The Whispers of War Read online

  The next time he’d stopped by her desk, she’d handed the papers back to him, a little sheepish even though she knew her suggestions were good. He’d glanced at them, thanked her, and walked away. For a week, she’d been crawling with nerves, but when he took the stage she heard her words coming out of his mouth. The next time he had a speech, he appeared again, set the typewritten sheets on her desk, and walked off. She’d edited him again, and again his speech had shone. Every time someone had walked up to him to praise his words, she’d felt a little of that shine rub off on her—even if she was the only one who knew it.

  “Come on,” Neil said as the applause around them died down. He grabbed her and tugged her along the row of seats as people began to stream out of the hall. Clear of the seats, he looped her hand through the crook of his arm.

  “Did you enjoy the speech, kleine Maus?” he asked.

  “It was… illuminating,” she said softly. She still lost her tongue a little when he called her kleine Maus. Nora would’ve burst out laughing, but it wasn’t Nora’s teasing she was most wary of. It was Hazel, who would smile and then launch into a thousand and one questions about who Neil was, what she liked about him, how he made her feel. Marie couldn’t answer those questions. Not yet. She knew that Neil wasn’t perfect. He could be a bit pompous, marching into Herr Gunter’s office within days of beginning his graduate work and demanding to meet the cantankerous academic with an air that made it sound as though Herr Gunter should be honored to work with him. And Neil had a habit of speaking about his work on Goethe and the Sturm und Drang movement a little too long. And there were moments when Marie thought that he wielded kleine Maus as a reminder of her place rather than the endearment she hoped for.

  Still, Neil was human—complicated and fascinating—and most importantly he seemed to like her. He wasn’t perfect, but neither was she. She kept her worlds apart—her home, her friends, and dinners at the Harlan were so different from the infectious excitement of the CPGB meetings and Neil.

  “The pub?” Neil asked.

  “Yes,” said Marie, still a little tickled by the mere idea of going to a pub. Even ones that allowed ladies in the lounge seemed slightly daring to her, for she was sure that Tante Matilda had never stepped foot into a British drinking establishment.

  Neil glanced around. “Let’s go a different way this time.”

  Breaking off from the crowd, they walked in silence. Marie relished the heat emanating from Neil’s body and how it warmed her gloveless hands. He steered them down Scales Road, the lights in a few windows of the short, squat row houses diffused by cheap curtains.

  “My friend works in the Air Raid Precautions Department. She says that the entire city will be under blackout orders if we end up at war,” she said, remembering seeing the marked-up prices for black cloth at the shop near her aunt and uncle’s flat the previous weekend.

  “My mum remembers the blackout from the Great War… and the zeppelin raids.” He fell silent for a moment before saying, “The speaker tonight was right. Hitler won’t be kept back with diplomacy.”

  Marie swallowed. “We don’t know that.”

  “I do,” Neil insisted. “I can see it everywhere, but no one wants to come right out and say it. We’re going to be at war again sooner rather than later, and the more we deny it, the more ill prepared we’ll be.”

  “I don’t think the government will let us be unprepared,” she said, thinking back to all Nora had confided about her work.

  “The Home Office is gearing up as though we’re going to meet the end of days,” Nora would say. “Air raid shelters, gas masks, volunteer air raid wardens. We don’t know what Hitler will hit us with—if he hits us at all—but we’ll be ready for him.”

  Every time, without fail, Marie had the same thought: How wonderful it must be to feel so confident. So British.

  Yet Marie was glad for it. She wanted to think that people like Nora would be behind the great men of government if they found themselves at war.

  “Don’t make the mistake of trusting the politicians to take care of this.” Neil snorted. “What will they do except send off a lot of men to be slaughtered, just like in the last war?”

  She blushed. “I was just saying—”

  But he cut Marie off with a decisive swipe of his hand through the air. “It’s coming. The Germans want nothing more than to knock us back, and the people need to be prepared for it.”

  Marie stopped abruptly, and Neil’s heel ground against the road as he swung around so they were facing one another.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Can’t we talk about something else? It seems as though all anyone can do is mention the war and we aren’t even in it,” she said. “I’m tired of it.”

  He laughed. “What else are we supposed to talk about, silly girl?”

  “Do not call me a silly girl,” she bit out, surprised at her own intensity.

  In the streetlight, she saw Neil’s mouth open as though he could hardly believe that the woman he called kleine Maus had snapped at him. After a moment he said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you that.”

  “It’s just that, well, you know I wasn’t born here,” she started to say.

  His concern softened into a smile. “Is that all?”

  She searched his face. “Do you know what happened during the last war? Thousands of Germans living here were forced to leave their homes. Put in camps. They lost their freedom. It ruined people’s lives.”

  “That won’t happen to you. You were practically born here,” said Neil.

  “Practically born here” was not “born here,” but how did she explain that to a man who had never been taken by his uncle at the age of twelve to the local police station to register himself as an alien resident? He might be a student of German, loving the language and the culture and the people, but Neil wasn’t actually German. He had the undeniable right to live in this country, while she was here because of the goodwill of the government. Marie suspected goodwill wouldn’t go far during wartime.

