Irina sat with her arm resting around Teddy’s shoulders, endeavouring to comfort her whilst knowing there was no comfort to give. And the two women mourned for Ursula and Sigmund, and shared their overwhelming grief.
***
It took Teddy a long time to calm down, but eventually she was able to take control of herself and her swimming senses. She reached for the Schnaps, and after swallowing some of it she asked softly, in a subdued tone, ‘How did Renata von Tiegal die? Was it… the same way? Do you know?’
‘Renata was badly beaten. But she died from a burst appendix. It was neglected, she had no treatment, peritonitis set in and she was suddenly gone. This was a few months after Ursula had died.’
Teddy bit her lip, and looked away, at last managed to ask, ‘And what about Reinhard von Tiegal?’
‘We never found out what happened to him.’
‘Then he could still be alive,’ Teddy suggested, hope rising.
‘I doubt it. Renata told Maria Langen in Ravensbrück that the four of them had left Schloss Tiegal because they had been warned they were going to be arrested. Sigi and Ursula because they were Jews, Renata and Reinhard because they were sheltering Jews. And also, because the Gestapo apparently believed Reinhard was a member of one of the resistance groups, which he was, of course.’
‘And they didn’t make it to a safe place,’ Teddy stated quietly.
‘No, they didn’t. They only got as far as Potsdam, when they were arrested. Renata and Ursula were taken to Ravensbrück. They never found out where Reinhard and Sigi had been sent.’
‘But why weren’t any of their names on the lists with the various agencies I visited?’ Teddy wondered out loud, looking at Irina, frowning in bafflement.
‘I don’t know,’ Irina answered, and shook her head very slowly, helplessly lifted her shoulders. ‘We all know how zealous the Nazis were about making lists of those they arrested, lists of the numbers they had tattooed on the wrists of their victims. But in the same way, they were equally zealous in destroying their lists, once defeat was upon them, and when the Allies started liberating the camps.’ She repeated, ‘I just don’t know how to explain it, Teddy. Their names had to have been on the camp lists which were destroyed by the Nazis.’
‘Yes.’ Teddy looked at Irina alertly. ‘Your friend Maria Langen from the resistance group… is it possible… could I go and see her, talk to her? Perhaps she could tell me more…’
‘Unfortunately she died earlier this year. God knows how she survived as long as she did. Poor Maria had been so mistreated she never properly recovered.’
Teddy leaned against the sofa and said nothing.
Suddenly there was nothing to say.
She closed her eyes and fell down into her memories; she saw Ursula’s lovely face, heard her sweet and gentle voice, and a cry rose in her throat. She pushed it back and squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, holding back the tears. She could not bear to think of the horrifying way Ursula had died, so cruelly beaten and tortured beyond endurance. And she knew then that she would never be able to expunge the brutality of Ursula’s death from her mind. It would haunt her for as long as she lived.
THIRTY-SEVEN
‘You’ll be quite comfortable in here, Miss Stein,’ Mr Johnson of the Rossiter Merchant Bank said, showing her into the small private room. ‘And if you would kindly sign this card, I will bring your safety deposit box to you immediately.’
‘Thank you, Mr Johnson,’ Teddy said, and, sitting down at the table, she signed the authorisation card he put in front of her, and gave it back to him.
The bank official smiled pleasantly and went out.
Teddy sat back in the chair, waiting for him to return, staring at the painting on the wall opposite, but not really seeing it. The conversation she had just had with Henry Rossiter occupied her thoughts.
Mr Rossiter had been saddened to hear the dire news she had brought back from Berlin, but she realised now that he had not appeared to be unduly surprised to learn that the Westheims were dead. After offering her his condolences in a gentle and concerned way, he had told her that she was now Maxim’s guardian until he was twenty-one years old.
