Spitfire Girls Page 5
‘That is impossible!’ Kranz could feel his own passion mist rising.
‘Needless to say, Sir Henry is furious. In fact it was he who conveyed their grievance.’
‘Naturally, Cobb is upset.’
‘Why, Kranz?’
‘Could you possibly call me Dr. Kranz?’
‘Since when are you a doctor, Kranz?’
‘That is what I mean – you make me into a schoolboy you might wish to cane.’ Thoughts of Valerie were coming fast, and he could feel his loins raging.
Haydon’s colour was fading. ‘My summation of your case, Kranz, is that you are free to seek venture finance from one of the London Merchant Houses – they are all run by your brethren, so you will feel at home – but there are absolutely no plots of land in the whole of East Anglia, should you raise that capital. People like yourself are allowed to remain in this country by the grace of His Majesty’s government. But, with war looming, German and Austrian nationals may be interned. Please do not say you have not been warned. By the way, do you hear from your family?’
‘My intention is to send for them.’
‘Good God, man – is there no end to your audacity? What makes you think this country is going to continue accepting refugees?’
‘We are not refugees. And how did you know I was Jewish?’
‘Instinct. It comes from dealing with refugees.’
‘We are not refugees!’ shouted Kranz.
‘Bloody Einstein was! Good riddance, too, I say – he’s a madman, if you ask me. Do you know, Kranz, we English took in Marx, and now Freud too. Your tribe does produce some troublemakers.’
‘Here sits another Goebbels.’ ‘Who the devil is Goebbels – that poet?’ ‘Goethe, I think you mean,’ murmured Kranz. ‘In any case, Mr Haydon, please be assured that any Austrian businessman who brings his family to England will not become a burden to the State.’ Why am I grovelling so? Kranz thought to himself.
Haydon stubbed out his cigar and remained seated, satisfied that he had rattled another imperfect immigrant. He loved his job. ‘You had better get yourself down to the City, my man,’ he said, as Kranz seemed to disappear inside his obscenely expensive coat. Thank God, thought the MP for Suffolk North, that no such man would ever be allowed membership of my club …
Friedrich had departed, the rush of air causing Lady Truman’s neatly piled documents to make a noisy whirlwind. She was furious.
Out on the pavement Friedrich regurgitated her coffee into the gutter, and did not notice Tim Haydon leaving the building, and passing behind him – laughing.
9
New York City did not appeal to Raine Fischtal, and after the Hindenburg Disaster she had decided to make Philadelphia her base. There was an excellent assortment of film labs and photographic studios in this seventeenth-century town. Indeed, Europe’s greatest female cinematographer had begun to marvel at the architecture engendered by its Germanic founders. She had taken the 23 trolley from 10th and Bigler to Germantown, and had found the houses of which Goering had spoken so fondly one evening when they had sat together in a box at Dresden. He intended establishing a home in this part of America and had fallen in love with the images of Philadelphia. It had been the seat of government of the nation once before – was there any reason why it could not be the North American seat of the thousand-year Reich?
In her small hotel room overlooking the Delaware River at the very spot on which William Penn had landed, she leaned against the old-fashioned window and contemplated the cobblestones below. Had some ancestor of hers walked here? She had been told by her grandmother that an entire branch of the family had sailed here right in the thick of the Continental Congress. Goering had reminded her that every man in his village could boast of an enterprising Yank descended from an uncle’s seed. What could people like Edith Allam possibly have in common with such good stock? How could Roosevelt allow people with questionable blood lines to hold powerful positions in post-Depression recovery programs?
Thankfully it was an unwritten credo in the American banking system that only Anglo-Saxons must be hired. Indeed, on a visit to a city-centre money exchange she had been pleased by the personnel, who would have looked equally at home in a cheerful Bavarian banking hall.
She hugged the canister of film close to her, feeling its cold penetrating the warmth of her woollen pullover. Her hands were unbearably tender, but she had made a vow not to let another American doctor near her – why had so many Jews been allowed to practise in Philadelphia? There should be quotas here, as were now being instituted in Berlin and Vienna. Indeed, her father might still be alive today had Mother not been forced to use one of them on Christmas Day a year ago. People always complimented the Jews who would come out to do jobs on the holy days so their Christian colleagues could observe the festival and have a rest. She was quite sure this pig of a doctor had wrongly diagnosed her father with malicious intent – had there been no next of kin he would most likely have drained his blood for use at some unspeakable ritual.
One thing she and Edith Allam had in common was their want of good looks. Both lacked shape and their faces betrayed the laws of symmetry. She had to confess that her features smacked as much of ancient rapes as did Edith’s, and she had a sudden urge to meet the girl once more before departing for the Fatherland. What was the name of that cafe? Heimat? It couldn’t be – she probably lived in a ghetto and they had their own food, like the tribes in Warsaw for whom even a Christian chicken was not good enough. Nevertheless she was intrigued to discover the eating place of a typical American photographer, and, locking her canister away in her box-like suitcase, she clenched her teeth against her increasing pain and set out across the cobbles of Head House Square, looking up to admire the relics of the slave market.
Downtown Philadelphia had become dark earlier than usual because of an eerie yellow cloud-cover. Some said it was the souls from the ‘Hindenburg’ floating over on their way back to German heaven. Walking up Broad Street, Edith thought of the German vision of hell she had witnessed on Raine’s footage, and hoped Errol Carnaby would be in a mood to listen to her narrative.
She walked into Fidler’s Automat and found her three friends waiting at a front booth for what they always referred to as her ‘entrance’. Tonight she did not disappoint them, her face still red from the incongruously combined thoughts of Raine Fischtal and Stan Bialik. Amid the din of a busy city-centre soda fountain, she could hear Errol spouting Blake and explaining to a rapt audience his current obsession, the four Zoas. As she approached through a maze of self-service trays carried by what seemed an endless stream of businessmen in hats, Edith could hear the Negro intoning:
‘Let Man’s Delight be Love, but Woman’s Delight be Pride.’
She put her hand on Errol’s shoulder. ‘Did you tell them I’ve met that real Nazi again – the one from Lakehurst?’ she murmured.
‘In Eden our loves were the same; here they are opposite.’ Errol had not heard her, but Molly Santarello had.
‘Don’t talk about Nazis right now,’ murmured the Italian beauty, whose fair hair and light eyes belied a temperament derived from the heat of Calabria.
Edith noticed that the three faces were fearful.
‘I’ll get you a chocolate soda.’ Kelvin Bray went to the counter before Edith could say no. She was hungry and wanted food, not drink. Molly moved along the seat to make room, and she sat, facing Errol.
‘That German film-maker is a legend in her own country. She wouldn’t let Burt buy her canister.’
‘Do you want something to eat?’ asked Errol. He shouted to Kelvin, still standing at the counter. The soda-jerk winced at the Negro’s voice.
‘All my savings are going to go into my flight to Germany.’
Her companions were fearful yet again.
‘Are you nuts, Allam?’ snapped Errol. ‘It’s a jungle over there.’
‘You can’t get chocolate sodas, for one,’ said Kelvin, slamming on to the table the heavy glass foaming wit
h Seltzer.
Molly had remained quiet throughout, letting her thoughts wander to her parents’ town in Calabria, where Mussolini was making such an impression. What was it that made her American when she thought and when she dreamed? Their home town was like a primitive burial ground, where people were already dead as they began to grow up. Here, there was life.
‘If you go to Germany you can’t leave until Molly gets her serenade – the Italian bridegroom-to-be sings to his fiancée,’ Errol said, reminding her of the primitive rituals connected somehow with life. She turned to Edith:
‘Will you come?’
‘Do they let outsiders into Catholic weddings?’
‘Of course!’ she laughed, wishing Edith could be a member of the burial-ground race.
‘Raine Fischtal might come here tonight. I told her we would love her to join our crowd.’
Errol and Kelvin exchanged looks.
‘She would never stoop so low,’ said Errol. ‘Besides, she probably carries poison pellets to put into Yankee pop.’
‘Get back to Orc, Errol,’ crooned Kelvin, and at that moment Raine Fischtal appeared at the door of Fidler’s, Philadelphia’s only kosher Automat.
Having wandered the streets of this colonial city, Raine had asked herself if it could be possible to like another woman who was earmarked for annihilation. She had made up her mind she would have to acknowledge Edith’s courage in following her and wanting to pursue the matter of the canister. Now she was here at the Automat, and without the film and just her burnt hands she felt better able to talk to the strange world around her.
‘First Orc was born, then the shadowy female; then all Los’s family. At last Enitharmon brought forth Satan. Refusing form in vain!’ the coloured man declaimed.
Raine regarded him blankly.
‘This is Fräulein Fischtal, everybody,’ said a hushed Edith. ‘You’ve already met Errol – in the dark.’
There was laughter as Raine regarded the one Negro face.
‘Do I detect a slight contempt emanating from this otherwise lovely lady?’ Errol asked, motioning with a flourish for Raine to sit. She squeezed in next to Molly, who was staring at her bandaged hands.
‘Did you do that while cooking?’
‘Cook? Cook? Why is everyone always talking about cooking in this country?’ Raine asked, looking around at the variety of faces.
‘Hang around a bunch of greenhorns and you’ll get all the recipes!’ exclaimed Kelvin, reaching across to dump Edith’s dinner of potato latkes on to the table.
‘Speak for yourself, sheeny Irish,’ grinned Molly. She looked at Raine intently. ‘What do you eat for dinner where you come from?’
‘I spend most of my time travelling. In hotels it is all the same, wherever you are in the world.’
The table had fallen silent. Edith poured sugar from the metal-spouted jar and pushed it around her plate of latkes.
‘Raine hurt her hands at Lakehurst. She was very brave, staying there while everybody else ran away. She has some interesting film. We watched it at the studio today.’
Kelvin was mesmerized. ‘All this travelling … have you met Lindbergh?’
‘Amy Johnson, Valerie Cobb, Stella Teague, I know all the women fliers. They come to Germany and we all meet at the clubs. My job is to photograph good relations between the Reich and Great Britain. We are one people, you know. Hitler has said so.’
‘British pilots go to Germany?’ wondered Errol.
‘Why not? As I say, we are one people, the British and the Germans. There are grand meets every six months, when the best of the English girls fly about alongside our top women – Anke Reitsch comes when she can. We had some men along this year – Jim Mollison, and an American, Gordon Selfridge.’
‘But what about Lindbergh?’ asked Kelvin.
‘He’s probably a Nazi spy,’ said Errol.
Edith kept silent, smiling to herself.
Raine was furious:
‘You should be proud of him – he is one rare example of an American not handicapped by his emotions.’
‘Exactly,’ snapped Errol. ‘All the nigger, wop and greenhorn unworthies are to be eliminated to make room for replacement babies.’
‘What’s wrong with Lindbergh?’ whined Kelvin.
‘Dad says he’s German American Bund,’ murmured Molly.
Edith intervened. ‘Come on over to my house now,’ she said, grasping Raine’s arm and dropping a dime on to the table. Errol rose, placing his hand at her elbow. Raine moved away, as if instantly repelled.
‘I’ll walk you back,’ murmured Errol, and he did.
Arriving at the handsome semi-detached house, Raine was astonished to discover that Edith was allowing this man to enter.
‘All folks here have gone to Atlantic City, leaving eldest daughter to her photography, her flying lessons and her coloured man,’ said Errol.
‘He means my parents,’ Edith said, smiling at her guest. ‘Do you want something to eat?’
‘Again? You have just been to eat,’ mused Raine, smiling back. ‘Do you keep beer?’
‘Not only do they keep it, they have a brewery downstairs in the cellar,’ joked Errol, motioning with his long, bony hands.
