Hidden In Plain Sight.
Chapter Two.
At three-thirty in the afternoon of Alex's first day at school, Harry and Dempsey waited patiently at the gates for her to emerge from the building.
She soon came into view, flanked by three children of similar height, two girls and one boy, each of them clearly eager to capture her exclusive attention.
"Typical!" chuckled Harry. "She's got three little friends fighting over her already."
"And you're surprised?" remarked Dempsey, grinning from ear to ear. "Told ya she'd be fine. She's like a beautiful little magnet, jus' like her Mom."
Harry nudged him, blushing slightly. Although always wary of compliments and usually dismissing them as brown nosing her, she could never help her heart swelling a little when Dempsey paid her one.
"Hello Mummy, hi Daddy." said Alex, clearly mirroring Harry's very proper English greeting and her father's laid back American way, as she held out her arms for Dempsey to lift her up, kissing him quickly, before leaning across to do the same to her mother.
"Hello darling." replied Harry, kissing her back. "Aren't you going to introduce us to your friends?"
"That's Hilda." said Alex, looking down at the little girl at Dempsey's side, with white blonde hair and blue eyes before pointing across to the other two. "And that's Melissa and her brother Julian. They're twins."
"Hello." said Harry, to all three, noting the two siblings were clearly not identical, seeing as Melissa was a red head and her brother, auburn haired. "And how old are you all?"
"I'm four and a half." piped up Hilda.
"And we're nearly five." said Julian, getting in before his sister could.
"Have you all enjoyed yourselves at school today?" asked Harry.
"Yes thank you." they answered in unison.
At that moment, Hilda's mother walked up to them, closely followed by a man, to whom Melissa ran with open arms, only to be scooped up by him and hugged, while he, at the same time, reached out his hand for Julian to grip.
While the four adults introduced themselves, none of them noticed the twitching of a set of blinds on the first floor of the school building and a pair of eyes scrutinizing the children.
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In the Spring of 1945, Kurt Scheel had realized the war was effectively lost and, having murdered a civilian and swapped his Gestapo uniform and papers with the dead man, carefully dressing his victim in his much feared black garb, he managed to hide undetected for a while, before escaping south to Marseille.
There, in November, he successfully stowed away on a ship bound for South America, arriving at the Port of Santos in Sao Paulo, Brazil after a nine week journey. It had been perilous, especially at night, when he'd leave his hiding place and creep into the deserted kitchens to grab whatever he could to eat, usually scraps and the remnants of left-over meals.
It kept him alive.
He had been remarkably lucky to have got to Sao Paulo without being discovered and his luck continued to hold out, when, one night, while sleeping rough in a back street, he met, by sheer chance, what turned out to be another fleeing Nazi war criminal, Heidrich Kimmel, now masquerading as Francois Bouvier, who'd almost tripped over him.
Kimmel took him under his wing and introduced him into the pro-Nazi organization set up to help escaping German officers. Kurt changed his name to Christopher Steele, was given money and new identity papers and although fluent in French, spent six months perfecting English, complete with a flawless accent.
One hot, sultry night in the summer of 1947, while drinking in a bar, he started a conversation with Madeleine, a pretty fair haired girl, with soft, hazel eyes and a figure that sent his heart racing and libido on fire. She was twenty-one, French and an exotic dancer, being part of a troupe touring South America. It wasn't long before they were in a passionate relationship, it not mattering to her that he was eight years her senior.
By the end of that year they were married and on their way, by boat, legitimately as far as the authorities were concerned, to London, England to start a new life.
He remained ignorant of the fact that she was a Jewess, who'd witnessed, while hidden, her parents being beaten and dragged away by two brutal Nazi's, before eventually being gassed to death at the Treblinka extermination camp in occupied Poland.
She never said anything, the resultant trauma of finally learning of their fate causing her to mentally bury that episode in her life for ever. It was just as well. Kurt never divulged to her that he'd been an SS Gestapo officer - as far as she was concerned, he saw the war out as a Sergeant in the regular German army.
Despite many years of trying for a child, she eventually fell pregnant in early 1958, aged thirty-two and gave birth to a healthy son, Arthur.
By now his father was becoming a wealthy man, having tapped into the burgeoning property development market in 1948 and Arthur, upon emerging from Lancaster University in 1979, aged twenty-one with a first class Honours Degree in economics and business management, joined him in the business.