‘This was Mrs Westheim’s express wish,’ the head of the bank explained. ‘The letter which you brought to me from her, when you first arrived in England in 1939, confirmed a telephone conversation which she and I had about this matter, just a week prior to your arrival. I thought you would like to see that letter now.’ Henry Rossiter had passed it across the desk, she had perused it quickly, and had handed it back to him. ‘Is everything clear?’ he had asked, and she had nodded. After this, she had told him she wanted him to continue advising her about the investment of the Westheim funds, had thanked him for the guidance he had given her thus far. He had smiled in his kindly way, assured her that he would help her however he could, and had agreed to handle Maxim’s money.
Teddy’s thoughts were interrupted as the door of the private room flew open and Mr Johnson reappeared. He hurried in, carrying her safety deposit box, which he placed on the table. ‘There you are, Miss Stein. Take your time,’ he said, and disappeared before she had a chance to thank him properly.
This was the first time Teddy had gone into her safety deposit box since the day she had acquired it, over six years ago, when she had locked the contents inside. She sat staring at the box for a very long moment, before taking the key out of her handbag, opening it and lifting the lid.
Ursula Westheim’s jewels filled the box. The pieces were wrapped in the soft, velvet-lined jewellery rolls which Ursula herself had purchased in Paris in 1939, on one of the days they had gone shopping together. Teddy picked up one of the rolls, opened it, gazed down at the wide diamond bracelet which lay there glittering brilliantly in the light.
She touched the bracelet, remembering the last time she had seen Ursula wearing it in Berlin, and her throat tightened with emotion. The occasion had been a small dinner party at the mansion on the Tiergartenstrasse in 1937, and Ursula had never looked more beautiful. That night she had worn a burgundy velvet evening gown that had set off her fair skin, her pale blonde hair, her ethereal beauty. Teddy felt the tears rushing to the surface, but she blinked them away, clamped down on her grief for the dead woman.
Ever since Princess Irina Troubetzkoy had told her about Ursula’s death a week ago, she had lived with nightmares, had rarely been able to close her eyes without seeing images of Ursula, a bruised and battered Ursula, tortured and beaten to insensibility by her Nazi tormentors in Ravensbrück. Only in the last few days had she begun to realise that the only way she could cope was to remember Ursula the way she had been in all her loveliness, and hold this picture in her head. But frequently the other horrifying images insinuated themselves into her mind, and when she imagined the agony Ursula must have lived through she was in torment herself. She wondered if she would ever obliterate those images. I must, she thought, for Maxim’s sake, for my own sanity, and for Mark and our future life together.
After fastening the roll and laying it on one side on the table, Teddy removed all of the other jewellery until she came to the envelope which lay in the bottom of the safety deposit box.
Ursula Westheim had given this envelope to her in Paris on the day she had taken Maxim and herself to the boat train bound for England. Across the large brown envelope Ursula had printed in bold block letters:
PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL: TO BE OPENED IN THE EVENT OF THE DEATHS OF SIGMUND AND URSULA WESTHEIM.
And then underneath, in her flowing script, Ursula had written: Miss Theodora Stein.
Miss, Teddy repeated to herself, and thought, she was already making me English, even then. Swiftly she opened the brown envelope. Inside were two smaller, white envelopes; one had her name on the front, the other was addressed to Maxim.
Teddy opened her own letter, and saw that it was written on the stationery of the Plaza-Athenee Hotel.
Paris
10 March, 1939
My dear Te
ddy
If you are reading this letter then my husband and I are already dead. I return to Berlin knowing there is a great possibility that neither he nor I, nor any of the Westheim family, will survive the persecution of the Third Reich. And if we do not die at the hands of the Nazis, there is always the strong probability that we will be killed in the war between Germany and the Western Alliance, which we all know is now an inevitability.
I therefore feel that I must write to you about a matter of tremendous importance regarding my son, Maximilian. I know that what I am about to say is going to come as a great surprise, and it may even shock you, but I want someone to know the truth, in the event that I do not survive. And it can only be you. Before I go any further, I must tell you that the words which I am about to write are for your eyes only. No one else must ever know the contents of this letter, unless, of course, you wish to tell Maxim when he is old enough to understand everything. However, I leave that decision to you. You must use your discretion, and you may come to believe that it is better he never knows.
