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‘Why, darling?’
‘For Clara, I suppose. The truth is, I can never forgive myself for her death.’
‘But you had no part in it – you must not blame yourself.’
‘Maybe not, but I should have recognised what was being planned, and acted sooner.’
‘And done what?’
‘I could have resisted the regime earlier, and taken the children out of Germany. Instead I stood on the sidelines.’
‘I think you’re being too hard on yourself. Clara’s death was the result of an evil policy created by madmen. It was not the fault of people like you.’
‘I disagree. By standing back and doing nothing, I allowed that evil policy to take root. While Hitler and the others were the perpetrators, I, we, the German people, allowed it to happen. For that, I can never forgive myself.’
41
LONDON
May 1945
Leila was standing by the window on the first floor of the ABSIE headquarters in Soho, watching crowds of excited Londoners hugging, laughing and kissing in the street below. A few minutes earlier, Winston Churchill had made an important announcement on the radio, declaring that war in Europe had come to an end. ‘We may allow ourselves a brief period of rejoicing, but let us not forget for a moment the toils and efforts that lie ahead.’
Clearly the crowds in the street below were taking the prime minister’s injunction to rejoice quite literally.
Leila had listened to the speech, along with fifty or so others in the newsroom. The moment Churchill finished, even seasoned journalists whooped with delight, hugging one another and punching the air. Oddly, Leila struggled to feel any elation. Of course, she was glad the worst was over; was relieved that she and her children had survived and that her parents had been saved. But so much – and so many – had been lost that happiness seemed the wrong emotion.
‘Aren’t you coming outside to join the fun?’ One of the secretaries was putting on her hat and gloves. ‘We’re going to walk down the Mall towards Buckingham Palace. Churchill and the royal family are due on the balcony any time now.’
‘Maybe, in a little while,’ said Leila. ‘I’ve got a few things to finish first.’
‘OK, well don’t work too hard. Today’s a day for celebration, after all. We’re all going for a quick drink first – we’ll be in the Coach and Horses if you want to join us.’
Leila couldn’t quite work out why the idea of joining in the fun seemed so wrong. Instead of joy, she felt simply exhaustion. For it was not just the war that was over – for her it was also the twenty years of National Socialist rule that she and others had fought so hard against. On a personal level, there was also the loss of people she loved – Viktor, of course, was uppermost in her mind at that moment. He was just one of millions of other innocent men, women and children who had been murdered in concentration camps. Millions more had starved to death in ghettoes, or been killed in battle.
And while the fighting in Europe was over, in many ways the work was just beginning. There was so much to do, so much to rebuild – in both England and Germany.
Leila had recently been recruited to the American Army by a man named Colonel Potter. ‘I need you return to Germany,’ he told her. ‘We’re starting a magazine aimed at the women of Europe. It’s all part of our process of re-education. And I’d like to put you in charge of the German edition.’
‘Me?’ Leila had been surprised and rather flattered. ‘But it’s years since I’ve edited anything.’
‘Your work here at ABSIE has been greatly admired. I do hope you will consider this offer. We need you, Mrs Labowski… the women of Germany need you.’
This speech had convinced Leila that her duty lay in her homeland – at least for the next year or two. But as the date of her departure drew closer, her worries at leaving her family behind grew stronger.
At sixteen, Axel was approaching his school certificate, and hoped to become an engineer. But in so many ways he was still just a boy, and Leila was grateful that her parents were now safely installed in the cottage in London, and could look after him. Sofia was now eighteen, and had joined the ATS for the last year of the war, but was due to be released soon to become an undergraduate at Cambridge. Leila tried to reassure herself that in many ways it was the perfect time to take on a new role. The children were moving on with their lives and would survive without her – but would she cope without them? They had been her constant companions since Viktor’s death, and the thought of daily life without the comforting love of her family was more intimidating than she cared to admit.
Now, as the office gradually emptied out, Leila sat at her desk, enjoying the peace and quiet. She was absorbed in her work, assembling some ideas for the new magazine, when, to her surprise, she heard her name being called out. ‘Leila?’
She looked up. ‘Yes?’
The man was wearing American army uniform – which was unsurprising, as many of the journalists and broadcasters at ABSIE were part of the army. He wore the insignia of a major and was tall, silver-haired, and rather good-looking.
‘I’m afraid everyone has gone to the pub up the road,’ she said. ‘The Coach and Horses – do you know it?’
‘Actually, it’s you I came to see.’
‘Me?’ She studied the man’s face intently and suddenly it came to her where she’d seen him before – twenty years before, in fact. ‘Peter…Peter Fischer?’