His coming of age present was a three bedroomed semi-detached house in Shoreditch, London and he made good use of it as a batchelor until, in 1982, he met and fell in love with Georgina. Marrying her in 1983, he became father to Hilda ( Kurt's mother's name) four years later on August 21st, 1987.
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At the Richmond Collegiate Junior School, the woman snapped back into place the slat in the blinds she'd been peering through and walked out of the room, deep in thought. Gathering together some books and files from her desk, she strolled slowly out to the fast emptying car park and got into her car.
She hadn't been travelling five minutes before her carphone shrilled. Lifting it from its cradle attached to the car's central console, she answered.
"Hello?"
"Hello Terry, it's Number Seven Sugar here, darling." said a sultry female voice. "I'm naked and lying on my bed. Will you be long?"
"Mmmm." sighed the woman. "No, be with you in ten."
"Hurry!" came the reply, the line going dead immediately afterwards.
The woman cleared her mind of her recent thoughts, replaced the phone then pulled off the wig keeping her short, black hairstyle in place and accelerated.
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After Alex had watched an hour of children's television, Harry helped her undress and change into her pyjamas, dressing gown and 'bunny' slippers, before making her tea and settling her down to eat it.
She then began preparing her and Dempsey's evening meal, while he opened a bottle of chilled Chardonay for them to enjoy immediately, followed by a bottle of Chateau Neuf du Pape to breathe, then drink with their meal later.
"Are Hilda, Melissa and Julian all in your class, Scrumpy?" she asked, as she retrieved two succulent fillet steaks from the fridge, took Alex's empty plate from in front of her and replaced it with a bowl of strawberry ice cream. Alex wasted no time in tucking into her favourite.
"Uh-huh." came the mumbled reply with a mouth clearly already packed with pudding.
"Wait until you've finished eating before speaking please Alexandra!" chastised Harry, always referring to her daughter's full christian name when annoyed with her. "It's rude to talk with your mouth full. And don't put so much on your spoon either! What do you say, young lady?"
"Sooory." replied Alex. "But Mummy, I've heard Pop speak when he's eating."
"Pop!?" queried Harry, raising her eyebrows at her. "Don't you mean Daddy?"
"Julian says all the girls in America call their Daddies, Pop." argued Alex.
"Does he indeed. Well in this house..." Harry began, until Dempsey glanced at her and gently shook his head, smiling.
"I kinda like that, honey." he said, quietly. "She's boun' ta pick up on my way of sayin' things from time ta time. Let this one go, huh?"
"Dempsey!" exclaimed Harry. "One day she's going to be Lady Alexandra. I really don't think she should be referring her father as Pop!"
"Yeah, but it's no big deal now sugar." replied Dempsey. "An' it ain't like you ta be a snob."
"James I'm not being a snob!" replied Harry indignantly.
"Ain't ya?" he said, looking directly at her, his eyebrows now raised too.
Harry had always been proud of her roots, but scornful of those in similar families who played the posh toff, snooty game, constantly looking down their noses at anyone who wasn't tilted gentry - or monied. Was she being an hypocrite now?
"Alright, maybe I am being a bit hyper-sensitive. But I will always be Mummy, not Mom!" she said, adding mischievously with a twinkle in her blue eyes. "Anyway, how can you say I'm a snob? I married you, didn't I?"
"You'll pay for that!" grinned Dempsey, totally unfazed by her remark, knowing it was meant in jest and not spite.
"Ooh, I hope so, darling." she giggled, her look clear as to her meaning. "Early night?"
"Are you sleepy too, Mummy?" asked Alex, innocently, as she finished her bowl of ice cream.
"Yes darling." she replied. "And bedtime for you in ten minutes."
"Can Pop read me a story?" she asked, looking at Dempsey.
"Can you?" asked Harry, smiling at him, that twinkle still in her eye. "Pop!?"
"Yeah, 'course." grinned Dempsey, scooping Alex into his arms, before throwing her onto his shoulders as she squealed and giggled in delight. "Wanna go now?"
"Dempsey for goodness sake! She's just eaten a big meal. She'll be sick all over you if you swing her about like that!"
He quickly put her down.
"Go sit on the sofa, princess an' read ya book. No more TV tonight." he said. "Then I'm comin' ta get ya!"
Alex squealed again and dived onto the sofa, still giggling at her father. He went up to Harry and slipped his arms around her waist from behind, nuzzling and kissing her neck.
"Sorry tiger, wasn't thinkin'." he said.
"No you weren't." she said, the touch of his lips sending shivers through her. "Big dope! But I wouldn't have you any other way."
