My Name is Eva(34)
‘So you don’t think weddings would be a good idea then?’
‘Not without a full risk assessment. And if you did want to go ahead as a wedding venue, your insurers would certainly impose new conditions, as the place would then be classified as a business and that would mean your premium would increase.’
‘Oh dear, it all sounds awfully complicated.’ Evelyn sighed, then looked across the room at the large oil painting of ruined temples under dark, thunderous clouds. ‘Perhaps I should just sell a few things.’ She pointed to the picture. ‘I’ve never liked that gloomy thing for a start, reminds me of a bombed-out city.’
He glanced at the picture too, the oil darkened by years of smoke from cigars and open fires, relieved only by its curling gilded frame. ‘You’d be better off talking to a good auction house, for a start. Getting their advice on the kind of prices you might get. In fact, that would be a sensible move altogether. They’re always interested in finding good pieces for their sales and they’ll give you an idea of value both for selling and for insurance. Do you want me to fix that up for you?’
She waited a moment before replying, pretending to be unsure, but then said, ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly trouble you any further. I’ll arrange for some people to come round and then we can have another nice chat when they’ve given me some figures. Would you like to do that?’
He eased himself back in his chair, his balding head lit by the glow of the fire. ‘I think that’s a very good idea. We’ll talk about it together. You don’t want to be pressurised by some pushy know-it-all auctioneer.’
33
Evelyn, 11 November 1985
What a Lot You’ve Got
Evelyn polished the wine glasses with a clean linen tea towel and glanced at Stephen. He was hunched over the auction house valuations spread across the scrubbed kitchen table. A mug of coffee steamed in his hand and the overhead light shone on his bare pink scalp. Now and then he scribbled some figures on a notepad. He was totting up her valuables, figuratively rubbing his hands with delight at the thought of sharing in her good fortune. Evelyn stopped polishing – she felt like throwing the glasses at his head.
Even now, after forty years, Evelyn remembered exactly when she had made the promise. It had been piercingly cold that day, with the first hint of winter snow, but it was even colder in the cells, where there was no glazing in the windows, no blankets, and the walls and floors were slick with the chill of ice.
She had already decided she could not tolerate the work much longer, sitting at a desk, translating as the prisoners whispered their hoarse confessions, scribbling their incoherent words as Stephen ranted. But she had not known at first that she would one day try to make amends on their behalf as well as Hugh’s. All she knew then was that she wanted the brutality to stop. She had tried talking to the others, even tried speaking to Stephen, as he was the colonel in charge, but all they ever said, almost with one voice, was, ‘If they have any useful information, we have to get it out of them.’
I should have realised sooner, she reflected. I was so naive. I could see how deprived they all were. Their clothes were filthy, they were bruised and beaten, with sores on their legs from those damn leg-irons. I should have known what was happening. None of the conventions of prisoner treatment were being observed and the abuse led to deaths. Why I took so long to understand, I don’t know, but when I recognised Kurt that day, I knew I had to help. I’d seen him arrive, healthy, wearing a clean shirt, and within weeks, he was barely alive.
And that’s when I made my promise. I leant forward at my desk, listening out for the steps that would warn me of his return, and said, ‘I promise, I will do whatever I can to stop this.’
But I didn’t do anything then. I took the cowardly way out and left. The Colonel tried to intimidate me when I bumped into him after my interview at the Kaiserhof Hotel and later when he dismissed me, but I never stopped him. I know I was able to do some good after I left, when I went to Wildflecken, but I never stopped the ill treatment in that godforsaken centre. It went on for another couple of years, by which time there had been more deaths and a trial. Yet the man who was responsible for all that horror still believes he was right; he believed then and believes now that he acted for the good of his country. Look at him, sitting there so pompous and self-satisfied, looking forward to a good lunch, a couple of glasses of wine and port with his Stilton. He doesn’t deserve it.
As usual, he had walked to the house from the station along empty lanes in bright wintry sun, meeting no one. ‘Don’t you ever feel nervous, living here all alone?’ he had said on arrival, his thin, dry lips giving her a brush on her cheek in what had become his customary greeting and farewell. ‘I didn’t see a single soul on my way here.’ He patted her shoulder as well, underlining a growing feeling of intimacy, and it occurred to her that he might be thinking of making a proposal of marriage, now that he had a clearer idea of her worth. The very idea made her shudder.
‘Oh, I feel quite safe in this house,’ she said, walking past him to the dining room, where she placed the glasses on the table set for lunch with white napkins and the silver she had inherited from her parents. During the week she ate in the kitchen with what she thought of as the ‘cook’s cutlery’, often having an end of cheese and a heel of bread for her lunch. But today was Sunday, the day when Stephen came to ogle her wealth. Sunday was a day to display her riches and possessions, so she made a point of showing him the best that Kingsley could offer. The more she showed him, the more he wanted.