A Reluctant Spy Read online

  One morning she rose early before her alarm clock struck 7 a.m. She parted the curtains and the sun pierced her eyes and lit the bedroom. From the movement of the trees outside, she detected the wind. She felt invigorated. The house needed a thorough clean. She had dreamed of a pristine house the night before, and now she would make that dream come true.

  She took a feather duster to the cobwebs festooning the high ceilings and then hung rugs out on the clothesline by the side of the house.

  She took her wicker cane beater to them, assaulting them with a fury she did not know she possessed. Puffs of dust drifted skyward, and colour reappeared in the pile through the haze. She was so absorbed in her task that she did not hear footsteps approach.

  ‘Post, Frau Richter.’

  She looked behind and stopped in her tracks.

  ‘I thought I heard some beating. Goodness me, I am glad you were not my class teacher. You have a strong right hand.’ Hans laughed loudly, competing with the rooks on a nearby rooftop.

  ‘You surprised me,’ she laughed.

  ‘I could see that.’ He sorted the letters, holding them in one hand and flicking the fingers of the other through them at a tremendous rate. Hans was in his late fifties. He had been Hilda’s regular postman over the last two decades and knew her well. He handed her letters over.

  ‘There’s one from abroad in this lot.’

  Her face lit up. ‘Thank you… yes… from home… excellent.’

  News from home was always welcome. Her parents’ letters following Willy’s death had been a source of great comfort. This letter would add to her growing satisfaction with this near perfect day. She wondered if they had received her last letter, written a month ago. Would there be fresh news from home? Would it be good or bad? She gave the rugs one final whack then looked upwards. A single spherical cloud made its way toward the sun. It would only interrupt the sun’s rays for a brief moment, on a superb day made even better by the letter in her hand. She left the rugs to recover while she prepared the rituals she performed only with her personal correspondence. Prolonging the opening of the letter heightened her excitement.

  The kettle whistled on the stove as she washed her hands thoroughly in warm water with carbolic soap. Then she cleared the kitchen table and brewed some hot black coffee before taking a sharp knife to open the letter from Scotland. Her eyes lingered on the Forres franked envelope. She lifted the envelope to her nose and detected two different types of glue. She had expected that.

  The letter itself was brief. It contained news that made her anxious from several different perspectives.

  She sipped her coffee and held the cup with both hands. The letter lay flat on the kitchen table before her tear-filled eyes. She read it twice then sat back to decide how to respond. What would suit her, her parents and Otto?

  Commercial Hotel

  Forres

  23rd June 1938

  Dear Hilda

  I trust you and Otto are keeping well. We are too, although age is creeping up on us both, especially your father. He is not too well. What worries us most is the developing situation in Germany; and as a widow, you will be feeling the pain of loneliness during this time. We would love to see you of course, and I hope it will be sooner than later. I am delighted to have learned that the Hamburg to Aberdeen ship still sails regularly once a week. I hope Karl and Renate will understand, and of course Otto too. I suspect he will not be able to spend time in Scotland again for some time. He must finish his schooling and then head for university.

  I seem to have left you with much to think about. However, this is a letter sent with love. Enough love to sink Hitler’s latest battleship!

  With our fondest love and affection,

  Mother and Father.

  Hilda cringed at her mother’s last line. She hammered the table twice in disgust. Criticism of the state provoked dire consequences. What was her mother thinking?

  Perhaps the censor only skimmed the letter, and might have read ‘more love, enough to launch Hitler’s latest battleship’. She hoped so. Her mind struggled to find any other interpretation. She feared a knock on the door was not out of question later in the day. She shook her head in despair at her mother’s casual and potentially dangerous comment.

  Her parents’ ageing was a constant concern. She had not visited them for eight years, and when she left them that time, as each time before, she wondered if she would ever see them again. Now it was more pressing, not just because of their age but also because of the tensions in Germany.

