had created in the room. One of the things he enjoyed the most about Lyla was her wish to understand him not as a medical professional or as a lover, but as a real man. She'd dug far further under the surface than any other woman had in the couple of months that they'd known each other, whilst always keeping her questions utterly respectful.
"Du bist so dichterisch, Kurt. Obwohl ich überrascht bin, dass der Führer einen Holländer so hoch schätzt..."
("You are so poetic Kurt. Although, I am surprised that the Führer thinks so highly of a Dutchman…".)
"Der Führer hat guten Meschenverstand, oder? Wir teilen mehrere Vorstellungen davon, wie wir die Welt sehen möchten. Es ist meine Ehre, mit ihm die umzusetzen."
("The Führer has good taste, no? We share many ideals for how we wish to see the world. It is my honour to achieve them with him".)
"Vorstellungen?"
("Ideals?")
"Erzählungen für einen anderen Tag, meine liebe Frau...Na, möchtest du noch ein Glas Wein?"
("Stories for another time my dear… now, would you like another glass of wine?")
"Ja gerne. Danke dir."
("Yes. Thank you")
Lyla removed herself from her chair at the table, meandering her way to the closed window, the very window Kurt had first spotted her through. He watched her from the kitchen, studying her relaxed form that scanned the Berlin night with interest. With Hartmann dismissed and Kurt beginning to feel cosy, he began to make himself ready for his move on her. Clearly enjoying his company that evening, he held few doubts that he would be rebuffed by her and that they would have sex that night, just as he wished.
Walking back over to her with a fresh glass of fine wine in each hand, he was ready for the first step of his plan to get her into his bed.
"Der Regen hat noch nicht aufgehört. Es wäre eine solche Schade, dieses Kleid nass werden zu lassen."
("The rain has not stopped. It would be such a shame for this dress to get wet".)
The enticing manner in how she spoke to him altered the plans, with Lyla confirming how she wished to spend the rest of the evening in as many words.
"Es gibt des Flurs entlang ein Gästezimmer?" He teased.
("There is a spare room along the hall for guests?")
Taking the glasses out of his grasp, Lyla placed them on the windowsill next to her. Kurt joyfully played along, stood motionless, allowing her to dictate their next move. He would not rush anything with her, intending to savour every moment.
Her hands were on his shoulders, and she leant in, bringing the tips of their noses together.
"Das...wird nicht notwendig sein."
("That… will not be necessary".)
The next few seconds with her were a blur to him when he replayed them upon waking the following morning, but he remembered they were kissing passionately after the breathy words rang in his ears. Soon they were moving back towards his bedroom, where her hands began to roam beneath his shirt, while his hands gradually began to make a passage under the fabric of her dress. There was no looking back from there and as the first light of the new day peered in through the closed curtains of his bedroom, Kurt pulled her nude body closer to him and settled back to sleep again.
His research was productive.
His friendship with the Führer never better.
And now a perfect love life too.
Everything was looking rosy for Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden.