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Authors: Evelyn Toynton
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ridiculous?” But already it seemed too late for that.
In a burst of energy, she hurried into the bathroom, determined to go find him. She would start in the bar they had been to last night. But by the time she had powdered her face and smeared rouge into her cheeks, her resolve had faded. Instead she returned to the room and took off her shoes, setting them beside the bed, breathing in the carpet smell as she did so. She seemed to know the shape of the next few hours as though she had lived through them a thousand times.
She arranged the pillows against the headboard and lay back gingerly, so as not to muss her dress. It was how she had arranged herself as a child, when her mother had locked her into her room and she’d had vengeful fantasies of dying. She used to fold her arms across her chest, imagining her mother’s sobs on discovering her lifeless body. Then she would picture her father, weeping into his mustache, until her own tears started.
What would happen to her father if Phillip did not marry her? Sooner or later, they would come for him, as they had come for Dr. Joseftal. “They took out their
Gummiknueppeln
… they were very thorough.” The ringing of the phone next to her ear was like a reprieve; flooded with gratitude, she snatched the receiver from its cradle before he could change his mind and sobbed out hello. But it wasn’t Phillip on the other end; it was Rolf.
CHAPTER FIVE
H e knew from her voice that something was wrong. He was not as obtuse about these things as people imagined, it was just that he always froze at such moments; he could feel the blood vessels in his brain constricting, so that the right words, of comfort and sympathy, never got through. It happened all the time when he was talking to the refugees.
Instead he asked her how she was enjoying her stay in New York.
She adored it, she said, in a bright English intonation, everything was so fast, wasn’t it, such excitement, wherever you looked there was always something going on.
He cleared his throat. “I wondered if I might speak to Phillip.”
“Oh, what a pity. He’s just gone out. Could I have him phone you back?”
Yes, of course, he said, and then she told him maybe it would be better if she took a message. Phillip had gone to meet someone, she wasn’t quite sure when he’d be back.
“One of the refugees?”
No, she said, it was a journalist colleague. “But we saw Dr. Joseftal this afternoon.”
“And how did you find him?”
“Not well at all.”
“No. But he’s one of the lucky ones. They let him go.”
“They only kept him for three days, he said. But he was completely different. What did they do to him? How could that happen in just three days?” Now her voice had changed; she sounded like the Louisa he used to know. Quite often, turning passionate about something as trivial as how they would line up their tin soldiers, she had sounded on the verge of tears.
“It wouldn’t be just the three days that altered him,” he said cautiously, reluctant to say too much. Obviously she had no real idea of what was happening in Germany. Perhaps her parents were shielding her as much as possible, telling her things weren’t really so bad. Maybe that was the best approach when dealing with susceptible young ladies. He had said too much already, over lunch.
He cleared his throat. “Well, I won’t keep you.”
“But didn’t you have a message for Phillip?”
He had almost forgotten: he had phoned to give Phillip another name, of someone who would talk to him as much as he wanted, who could not stop talking about what had been done to him, so that the other refugees, including Rolf, tried to avoid him whenever possible. His hysteria was exhausting, and he didn’t bathe often enough, either. But if it was stories Phillip wanted, Gruenbaum would be happy to provide them. It might even help him to find a really interested listener for a change. He gave Louisa Gruenbaum’s number, which she took
In a burst of energy, she hurried into the bathroom, determined to go find him. She would start in the bar they had been to last night. But by the time she had powdered her face and smeared rouge into her cheeks, her resolve had faded. Instead she returned to the room and took off her shoes, setting them beside the bed, breathing in the carpet smell as she did so. She seemed to know the shape of the next few hours as though she had lived through them a thousand times.
She arranged the pillows against the headboard and lay back gingerly, so as not to muss her dress. It was how she had arranged herself as a child, when her mother had locked her into her room and she’d had vengeful fantasies of dying. She used to fold her arms across her chest, imagining her mother’s sobs on discovering her lifeless body. Then she would picture her father, weeping into his mustache, until her own tears started.
What would happen to her father if Phillip did not marry her? Sooner or later, they would come for him, as they had come for Dr. Joseftal. “They took out their
Gummiknueppeln
… they were very thorough.” The ringing of the phone next to her ear was like a reprieve; flooded with gratitude, she snatched the receiver from its cradle before he could change his mind and sobbed out hello. But it wasn’t Phillip on the other end; it was Rolf.
CHAPTER FIVE
H e knew from her voice that something was wrong. He was not as obtuse about these things as people imagined, it was just that he always froze at such moments; he could feel the blood vessels in his brain constricting, so that the right words, of comfort and sympathy, never got through. It happened all the time when he was talking to the refugees.
Instead he asked her how she was enjoying her stay in New York.
She adored it, she said, in a bright English intonation, everything was so fast, wasn’t it, such excitement, wherever you looked there was always something going on.
He cleared his throat. “I wondered if I might speak to Phillip.”
“Oh, what a pity. He’s just gone out. Could I have him phone you back?”
Yes, of course, he said, and then she told him maybe it would be better if she took a message. Phillip had gone to meet someone, she wasn’t quite sure when he’d be back.
“One of the refugees?”
No, she said, it was a journalist colleague. “But we saw Dr. Joseftal this afternoon.”
“And how did you find him?”
“Not well at all.”
“No. But he’s one of the lucky ones. They let him go.”
“They only kept him for three days, he said. But he was completely different. What did they do to him? How could that happen in just three days?” Now her voice had changed; she sounded like the Louisa he used to know. Quite often, turning passionate about something as trivial as how they would line up their tin soldiers, she had sounded on the verge of tears.
“It wouldn’t be just the three days that altered him,” he said cautiously, reluctant to say too much. Obviously she had no real idea of what was happening in Germany. Perhaps her parents were shielding her as much as possible, telling her things weren’t really so bad. Maybe that was the best approach when dealing with susceptible young ladies. He had said too much already, over lunch.
He cleared his throat. “Well, I won’t keep you.”
“But didn’t you have a message for Phillip?”
He had almost forgotten: he had phoned to give Phillip another name, of someone who would talk to him as much as he wanted, who could not stop talking about what had been done to him, so that the other refugees, including Rolf, tried to avoid him whenever possible. His hysteria was exhausting, and he didn’t bathe often enough, either. But if it was stories Phillip wanted, Gruenbaum would be happy to provide them. It might even help him to find a really interested listener for a change. He gave Louisa Gruenbaum’s number, which she took
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