Perhaps it is wrong of me to burden you with this responsibility, but there is no one else I can entrust with this secret. And I do trust you implicitly, Teddy. I cannot advise you, I am afraid, for I have never really been sure what I myself would do, when Maxim was old enough to be told the truth. You are strong and clear thinking and sensible, and I am certain that the decision you make will be the right one for my son, whom I know you love very much, as I do.
To begin my story, I must go back in time, to 1931. It was then that…
Teddy’s eyes raced down the page, absorbing line after line which Ursula had written so carefully in Paris, six years ago. The letter continued for another page, and when she had finished reading it Teddy sat back in the chair. She was stunned, and her face was a picture of disbelief.
She fervently wished that Ursula Westheim had never written this letter to her.
***
Teddy left the Rossiter Merchant Bank and walked across Berkeley Square. It was a crisp, sunny winter’s day, and she hoped that the fresh air would help clear her head. The letter she had just read troubled her considerably, but she knew she must put it out of her mind for the time being. There was something much more pressing and important with which she had to deal. Maxim was coming home from school for the weekend, was probably already there now, and she must tell him about his parents. But she had no idea what she would say to him… she balked at the thought of it.
Near Marble Arch she hailed a cab and got in, and all the way back to Belsize Park Gardens she wrestled with her terrible problem. By the time she was alighting at Aunt Ketti’s house she was certain of only one thing… that no matter what else she said, she could never tell Maxim exactly how his mother had died. To burden a child with that awful knowledge would be unconscionable.
He must have been waiting for her, watching the street from his bedroom window, for as Teddy came into the house Maxim was already clattering down the stairs.
‘I’m here, Teddy!’ he cried, racing along the hall, flinging himself against her body, and hugging her. She hugged him back, and then looked up and saw Aunt Ketti standing in the doorway of the back parlour, observing them worriedly, her eyes anxious.
‘Let me take my coat off, darling,’ she said to Maxim, swung around, went swiftly to the coat cupboard.
Ketti said, ‘The train was on time for once, Teddy. Mrs Trenton was at the railway station to meet Stubby. She invited Maxim for lunch tomorrow. But Mark rang up just before I left to say he has a pass for the weekend. You’ll have to let Mrs Trenton know what you want to do about Saturday lunch.’
‘Yes, Aunt Ketti, I’ll ring her up later, and thank you for collecting Maxim from the station for me.’
Maxim said, ‘Gosh, if Mark is coming up for the weekend, I’d like to see him. I mean, I see old Stubby all the time, don’t I? And I have lunch with him every day at school.’
‘That’s true,’ Teddy said, walking over to Maxim. ‘Perhaps Stubby can join us. It would be nice to spend the day with Mark.’
She put her arm around his shoulder, and they continued down the hall together. Teddy paused at the door leading into the small den, and said, ‘Come in here for a moment, there’s something I want to talk to you about.’
‘Gosh, you do sound serious!’ he cried, frowning. ‘I hope it’s not anything to do with school. Old Mr Helliwell—’
‘It doesn’t have anything to do with school. You haven’t done anything wrong,’ she said, pushing open the door and going inside.
Teddy sat down on the sofa and patted the cushion next to her. ‘Sit here with me, Maxim.’
He did so, continuing to look at her with curiosity.
Teddy said, ‘I’ve been away for a couple of weeks. I’ve been to Berlin.’
His dark eyes widened. ‘And you didn’t tell me!’ he said swiftly, sounding hurt, even a little accusatory.
‘I went there to look for your parents, and I didn’t want to get your hopes up.’
‘Did you find them?’ he asked, sudden excitement flaring.
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘Didn’t you find anything out?’ he demanded, his eyes impaling hers.