"An' I'll have you any which way ya want." he whispered, his hands beginning to wander over her stomach and up to her breasts.
She caught them and turned round to face him, kissing his lips before whispering back. "Stop! I'm turned on like mad as it is! Save it for later." Then, glancing over his shoulder, she cleared her throat. "Ahem. We have an audience."
"Pop's kissing Mummy, Pop's kissing Mummy." sang Alex, clearly getting into the swing of it. "Pop's kis..."
"Enough already!" commanded Dempsey, trying to maintain an angry stare but seriously hampered by the comical look on Alex's face, frozen in mid chant, her eyes wide in surprise and her mouth still half open.
Harry bit her lip and stifled a giggle, while Dempsey swallowed a laugh.
"Okay lady!" he said. "I'm comin' for ya!"
Alex immediately threw her arms into the air so he could lift her and snuggled into him as he carried her through to her bedroom.
Minutes later she was fast asleep, her busy day having taken its toll, a little hand clutching her favourite toy, a pink hippo she'd named Billy. Dempsey stood by her bedside for a moment, feeling utterly blessed, then joined Harry as she laid their steaming dinner plates on the dining table.
"I hope you're going to carry me off to bed soon as well." she said, her blue eyes sparkling as she watched him pour them both a glass of their favourite red wine.
"You bet honey." grinned Dempsey. "Jus' so long as you don' crash out on me like the other lady in my life's jus' done."
Harry giggled. "Worn out was she."
"Like switchin' off a light." chuckled Dempsey.
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Over in the Steele household a similar routine was occuring, although any passion between Georgina and Arthur was mooted and relegated to the bedroom on average once, maybe twice, per week. They didn't make love to one another any more, just had sex.
In the beginning, her sexual needs were as demanding as any young woman in the first couple of years of marriage, but they had waned after a while and following her falling pregnant with Hilda, had all but disappeared.
The birth had been a difficult one, leading to a cesarean and this had affected her quite dramatically, any hint of sex with Arthur almost sending her into a flat spin in case she fell pregnant again. During the pain of labour and the resultant operation, she'd sworn she'd never have another baby for as long as she lived!
Coupled with a basic disliking for her father-in-law, many of his traits manifesting themselves in Arthur, in particular arrogance and a loathing of gay men, communists and wealthy Jews, this had turned her love for her husband into something she couldn't quite explain or understand.
She'd often confided to her closest friend how similar in attitude both her father-in-law and husband were to the Nazi's in World War Two.
But she adored her mother-in-law, Madeleine, who, at sixty-six years of age, was still a beautiful woman, hadn't a nasty bone in her body and who doted on her little granddaughter.
"Bed now Hilda." her father was saying.
"Can you read me a story, Papa?" asked Hilda.
"Your mother will." replied Arthur, coldly. "Now, away with you! And make sure you go straight to sleep. No turning on your lamp and playing with those dolls of yours after your mother has left. Do you understand?"
"Yes Papa." replied Hilda, the term she used for him one in which he'd insisted upon as soon as she could talk.
Georgina glanced at him, a scowl just under the surface and held out her hand to Hilda.
"Come along then, little one." she said, softly. "Let's get you all tucked up and comfy. Do you like your new friend Alexandra?"
"Yes, she's really nice Mama." replied Hilda, another term of endearment demanded by her father. "She likes to be called Alex and she's going to be my bestest friend."
"Hmmm, well maybe we'll have her over for tea soon, after school." said Georgina. "Would you and she like that?"
"I would yes. But I'll ask her tomorrow." replied Hilda. "Then I'll tell you."
"Good." said her mother, as they walked hand in hand through to her bedroom.
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At ten o'clock that night, the woman finally left her lover, one of many in her address book, both male and female, and made her way home.
She was feeling calm and fulfilled.
Having showered and dressed in a pair of men's pyjamas, she settled down to watch television, a glass of whisky by her side, but the thoughts of earlier suddenly flooded back like an unstoppable tide, waves of anger tumbling into her mind and memory.
Tears formed in her eyes, then began cascading down her face, her sobs gathering pace until she was physically shaking with a grief that had blighted her life for as long as she could remember.
She downed her glass of whisky in one gulp and, with a shaking hand, refilled it, emptying it in one go again and refilling it once more.
Gradually the liquor dulled her pain and, as her breathing returned to normal, her demeanour became one of anger again.
She snapped off the TV and, in the silence, laid her plans.