  There was one solution she could rely on in such times of anxiety; the contents of her black box. She had not opened it much since Willy had died, but now she retired to the sitting room, unclipped the lid and assembled the double reed into her oboe. Anton Bruckner’s Symphony No 5 in B flat major seemed appropriate for the occasion; she placed the music on the stand and sat on a hard ladder-backed chair to play the Adagio. While she played, she remembered Anton Bruckner was not German, but Austrian. She dedicated her music that day to all who might suffer because of the recent forcible acquisition of Bruckner’s land and people.

  She spent the rest of the day dusting and polishing while reflecting on her options. She left her mother’s letter on the dining room table for Otto to read when he returned home from school.

  A few minutes after four she sat down in the lounge and began to read a novel that she had started before Willy had died. She soon remembered what she had read and settled comfortably by the log fire, tired after a day’s hard work.

  At 4.25 on the dot, the key turned in the latch. The door closed with a click, and a bag thumped down on the hall floor. Otto was home.

  ‘Hello, darling. I’m through here,’ she said, marking her novel with her mother’s envelope and resting the book on her lap.

  Otto came into the lounge holding a glass of water. He raised it to his lips, drank it all in one gulp and burped loudly.

  ‘Otto,’ she said reprovingly.

  ‘Sorry, mother. I was thirsty.’

  ‘All the same, not what I’d expect you to do in public.’

  He replaced the glass on the side table, with a solid thud. ‘Of course not,’ he replied. Clearly, he felt the reprimand was unnecessary.

  Hilda said no more and waited for Otto to find the letter. He sat down, somewhat exhausted, having run home from school. The letter remained untouched.

  ‘Mother, I don’t think I could be a doctor just yet.’

  Her heart sank. Willy’s footsteps, now no longer considered? ‘Why ever not?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, the Hitler Youth takes most of my time up in the evenings, and its preparation with joining the army. I cannot see me studying medicine as well. By the way, I have just learned that when I turn eighteen, I could be sent to the 7th Hamburg Motorized Unit. That should be good.’

  The thought of her son in army uniform and dispatched to far-flung places gave her a shiver. To her, he was still a young boy, yet to the state, he was a young soldier.

  ‘Maybe so, Otto, but even the army needs doctors.’

  Otto looked uncomfortable. ‘True,’ he said bending down to remove his school shoes.

  ‘Give it some thought. Alternatively, you might like to be a dentist. The army needs them too, and your Uncle Karl can advise you on that profession, can’t he?’

  ‘Hm…maybe.’

  He had still not seen the letter and her impatience got the better of her. ‘There’s a letter from your grandparents on the table for you to read.’

  Otto rose and gathered the letter with an outstretched hand. He read it as he returned to sit by her.

  ‘You’re not going, are you?’ he said accusingly.

  ‘I probably will.’

  ‘What will I do?’ he said, his tone half-incredulous, half-angry.

  She gave him a moment to calm down. ‘Karl and Renate would be pleased to have you to stay with them while I’m away.’

  ‘So it’s all agreed? You have made your mind up. You have decid
ed to go to Scotland. For how long?’

  ‘I’m not sure, Otto. Your grandparents are ageing. I’m not sure if I’ll see them again if I don’t go soon.’

  She could see him adjusting his indignant outburst. He did have feelings for his grandparents and their home in Forres. This time his tone was less sullen. ‘So when are you going?’

  ‘Late September, I think.’

  ‘I’ll have three months left at school. That means Christmas with Karl and Renate.’

  ‘Yes, of course. That should be fun.’ She smiled at him, glad he had decided to behave like an adult after all. ‘You are very much my young man now. You remember your father left a sum of money which you will receive on your twenty-first birthday?’

  Otto looked thoughtful. ‘I may need it then. Once communism is defeated, I can start to study medicine.’

  Hilda smiled. His attitude might have irked her earlier, but he was a good boy at heart and she knew he would like to follow his father’s profession in due course. ‘Otto, you make me proud. Come here.’ She lifted her book and placed it on the fireside table. She opened her arms to him.

