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Every morning, the farmer’s son delivered a can of milk, along with half a dozen eggs. Once a week one of the adults accompanied Herr Keller to the local market town on his pony and cart to buy meat and groceries. Life was simple and carefree. The two families hiked in the hillsides, paddled in the streams, and occasionally the whole group would hitch a lift with the farmer down to the shores of the lake, where Julius would hire a small rowing boat and fish for trout. It was a golden time in many ways, and yet tinged with such sadness. Leila grieved for Viktor and often wondered how much he would have enjoyed this bucolic life. The light and colours of the Zurichsee reminded her of their honeymoon on Lake Maggiore.
In her darker moments – usually in the middle of the night – Leila would torment herself. Why had they not heeded the warning signs and left Germany earlier? Perhaps if they had, Viktor would still be alive – a thought that ate away at her constantly. It also spurred her on to urge her parents to join them. How could she live with herself if they met the same fate as Viktor? She wrote to her mother each week, begging her to leave Germany as soon as possible. But her mother repeatedly replied that her father was still clinging stubbornly to his view that Germany was perfectly safe.
Over the course of the summer, the beautiful surroundings and the friendly welcome of the local people began to restore Leila’s spirits. But she knew this idyllic life could not last. For one thing, she was running out of money, and needed an income. And although the children loved country life, there was no future for them on a Swiss hillside. Leila decided to write to friends and contacts looking for work.
Frances McFadden was the picture editor ofHarper’s Bazaar. Although she was based in New York, she and Leila had met occasionally in Munich when Frances came over to cover a story, and Leila had been impressed by her determined nature. There was something about her that reminded Leila of Minki in the old days, before she became embroiled with the Party.
Leila had corresponded with Frances ever since, and although their professional lives could not have been more different – one working in the glamorous world of photojournalism, the other motivated by politics – their friendship had grown stronger over the years.
When she first arrived in Switzerland, Leila had written to Frances giving her the good news that she and the children had escaped Germany. Over the following weeks, she regaled her friend with tales of their life on the mountain.
It’s like a dream here,Frances.A cosy and delightful dream…We get water from a well, cook on open fires, hike in the hills and fish for trout. The sanitary arrangements leave something to be desired – but compared with Hitler’s Germany, we are in heaven.
By the end of the summer, having made the decision to leave Switzerland, Leila wrote again to Frances, this time with more urgency.
For once, I won’t regale you with ‘tales from a mountain’! Although we have enjoyed our time here, I know it can’t last. At some point I must face reality again, and find a job. I realise it’s a lot to ask, but might you know anyone who could help?
Frances wrote back.
My dear Leila,
I have so loved hearing about your adventures – you are like a real-life Swiss Family Robinson! Your chalet life does indeed sound cosy and delightful, but as you say, there’s no future for you there and I agree, you need to get back to work. Personally, I’d love you to come to New York, but I realise it’s a long way, and with two children in tow perhaps too daunting a prospect. Instinctively, I feel you’d do better in London, where I have one or two contacts in publishing; I’d be happy to put you in touch. Your book about women in Germany would, I’m sure, find an eager audience there.
That evening, once the children were in bed, Leila sat out on the deck with Charlotte and Julius. The sun was slipping behind the hills, and the moon was rising, glinting on the lake below.
Sipping cherry brandy, Leila sighed. ‘It’s so beautiful here…and part of me never wants to leave. But I know I must go some time. A friend has suggested we move to London. What are your plans, Julius…will you stay here?’
‘No. Like you, we must move on. I think we’ll try for Geneva. I’ve been liaising with a couple of newspapers there. Why don’t you come with us? There’s always work for a good journalist like you.’
‘That’s kind, and it’s a tempting offer. I’ve loved spending time with you both – you’ve been like a family to me and the children – but it’s time to stand on our own feet now. The holiday is over…’
A couple of weeks later, Frances wrote again.
My dear Leila,
Good news!
I took the liberty of speaking to a publisher on your behalf and they’re interested in your book on women in Germany. I also happened to be liaising with a couple of academic publishers I know, and they mentioned they are looking for German–English translators. I convinced them you would be the perfect choice!
I feel sure you can put together a nice little career once you get to London. And I’ll be coming over myself in the fall – I have a couple of photo stories lined up there. So we can actually meet!
There seemed little reason to delay, and the following morning Leila began packing up the family’s belongings. She was up in the attic searching for missing socks and shoes when she spotted Herr Keller’s son arriving with their usual order of milk and half a dozen eggs.
Noticing Leila at the attic window, he called up to her. ‘Hi – I’ve got a letter for you.’
‘I’ll come down,’ she called back. The letter was postmarked Berlin and from the handwriting she knew instantly who had sent it. Minki had written twice over the last year, but Leila had felt unable to reply.
Her refusal to help Viktor had been such a blow that Leila had felt utterly betrayed. Even Minki’s apology in her last letter had not quite thawed Leila’s feelings towards her old friend. Nevertheless, she sat down on the deck in front of the chalet, and opened the envelope.
My darling Leila,
I have only just heard the awful news about Viktor. I rang your mother a few days ago, and she told me everything. I’m so, so sorry darling. I can’t imagine your pain – and that of the children.I think your decision to leave Germany was both brave and sensible. And Switzerland, I know, is a place with such fond memories. You were last there with Viktor, weren’t you?
I have some painful news of my own. I hardly know where to begin. My darling Clara has developed an illness – epilepsy. She had one fit just before her second birthday. We had hoped it would be an isolated incident, but in the last few months the fits have increased in frequency and severity.
You will know – because you wrote about it so bravely in theMunich Post– that the government is intolerant of such people. There is a strong movement to sterilise those with hereditary diseases. Max, who is also devastated of course, has recently told me that his aunt suffered with the same condition. She spent much of her life in an institution, poor thing. I have already told him that I will not contemplate such a life for my beautiful girl. But I worry, Leila. I worry all the time. What will become of her – of us?
One other piece of news – I am pregnant again – but can take no joy in it.I will say goodbye now.Please write and tell me how you’re getting on.
