A Feather on the Water(68)

As she handed the notebook back, her head was bursting with questions that Clara couldn’t possibly answer. “They . . .” Kitty faltered, her voice threatening to break as she opened her mouth. “They never wrote to you?”

“They might have tried to—I don’t know. But they wouldn’t have known about the shop and our apartment being destroyed. They wouldn’t have known where I’d gone.” She put the notebook back in the drawer. “What will you do now?”

“I . . . I’m not sure. I need to talk to someone.” She was thinking aloud. “The Red Cross might be able to help. I don’t know if they operate in China, but I can find out.”

“Good luck,” Clara whispered. “I wish I could have helped you more.”



When she caught sight of Charlie waiting across the road, she ran into his arms. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to tell him, in a stuttered jumble of words, what Clara had revealed.

“They got away! That’s fantastic news!” He hugged her to him, stroking her hair.

“I . . . kn . . . know,” she mumbled into his jacket. “B . . . but I . . .” She knew she should be laughing, dancing for joy at the news of their escape. But all she could feel was numb despair at the thought of their chances of surviving in that distant, war-torn land.

“We’ll go to the Chinese embassy,” Charlie said. “Can you remember where it is?”

She nodded, gulping back tears. “Y . . . you think they might be able to tell me something?”

“I don’t know. It’s worth a try.”

They tried, without success, to find a taxi. After traipsing across the city for two hours, they reached the Chinese embassy, only to find that the doors were padlocked. A sign said that no ambassadorial services were available at present. The lettering looked faded. Mr. and Mrs. Ho, it seemed, were long gone.

Back at the hotel, Charlie asked if they could put a call through to the Red Cross. But the person Kitty spoke to said there was no branch in China. Relief work there was only just getting underway.

That evening they went to an ice-cream parlor near the hotel. It was full of GIs with their Viennese girlfriends, their laughter spilling out into the street. They found an empty table in a dingy corner, away from the hubbub at the entrance. There was no menu—it was vanilla or nothing. Kitty spooned it into her mouth, not really wanting to eat. But the cold sweetness had a strangely soothing effect on her frazzled nerves.

“Do you think the silk merchant might have a telephone?” she said between mouthfuls. “Is there a way of finding out numbers for people in China?”

“I doubt it.” Charlie put down his spoon. “Listen, Kitty, I don’t want to sound negative, but it’s been four years since the Japs came into the war. I imagine Shanghai will be very much like this place: not like it used to be.”

“Did America bomb it?”

“Probably. It’s a major seaport.”

She closed her eyes. It was unbearable to think of her parents being caught up in raids by the very people who were trying to defeat Hitler.

Charlie reached for her hand. “Why don’t you try sending a wire? But maybe not from Vienna—from what I’ve heard, the service isn’t very reliable. Messages get lost or scrambled. Better to wait till we get back.”

When they returned to the hotel, Charlie walked her to her room. She fished in her bag for the key. It wasn’t in the inner compartment where she’d put it. She fumbled around, unable to locate it. Had she dropped it somewhere? She slumped against the wall of the corridor, utterly defeated. Fresh tears spilled from her eyes and coursed down her cheeks.

“Kitty! What is it?” Charlie cupped her face in his hands.

She shook her head, groping in her pocket for her handkerchief. The key tumbled onto the carpet as she pulled it out.

Charlie bent to retrieve it. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you inside.” He stood on the threshold, holding the door open, as she stumbled into the room. “Can I get you anything? A whiskey? Something to help you sleep?”

She shook her head. “Would you stay with me?” She sat down on the bed.

“Course I will.” He came and sat beside her.

“I don’t mean . . .”

“I know,” he whispered.

“Would you just hold me?” she whispered. “It’s just that I . . .”

“It’s okay—you don’t have to explain.”

They both kicked off their shoes and lay down together. He pulled the cover over them and slid his arm around her.

Kitty nestled into the hollow of his shoulder. “It was seeing Clara and her family,” she murmured. “And the shop. It made me realize just how much I miss belonging somewhere.”



The next morning, they woke up late. In the hazy space between sleeping and waking, it dawned on Kitty that something warm was touching the base of her neck. She turned to see Charlie, still fast asleep, his head half off the pillow, as if he had burrowed under the sheets in the night. It must have been his lips she had felt on her skin. He was still wearing the shirt he’d had on yesterday. She ran her hands down her body to reassure herself that her clothes were still on, too.

“Charlie!” She tugged his shoulder. “Wake up! It’s nearly half past nine!”