  They hugged for a moment, and his show of affection warmed her. Otto smiled at her, perhaps realizing his plans had met with her approval. His arms tightened around her and he whispered quietly, ‘Give my love to Grandmother and Grandfather. I miss them.’

  She patted his back. ‘Of course I will, Otto. Of course I will.’ Nevertheless, a tear was visible in her eye and a lump formed in Otto’s throat.

  Chapter 3

  The Gestapo demands

  The doorbell rang one Saturday afternoon. Hilda was ironing one of Otto’s brown shirts, making sure his arm creases presented correctly and firmly in the right place. She was delighted to find that the visitor was Karl. He kissed her cheek as he entered, throwing his hat on a hall chair immediately afterwards.

  ‘Carry on, Hilda. Don’t let me stop you.’

  ‘I’m ready for a break,’ she said, skipping through to the kitchen to make coffee.

  ‘No second thoughts about us taking Otto?’ Karl called out to her.

  ‘No, none. Of course not,’ she said then wondered. ‘I thought it was settled. Renate is comfortable with the arrangement, isn’t she?’

  Karl followed her into the kitchen and reached for cups and the sugar bowl from the cupboard.

  ‘We’d both have Otto to stay any time. That’s not my worry,’ he said placing the bowl and cups on the table.

  ‘Something else on your mind?’ She clutched the handle of the coffee percolator, a little apprehensively.

  ‘A couple of things have been bothering me. One is Otto’s lack of regular education because of his frequent Hitler Youth meetings. It runs on strict activity lines. There is no time for proper education. It’s certainly not like the Boy Scouts.’

  ‘No, they banned them two years ago. How Otto loved the Scouts.’

  ‘Yes, I know he did. However, I am even more concerned about what happens after the Hitler Youth. He told me he’ll be with the 7th Hamburg Motorized Unit.’

  Hilda stirred a spoonful of sugar into Karl’s cup. ‘It’s almost certain that they are drafted into the army at that age,’ she said. ‘It’s pretty well unstoppable. Otto told me as much. He reckons he’ll only be with you for a short while.’ She tapped the side of the teaspoon against the lip of the cup.

  ‘Hilda, it’s not that he’s naive or gullible. He’s going with many other boys, and they are all in the same situation. But I’ll tell you one thing I am certain of.’

  They sat opposite each other in the warm kitchen. Hilda slid the coffee cup across the table to her brother-in-law.

  ‘Thank you. Mmm,… that is good. Yes, there can be little doubt we are heading for war. The allegiances that are forming are another matter for concern. Hitler sees Britain as Aryan and is quite opposed to a communist nation taking over Europe. He assumes Britain will not oppose him. I hope that is the case too. However, it is a long way from certain. We cannot be sure.’

  Hilda could not fault Karl’s conclusion. The future looked bleak. Once more, the nations sharpened their swords, she thought.

  ‘That is why I think you should consider staying in Scotland as long as you can, or at least until we see which way the wind is blowing. You follow me?’

  She bit her lower lip. ‘And how long should I be away?’ she asked.

  ‘You could help run the family hotel for a while. I am sure your parents would appreciate that.’

  The idea caught her off-balance, but it was a pleasing one, for the moment anyway. ‘How long do you think the authorities here will let me stay?’

  ‘Hilda, I think you’ve forgotten. You have an additional status, haven’t you? You remember what troubles it caused last time there was war when you did not have dual nationality. I think you could put it to good use now.’

  A smile came over Hilda’s face. ‘Then a one-way ticket for the time being?’ ‘Exactly.’ Karl smiled, pleased with her decision.

  Hilda booked passage on a ship sailing from Hamburg to Aberdeen on Friday 30th September 1938 and began to gather her luggage together. She would take as much of her own property as possible to Scotland, travelling with a full suitcase, a small black bag and her handbag, while sending two large trunks ahead. She sorted out what she would need in Scotland. Especially as the days were heading towards winter, she rationalised.

