“Is it worth trying to get some sleep, do you think?” Delphine walked over to the window and lifted a corner of the curtain. It was beginning to get light outside.
“I don’t think I could.” Martha laid her head on her arms. “You go up. I’ll have another coffee. I need to go to the office first thing, make some phone calls.” She heard the creak of the floorboards as Delphine came back across the room. Then she felt Delphine’s hand on her head, stroking her hair.
“It’s Sunday,” Delphine whispered. “There won’t be much you can do. Try not to be so hard on yourself. You’re doing your best. That’s all any of us can do.”
CHAPTER 16
When Kitty woke the next morning, the others had both gone. She dragged herself out of bed, wondering why her legs felt so stiff. Then she remembered the dancing. It had been quite wild—unlike anything she’d ever experienced in England. She’d been amazed at the strength of the men. Even the short ones had had no trouble lifting her off her feet. And a couple of them had thrown her into the air with such gusto she’d almost hit the ceiling.
She smiled at the memory of it, wondering what Fred would have said if he could have seen her. He would be absolutely livid at the idea of her dancing with any other man—let alone a whole roomful. She was still smiling as she made her way to the bathroom. Then she remembered. Jadzia’s baby. Like a thundercloud blotting out the sun, the lightness vanished.
As she got dressed, she thought of Delphine, who was probably already at Jadzia’s bedside in the hospital. The drugs had knocked her out pretty quickly, but Delphine would want to be there before they wore off, to prevent a repeat of what had happened last night. It had been terrible, seeing Jadzia crouched on the floor, whimpering like a cornered animal. Martha—usually so calm and in control—had looked completely bewildered.
Kitty found a note from Martha on the table when she went downstairs. She wanted Kitty to go to blockhouse six and talk to the women who lived there in a bid to get evidence that might help Martha plead Jadzia’s case with the military.
Kitty glanced at the clock on the wall. It was quite early. And it was Sunday, so the DPs wouldn’t be up and about yet. She decided to take a walk to the gates first. She needed to return Sergeant Lewis’s camera.
It was unusually quiet outside. The curtains of the cabins on either side were still drawn, and no sound came from either house—not even the faintest cry from any of the seven babies who now lived there. It was as if the whole camp was in mourning for the child found in the river.
As Kitty neared the gates, she saw that they were open. It looked as if the guards were changing shifts. She spotted Sergeant Lewis handing over the keys to the jeep parked next to the guardhouse. A cloud of dust obscured his face as the departing officer revved up the engine and pulled away.
“Good morning,” she called. “I’ve brought back your camera.”
He smiled when she gave it to him. “Thanks. I wasn’t expecting it back so soon. Hope you got some good pictures.” He raked his short black hair with his fingers. She thought he looked tired. Martha had told her he was on duty when the baby’s body was discovered. She wondered if he’d been able to sleep after witnessing something like that.
“You must let me know how much I owe you for the film,” she said.
“Oh, nothing,” he said. “I can get another roll back at base. I can get your photos developed if you want. They have a darkroom.”
“Really? That would be great. I was wondering how to do that—thought I might have to scrounge a lift to Fürstenfeldbruck and go searching for a chemist’s shop.”
“You mean a pharmacy?” He grinned. “You are from England. I thought so.”
“Well, actually, I’m not. I went to live there a few years back—but I was born in Austria.” She was surprised at how liberating it felt, being able to drop that into a casual conversation, no longer having to keep up the pretense about where she came from.
“That’s east of Germany, right?”
Kitty nodded. “I lived in the capital, Vienna.”
“Do they speak German there? Is that how you know it?”
Kitty nodded.
“But you speak Polish, too—how come?”
Kitty wondered how he knew. She found it a little disconcerting to think that she had been talked about by the GIs who came in and out of the camp. “My mother was born in Poland,” she said.
“Guess you’re a mongrel, then, like me.” He swept his hands in front of his face. “But in my case, it’s a bit more obvious.”