  Neil reached out a hand and tucked a wisp of her stick-straight hair behind her ear. Her lips parted, shocked at the achingly intimate gesture.

  “You worry too much,” he said.

  “I don’t,” she whispered.

  “I think perhaps…” But instead of finishing the thought, he kissed her. Their first kiss—soft, careful, and measured. It was a dreamy kiss, but the center of it held a question of more. She leaned into him in answer, gripping at the lapels of his jacket. He clasped her tighter to him as his lips pressed harder against hers, moving to suck on her bottom lip. She whimpered, her knees going weak, but she didn’t pull back. She’d waited so long for this, hiding smiles as he walked into the offices, thinking about him when she looked over his speeches at the little desk in her bedroom.

  Finally, Neil pulled back, his breath coming a little fast as he paused, their lips a mere inch apart. “Well, that was unexpected.”

  She flushed, flustered as her mind whirred back into gear. Unexpectedly good? Unexpectedly bad? What if she’d done something wrong?

  As though reading her mind, he leaned in again and kissed her swiftly and softly.

  Good enough. It must have been good enough.

  Her fingers unlocked, and she slowly let her hands fall to her sides.

  Neil scooped up her hand, tucked it back onto his arm, and gave her a small smile. “Come on, kleine Maus. There’s a glass of sherry waiting for you and a pint of ale for me at the Stag and Hound.”

  four

  The scrape of metal chairs against the cheap laminate floor of one of the Royal Imperial University’s many teaching rooms pierced Marie’s ears as she flipped her notepad closed and stuck her Biro through the metal coils at the top. She rocked her head side to side, seeking relief for the tired muscles in her neck and the headache that throbbed against her right temple. She’d been sitting in this room for nearly six hours now—lunch had been brought in by a pair of women pushing metal trollies laden with sandwiches—but Herr Gunter was bound to march her back to the department offices and plant her in one of the chairs across from his desk to take dictation.

  With a sigh, she hauled herself to her feet, centering the cloth-covered belt of her light blue cotton dress. Without a glance back at her, Herr Gunter began to make his way out of the symposium room.

  In the corridor, the stale scent of captive cigarette smoke dissipated and her headache eased a bit. Tante Matilda would probably take one look at her and send her to her room, a cold compress on her forehead and the lights dimmed low. It would be good to be mothered a bit after the long week.

  It was nearly six o’clock, and the courtyard around which Royal Imperial’s main campus was built was nearly empty save for a few undergraduates hurrying through the lightly misting rain with their books tucked under their arms. Most professors and lecturers were already on their way back to their country homes by train or by car. It was not, Marie had learned, fashionable to remain in London for the weekend if one were a serious academic. Far better to sequester oneself in the dimly lit study of a cottage, scribbling away at one’s next article for publication.

  Herr Gunter, however, was a different sort of breed. He liked the bustle of London, he’d told Marie when he’d arrived at the university just over a year ago. Therefore her boss was wholly unconcerned about keeping her past the hour that most commuters left for Paddington, Marylebone, and Waterloo.

  “Fräulein Bohn, I wish to dictate my notes from the symposium,” Herr Gunter threw over his shoulder as they approached the department offices.

  “Of course, Herr Gunter.”

  “And I should like the notes to be typed and on my desk by Monday morning,” he said.

  From inside the department offic
e, a telephone began to ring. Herr Gunter opened the door, and Marie saw that it was the phone on her desk. “I’ll just be one moment,” she said, hurrying around to pick up the receiver.

  “German Department.”

  “Marie! Finally!” Hazel’s voice came out sharp across the line.

  “Hazel, what’s the matter?” she asked as Herr Gunter unlocked his office and disappeared inside.

  “You don’t know?”

  “Don’t know what?” she asked with a frown.

  “I’ve been trying to ring you for hours. It’s happened. Germany marched on Poland.”

  Marie’s notepad and pen slipped from her hands. “What? When?”

  “Early this morning. The news broke a few hours ago. It’s all over the evening newspapers and the radio bulletins. You really didn’t know?” Hazel asked.

  “I’ve been locked in a room with ten professors of German language and their graduate students all afternoon,” she said, gripping the phone in both her hands. “I haven’t been outside.”

  “Turn the radio on. The prime minister is due to speak any moment now.”

  “Maybe it isn’t an invasion. Maybe it was just—”

  “The Germans are bombing Polish cities. Troops are marching. There are tanks. Nora says there can be no doubt that this is the beginning.” Hazel paused, and when she spoke next, her voice cracked. “I’m so sorry.”

  Marie sank onto the edge of her desk. It was happening. It was actually happening. A part of her had wanted to believe that Hitler wouldn’t be so rash as to start another war, but it was impossible to deny what she could see all around her. People had begun fashioning crude carriers for their gas masks, looping string around the cardboard box they came in. Across the street from her building, workmen had taped long Xs on the windows in hope that it would minimize damage in case of explosion. All around her, Britain was preparing.

  “Nora and I have been calling you all day,” Hazel was saying on the other end.

  Herr Gunter stuck his head out of his office door. “Fräulein Bohn.”

  “Hazel, I need to go,” she said.

