My Name is Eva(23)

‘This was one of the spas, wasn’t it?’

‘That’s right. He inspected this place, saw the tiled bathrooms and said they’d make ideal cells. So they weren’t exactly cosy in the first place. No wall-to-wall carpet to rip out, just bare floors and cold tiles. Perfect for him.’

Jimmy lit another cigarette and drew on it, making the tip glow red. ‘You know what the locals are calling this town now, don’t you?’

Eva turned to him, her eyes puzzled. ‘No, what? Tell me.’

‘Das Verbotene Dorf,’ Jimmy said, pronouncing the words with a slight rise of his eyebrows to underline its significance.

‘The Forbidden Village,’ Eva murmured. ‘No wonder. We came over here to put things right, but we’re making it worse. We’re almost as bad as they were.’





23





Eva, 1 November 1945





The Kaiserhof Hotel





Eva let the gleaming black Horch V8 slow to a crawl as she entered the wrought-iron gates of the Kaiserhof Hotel. The former Wehrmacht car, which had been requisitioned by the interrogation centre for the use of staff on rare days of leave, purred down the long gravelled drive towards the grand baroque establishment. The tall elm trees on either side of the avenue were bare and the formal flower beds, once alive with colour all summer long, were now empty, but this wintry scene was a welcome relief for Eva after the hypocrisy and horror of the work she was enduring at Bad Nenndorf.

‘They’re recruiting at the Kaiserhof in Bad Pyrmont,’ Jimmy had whispered to her three days previously, during a brief break from the intense questioning. ‘Get yourself down there. You can’t take much more of this.’

Eva was shaking after that morning’s ordeal. The female prisoner, bruised and filthy, had fainted after struggling to answer a series of stern questions. Robinson hadn’t looked pleased this time. He was impatient at this waste of his time and told Miller to take her away for a cold bath.

Jimmy was right. She couldn’t take much more, it was killing her. She didn’t know who was recruiting at the hotel or what they were recruiting for, but she had to take her chance and try to get away before it broke her as well as the prisoners. She had wanted to stay as long as possible to find an opportunity to undermine Robinson, but he was so thorough, so efficient, she could not see how she could ever defeat him or call him to account.

With its sculpted Dutch gable roof, the hotel reminded her of the blue and white ceramic houses filled with kirsch that she had brought back as innocent souvenirs from her trip to Germany before the war, before she married Hugh, before all the horror of the years of combat and after. A number of other cars were parked outside and Eva hoped there would not be a lot of applicants for whatever posts were on offer.

Inside, fires crackled in the stone fireplaces on either side of the grand entrance hall and chandeliers twinkled overhead from gilded ceilings, in utter contrast to the stark interview rooms and the cold, squalid cells of the interrogation centre. As she crossed the hall, she caught sight of a group of men ascending the imposing stone staircase and heard what sounded like American voices.

The receptionist directed Eva to the Salon, a side room where buttoned leather and walnut armchairs were paired with pedestal tables, inviting intimate conversation. A man in a tweed suit was sitting in the furthest corner and lowered his newspaper, peering over half-moon spectacles, which he removed as Eva entered.

She held out the headed letter she’d received that had directed her to the hotel. ‘I hope I’ve come to the right place. I heard there might be some openings here.’

‘Could be,’ he said. ‘If you don’t mind hearing a few sob stories.’ He waved at the unoccupied chair opposite him. ‘Brian Joliffe. Very pleased to meet you.’ He looked kind, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled, so unlike the icy features of Colonel Robinson. She glanced down at the newspaper and noticed he’d half-completed the crossword, something the cold Colonel would consider a frivolous waste of time.

‘Eva Kuscheck,’ she said as they shook hands. ‘I’ve been hearing a lot of sad stories lately. Trouble is, I don’t like the way they’re being told. Or rather, the way they’re being dragged out of the subjects concerned.’

‘Where’s that then?’ Joliffe beckoned to the waiter, who had appeared in the doorway, a tray tucked under his arm. ‘Kaffe und Küchen, bitte.’ Then he glanced at Eva and said, ‘We’ll see what they can rustle up, shall we? There’s not much variety with all the shortages, but the food is gradually getting better.’

‘I’m happy with anything, thank you, although I haven’t had much appetite lately, because of my present job.’

‘So where are you now?’

‘Bad Nenndorf.’

His expression changed immediately and he reached for the silver cigarette case on the table, offered it to Eva, who shook her head, then took one out for himself. Tapping the cigarette on the little table, he said, ‘I’m not surprised you want to leave. Rumours are circulating that Bad Nenndorf is a bad, bad operation. Remind me who’s the chap in charge there?’

‘Colonel Stephen Robinson. Do you know him?’

‘Heard of him. I’m told he knows how to get results.’ He looked at Eva and fumbled in his jacket pocket for a lighter.