  She made a seminal decision: she would place the house in Otto’s name when he turned twenty-one. That was not so many years away, and she was not sure, when or if, she would return.

  One day she started a notebook of instructions for Otto, about cooking, laundry and shopping. First, she covered the book in greaseproof paper, then in leftover wallpaper from the lounge, which Willy had quite recently redecorated. On the front cover, she wrote in bold ink: OTTO’S BUCH Kochen; Bugelservice, Waschen und Einkaufen. Satisfied with her work, she opened her oboe case and began to play a piece by Mozart. During the allegro section, there was a knock at the door. She stopped playing immediately; perhaps it was Renate or a friend for Otto. She ran to the door.

  When she opened it, the blood drained from her face and her heart began to flutter.

  ‘Oh. Herr Eicke. I was not expecting you.’

  ‘No, Frau Richter. I have been standing outside your front door for the past few minutes. You play Mozart particularly well.’

  ‘You know your music, Herr Eicke,’ she said, showing him an appreciative smile.

  ‘Only that it is Mozart. You will have to enlighten me as to which piece you were playing.’

  ‘It was The Hostias from Mozart’s Requiem in D minor K626. The oboe does not usually play it, of course. I was adapting from the choral part.’

  ‘Ah… I see.’ Herr Eicke entered the house uninvited. Hilda stood aside to let him in. He stepped over one of the suitcases with an exaggerated high step.

  ‘The sitting room is on the left, Herr Eicke.’

  He opened the door and strode with purpose into the centre of the room. ‘I intended to see you before you returned to Scotland. Sorry I was too busy to visit you sooner.’ He held his hands behind his back, and she heard one hand tapping the other impatiently.

  ‘You knew I was returning to visit my parents?’ she asked, her throat as dry as the desert.

  ‘Yes, of course. I knew you were about to leave,’ he said as he took out his handkerchief and polished his glasses. Hilda saw him as an older man without his spectacles on.

  ‘If my wife and I go on holiday, as we did to Bad Liebensel last year, we each take one case. That is more than sufficient. I see you are packing two trunks.’ He pointed towards the hall.

  ‘I am taking quite a lot as you can see, to make the house less congested.’

  His eyes lingered on the cases. ‘I see. Yes, Otto told me. Well, in fact, he did not. It was a change of address for his next of kin that alerted me to your intentions to travel. Not just a short visit abroad, I suspect. He has named Karl and Renat
e Richter as his guardians.’ He paused for a moment to let his information sink in. ‘A little unusual, perhaps?’

  Hilda was on edge. ‘Otto is now the man of the house and I wish him to take greater responsibility. I cannot say how long I will be in Scotland, of course. I have family and friends there as well as in Hamburg. But you can assume that I shall return to Hamburg before too long.’

  ‘I understand, Frau Richter. And I wish you a safe voyage.’ He gave her a wide smile as if approving her trip. That was a relief for Hilda.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, hoping he had said everything he wished to say. However, that was not to be the case.

  ‘You will leave with fond memories of our land, and of course, your much respected late husband.’

  ‘Naturally.’ She found herself folding her arms defensively.

  ‘And Karl and Renate, and especially Otto, will miss you?’

  She was losing her patience with him. ‘Herr Eicke, they are my family. Of course, I will miss them, but I am returning I do assure you. Surely my travel arrangements do not require so much of your attention?’ She felt a mist of anger begin to rise.

  ‘You are quite right. Of course, I would not interfere with domestic arrangements.’

  Herr Eicke stood up, walked to the window and gazed up and down the street. She watched him, sensing that his pose was somewhat staged, as if to say, Look at me now; see how important I have become.

  He turned around smartly. ‘We are all insignificant as individuals. Together we realise Germany is on its way to recapturing its prominent and rightful position in Europe once more, and that England is, how shall I say, sympathetic to our cause, we hope.’