She swallowed. ‘No, not really. At least, not very much.’
‘But what exactly?’
‘That they were with the von Tiegals at the Schloss in 1941, and then the four of them disappeared. Vanished.’
‘But we already knew that!’
‘That’s all I could find out.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Maxim said, his face settling in rigid, stubborn lines. ‘I know you, Teddy, I’ve known you all my life. And you’re far too clever not to have found out something else. I just know you did,’ he insisted.
‘I didn’t,’ she protested, shaking her head.
He was silent, staring at her.
Teddy could almost hear his mind working, and she held her breath. He was only eleven years old, but he was a boy of great brilliance and precocity, and therefore far too bright to be deceived. He would probe and probe. Her mouth went dry, and she wondered where she would find the words to tell him. Her eyes filled, and she blinked.
He noticed this immediately, and said, ‘Are they… are they… dead?’
‘I’m so sorry, darling, so very, very sorry,’ she murmured, her voice full of love, and she reached for his hand.
He took it, held onto it tightly, and said in a small voice, ‘How did Mutti and Papa die?’
Teddy could not speak.
‘In a bombing raid or… or… in the camps?’ he asked hesitantly, his voice growing even smaller.
Teddy was still incapable of saying anything, but the tears spilled over the rims of her eyes and trickled down her cheeks unchecked.
‘It was in the camps,’ he whispered, so softly now she could hardly hear him. ‘Mutti and Papa died in the camps, didn’t they?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which one?’
‘Your father in Buchenwald… your mother in Ravensbrück.’
‘How?’
‘That I don’t know. I really don’t know. I promise you, I don’t know how they died, Maxim,’ she said, her tone quietly vehement.
He sat looking at her speechlessly. His face was grey and his eyes had turned black with shock and anguish.
‘Oh Teddy… Teddy…’ he cried at last, and his face crumpled.
She reached for him as he reached for her, and she held him in her arms as he sobbed out his raw pain and grief for his mother and father. She rocked him to and fro, and tried to comfort him, to give him consolation. She whispered: ‘I will look after you always, and so will Mark. I know it’s not the same, but you will have us. You will be our boy.’
He did not respond, but she knew he had heard her, and that he had understood, even though he went on weeping as though his heart was breaking.
***
Later, when he was calmer, she made him sit up on the sofa. After she had wiped his wet fa
ce with her handkerchief, she reached into her jacket pocket.
‘The day we left Paris in 1939 your mother gave me a brown envelope, Maxim. Do you remember?’
He nodded.
‘This was in it,’ she explained, and handed him the smaller white envelope with his name written on the front in Ursula’s hand.
He took the letter from her and gazed at it. After a moment, he whispered, ‘I’d like to go to my room, Teddy. Do you mind?’
‘No, I understand,’ she said. ‘I understand everything.’ She leaned back against the sofa and watched him walk slowly across the floor, and her heart ached for him. He was still such a little boy in so many ways, and yet he was so brave.
***
Maxim sat in the chair facing the chest of drawers on which the photographs of his parents stood. He looked at them for a few minutes, before he opened the letter from his mother and began to read it.
Paris
10 March, 1939
My dearest Maxim
I go back to Berlin with the realisation that I may never see you again. Yet I return with a lighter heart than I have had for a long time, because I know you will soon be safe in England with Teddy. And there no harm will come to you. Your well-being and happiness have always been of paramount importance to Papa and me, and you must always remember this.
The only reason I go back to Berlin is to help Papa with your grandmother, and to bring her out of Germany to safety.
Papa and I waited for such a long time for you, and the day you were born was the happiest day of our lives. You are growing up to be such a fine boy, Maxim, and Papa and I are so very proud of you.
If we do not come to England, Teddy will look after you until you are grown up. Trust her judgement and wisdom, and love her always, as she loves you.
Whatever happens, know that Papa and I love you very much. You are the best part of us.
I hold you in my heart always, Mein Schatzi.
Your loving and devoted