  “No, you need your friends. Meet us at the Harlan as soon as you can.”

  “It’s not our usual Friday,” she said, numb.

  “Take a cab, take the bus, walk. Just get to the Harlan,” said Hazel.

  Herr Gunter was glaring at her, so she agreed and carefully set the phone down in its cradle.

  “I thought I made it clear that there are to be no personal calls in this office, Fräulein Bohn,” he said.

  Marie pushed by him.

  “Fräulein!”

  He could chastise her. She didn’t care. She made straight for the small radio sitting on a card table to the right of his desk and switched it on. The radio gave a crackle and then came to life.

  “This is the BBC World Service. The time is six o’clock,” a presenter intoned.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Herr Gunter raged behind her.

  The presenter continued. “Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain is due to speak to Parliament after reports of the German invasion of Poland before dawn this morning.”

  Marie turned to see the blood drain from Herr Gunter’s face. He knew just as well as she did what this all meant. Britain had signed a treaty with Poland. Any act of aggression against that country would mean war for Britain.

  “German airplanes have begun to bomb Polish cities, including Warsaw,” the presenter said in clipped, restrained consonants.

  “That was my friend calling to tell me. We’re at war,” she said.

  “Not yet,” he said, edging away with his eyes locked on the radio as though it was the cause of all of this chaos. “Not yet. The British will give Hitler a chance to withdraw.”

  “Hitler won’t withdraw.”

  “You don’t know that,” Herr Gunter barked so sharply she started. “I am sorry, Fräulein. Please turn that off.”

  She switched the dial off and hovered, not knowing what to do. Herr Gunter, however, began muttering to himself. He pulled his battered leather briefcase up onto the desk and began to open his drawers. In went a few papers and a leather-bound notebook.

  “Is there something I can do, Herr Gunter?” she asked.

  Not looking up, he said, “Call Emily. Tell her I must cancel dinner.”

  Marie frowned. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know who Emily is.”

  Herr Gunter froze for a second, his eyes wide, but then he again dropped his attention to his bag. “Never mind, never mind.” He shut the briefcase then and snapped the locks closed. “You may go, Fräulein. I will see you on Monday.”

  Marie walked quickly to her own desk, tossed her notepad into the top drawer, and pulled on her coat. Herr Gunter was still clattering around in his office, but she didn’t want to stay to see if he would change his mind. She jammed her hat on and left.

  Outside on the street, Marie thought about hailing a cab, but when she turned to stick out her hand, she caught a glimpse of a headline under the arm of a man waiting to cross the street: “Germany Invades Poland.” Even after so many years, her accent was still unmistakable, and she didn’t know what would happen if she approached a cab and asked to be taken to Mayfair.

  Halfway down the block, a bus pulled up to the stop. Marie clamped her hand on her hat and sprinted for it as fast as she could in her heeled shoes. The mist made the pavement slick, but she managed to make it just in time. Handing her fare over to the man collecting it, she stopped herself before thanking him.

  The bus was nearly empty, and she huddled in the back left corner for the entire trip until her stop on Park Lane. The rain had begun to pick up, and her hat and coat were soaked through by the time she made it to the club’s front door.

  “Miss Bohn,” said Wallace, springing forward to put an umbrella over her even though the rain had already done its damage.

  “Are they here, Wallace?” she asked.

  “Miss Walcott and Mrs. Carey are just inside, miss.”

  Wallace held the door open for her and hurried her inside like a mother hen. Just inside the doorway stood Nora and Hazel. They both rushed to envelop her in a hug.

  “You’re here,” said Hazel at the same time Nora asked, “Marie, how are you?”

  She shook her head, her wet hair sticking to her forehead. “I don’t know.”

  “Come,” said Hazel, catching her by the elbow. “Sit down right here.”

  Her friends maneuvered her onto a red velvet sofa. “Let’s get this off of you,” said Hazel, lifting Marie’s hat from her head. Without a word, Nora unbuttoned Marie’s coat and helped her ease out of the clinging, wet fabric.

  Marie watched as both of her friends fussed over her. Neither of them met her eyes, and her heart pinched. They didn’t know what to say to her. These were her best friends in the world, and they didn’t know what to do because everything had changed.

  “When did you find out?” asked Marie quietly.

  “I came to work, and the office was already in chaos. The journalists hadn’t gotten hold of it yet and nothing official had been announced, but details were coming in over the secure channels. Sir Gerald was called into an emergency meeting to assess our preparedness, and I sat in to assist him. I rang you and then Hazel as soon as I could catch a moment,” said Nora.

  “Nora asked me to keep trying you because she wasn’t sure that she would be able to stay by her phone,” said Hazel.

  “I see,” said Marie.

  Hazel covered Marie’s hand with one of her own. “It could still be stopped. The prime minister has given Hitler until Sunday to withdraw his troops from Poland.”

  She shook her head. “He won’t withdraw. We’re going to be at war again soon, and I don’t know… I don’t know what that means for me or my family.”

  “Miss Bohn.” They all looked up to see Pierre standing before them, a neat row of crystal glasses of two fingers of whisky each balanced on a silver tray. “If I might be so bold as to suggest that a little refreshment might be welcome.”