They sat down in the spotless living room, and Raine took in the expensively framed drawings round the walls. She thought of recent moves in Germany to confiscate Jewish property and did some quick calculations on the basis of America’s vast acreage. There had even been jokes about future canvases being made from kosher epidermis. Her face tensed as she disturbed herself with that inner paradox: how could she feel tenderness toward a potential lampshade?
Errol was speaking:
‘Prohibition never besmirched this house.’
‘My father can’t live without his schnapps, or his beer,’ explained Edith. ‘He dabbled in bootleg stuff, but Mom made him give it up.’
‘They bought her a piano with the proceeds,’ added Errol, and Raine resumed her calculation.
‘He never sold the junk, for Christ’s sake,’ snapped Edith. ‘You know perfectly well we needed wine for Seders, and the crooks who brought it charged us ten times normal. Most of them were haters.’
‘Haters?’ asked Raine.
Edith looked back at her sharply, on her way to the kitchen. ‘Basically, the same sort of people who won’t let Marion Anderson sing for the Daughters of the American Revolution.’ A moment later Edith returned from the kitchen with a bottle of beer and three glasses. ‘Are you going to let us have your film?’
But Raine had been distracted:
‘Why three glasses?’ she asked.
‘Oh, you can have most of the bottle – Errol and I will have a sip each.’
‘In Germany one person has several,’ murmured Raine.
‘Films?’ Errol grinned.
‘Beers, she means,’ said Edith. ‘Don’t you realize we’d pay any amount of money Hitler wants, just to keep that footage? It’s great stuff.’
Errol looked at her curiously.
‘Money means nothing to us,’ Raine asserted. ‘Besides, you would twist it around to look ugly and distribute it to schools.’
‘What a wonderful idea!’ said Errol, pouring the beer into the bottom of the glass, the golden liquid looking like a jigger of whisky.
‘It has big propaganda value,’ said Edith. ‘People would be fascinated and if it got nationwide distribution you could afford a new camera.’
‘My equipment belongs to the Reich, my dear. Fly me back to Germany, and we can talk further. In fact, when we get there you can see my studio and perhaps I will make you a copy to take back with you. Frankly I can’t believe you can fly, any more than I can believe you can take pictures.’
‘Why not?’ Edith’s throat had gone dry. ‘I’d want to meet Anke Reitsch when we get there. What about those other fliers you mentioned?’
‘Valerie Cobb and Stella Teague have been avoiding us recently. Anyway, English pilots have inferior capabilities.’
Raine stood face to face with Edith and her words shot out like pellets.
‘I am interested to see you do all the things you say come as second nature. That day at Lakehurst, your boasting went hand-in-hand with our preconceived notions about American racial types.’
‘Yeah, well, at least she emerged with her hands intact, honey,’ crooned Errol.
‘I’d love to do it, Raine, whatever the cost,’ Edith said, reaching over to the German and touching her arm before rage had time to surface.
‘He doesn’t believe me?’
‘It’s a figure of speech. When do you want to leave?’
Raine rose, having downed the beer.
‘I need to get back tomorrow, and I would like to go first thing in the morning. There will be no cost.’
Errol was standing, and the German turned her back on him.
‘Tomorrow – Christ,’ whispered Edith. She walked to the front door, wondering how many other girls her age were making such absurd rendezvous at this time of night in some corner of the new world.
‘I would have assumed your government did all your travel arrangements,’ Errol said, still standing in the middle of the living room. ‘It’s either a great honour for Edith, or this is some kind of crazy trick.’
‘You can torment yourself about honour and tricks until she returns.’ Raine turned back to Edith. ‘At the Philadelphia airfield there will be a small aircraft ready, waiting for you to take the controls. Please have your papers and your licence for inspection.’
‘You’re the one our guys will want to inspect. Have you forgotten this is our country?’ Errol was standing next to her now, his shoulders burning as he sweated.
Edith interceded:
‘Fair is fair, Raine. When we leave here, you get inspected, and when we get to Germany I get inspected. Promise me I look Aryan enough to escape a real-life version of one of those beatings advertised in your film.’