‘What are your options?’
His questions seemed very precise. Was he trying to help her focus her thoughts? Or did he have other, more personal, motives in mind?
‘All I can offer by way of qualifications is a knack for code-breaking, which is probably redundant now, and fluent German. Perhaps I could be a teacher?’
‘And where would you teach?’
That was at the heart of her dilemma. She told him so. Now Germany was free of Hitler, she felt a certain loyalty to the country that had welcomed her so willingly. She loved the people, the culture and the land, and there were so many happy family memories. Her immediate family had all died, however, and it would not be the same. Yet the same applied to Scotland. So where was she to call home? It was an elusive answer.
‘You see why I am so confused?’
‘Yes, I do see, of course. Surely, you see that all these experiences have made you the remarkable woman you are. Your life has shaped your thinking, your determination to survive and… if I may make so bold… your charm.’
‘How very kind of you to say so, Sir Francis.’
He certainly had all the graces and politeness required of an ambassador. However, it was not up to him to decide her future. To deflect him, she asked, ‘And you, where will they send you next?’
Sir Francis crossed his legs and returned his coffee cup to its saucer. ‘Next week I head to Helsinki. For how long, you might ask. I wish I could tell you. The Foreign Office seems to play games with us. The face must fit in the right place, it seems.’
Hilda looked down on the diamond-patterned carpet. Sir Francis was a career ambassador whose loyalty to the Court of St James was his first and perhaps his only priority. His lifestyle was in constant change. She was not sure whether that would suit her or if she was too old to make concessions. On the other hand, even if their friendship progressed, would it come to the point where it might become an issue?
Sir Francis leaned closer and took hold of her hand. It took her by surprise and excited her. A warm shiver travelled from her stomach up to her cheeks.
‘Hilda, I have a few days left in London. I want to spend them with you.’
This was the first test. He caught her smile. It gave him the permission he sought, and he moved towards her. It was not a long kiss, but one that brought together two lonely people reeling from the devastation of the war years. For Hilda it opened a chink of light for the future in the gloom of uncertainty, which shrouded her present circumstances.
‘Hilda, tomorrow I have tickets for King Lear. Do you wish to accompany me again?’
‘Of course, I do,’ she said without hesitation.
‘Then I shall collect you at two thirty from your official dwelling.’
‘Two thirty? Is it a matinee performance?’
‘No, it starts at half past seven. I thought a walk around the Serpentine and a bite to eat before the performance. What do you think?’
‘Wonderful, Sir Francis.’
‘Oh, I think it’s time I became plain Francis to you, don’t you?’
Their relationship still had far to go but the journey had begun and she was eager to set out on the path that lay ahead. She stood up and held out a hand to him.
‘Time is moving on. We’d better get going to The Mikado.’
It was a short walk from the Savoy to the Aldwych Theatre. Francis took her hand as they strolled and to all and sundry they were just another happy couple, glad to be together again now the war was over. Her feet seemed to float a few inches above the ground, and she could not have been more content.
The Mikado was wonderful. The tunes stayed in her head for more than a week. She saw herself first as one of the Three Little Maids, then, and more particularly, as a Wandering Minstrel, with her oboe in her hand. Gilbert’s carefully crafted words were sung as if they had been written especially for her that night, and Sullivan’s tunes were foot tapping and unforgettable.
They walked back to her office residence arm in arm, humming some of the songs.
‘I haven’t enjoyed myself so much for a very long time,’ she said.
‘Nor have I. I think we both needed some light entertainment. Tomorrow will be more taxing; King Lear takes on human suffering. God knows how much of that we have all experienced recently.’
On the doorstep of MI6 Sir Francis took hold of her and held her close, and they hugged each other warmly for a few seconds. Then they kissed, for longer than she had anticipated. Hilda felt young again, and more importantly, no longer alone.
Chapter 27
Engaged
How quickly the hours passed. She tried not to worry about what would happen when Francis returned to Finland while she stayed behind in preparation for the trial, yet she enjoyed what each day brought. Many of the animals at London Zoo had been spared by the Blitz, but many had been badly frightened by the bombs and were more timid than they usually were. One example was the green-nosed monkey, a notorious food-snatcher in the Congo, or so Hilda was reliably informed; it clung to its one remaining mate, looking tentatively over its shoulder to see if any member of the human species had come too close.
They enjoyed the sunshine, even the occasional shower, and found joy and humour in everything they did – even a bus trip to Epping Forest although it was beset by delays. A new normality was springing up all around the city. Mobile hot drink carts selling hot drinks had a good trade going, and shop windows were constantly being restocked to cope with the ever-increasing demands of high-spirited demobilised members of the armed forces who were in search of gifts and presents to take home to a loved mother, father, sister or wife. Gifts were also heading home for the relatives of the Canadian, New Zealand, Australian and American forces. Back pay and savings meant service members had money to flaunt; the Americans, in particular, certainly knew how to spend, and had no difficulty enticing young British women to their arms.
On a Saturday morning towards the end of her time with Francis, Hilda received a letter. She was required to sign for it. She had been expecting it for some time. She was not wrong. The citation read that Frau Hilda Richter was to attend the International Court of Justice at Nuremberg. She was cited to be a witness in the case against Herr Gerhardt Eicke. He faced charges for war crimes in Hamburg. Specifically mentioned in the letter was his charge of having been in active command of the ‘cleansing’ of Hamburg, leading to the deportation and subsequent death of thousands of Jews from the city and its environs to the gas chambers of Treblinka and Bergen-Belsen. On her arrival in Nuremberg, on 16th November 1945, she was to report to the office of the chief prosecutor, where her travel expenses would be reimbursed. A reservation at The Hotel Agneshof at 10 Nuremberg-Mitte was arranged. She would stay there as long as it was necessary.
It was with a heavy heart that she informed Francis of her news. Perhaps it was the thought of seeing Eicke again which depressed her. Or maybe the fact that her hours with Francis were dwindling away. Either way, she was not at ease and he could detect it for himself.
That afternoon they walked along the Victoria Embankment. Old Father Thames ebbed and flowed as though nothing had ever happened over the past five years. Lying hidden in its bed, out of sight there were probably unexploded bombs, while the debris of flotsam frequently came to the surface. Some ragged planks of wood floated by the river’s edge. The river was the vein of the city and the detritus which befouled it seemed to symbolize the past six years.
As normality reasserted itself around her, she realised her relationship with Francis was coming to a crossroads. She saw no clear route ahead. Her options seemed both many and few at the same time.