The Diplomat's Wife(16)

“Why don’t we go outside?” Dava tries again to lead me away from the door, but I pull from her grasp.

“No. Tell me what’s going on right now.”

Dava hesitates, then leads me to one of the marble staircases. She drops to the third stair, patting the space beside her. “Sit down.” I obey, waiting for her to speak. She takes a deep breath. “Marta, you know that Rose was very sick…”

Was sick. “I don’t understand.”

Dava puts her hand on mine. “Rose is gone.”

“Gone?” I repeat. “Did they take her to the hospital?”

Dava shakes her head. “Not that kind of gone. Marta, I’m sorry. Rose died.”

Died. The word bounces around in my head, not sinking in. “But that’s impossible. She was sitting up last night, talking…”

“You know that Rose had a blood disorder. The medicine that the doctors were giving her made her immune system weaker. She caught an infection and her fever spiked very suddenly. The doctors said no one could have seen it coming.”

Dava continues speaking but I do not hear her. In my mind, I see Rose sitting on the terrace last night, looking up at the mountains. I leap up and race into the ward. “Marta, wait,” Dava calls after me.

At the far end of the ward, I stop short. Rose’s bed has been stripped to the bare mattress, the nightstand beside it cleared. “No…” The word rips from my chest.

Dava comes to my side and puts her arm around me. “She’s at peace now.”

I shake my head. “I should have been here with her.”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference. And she was so happy for you last night, knowing that you had found Paul.” Suddenly my night with him seems like a distant memory. “Now, come with me.” I let Dava lead me outside to the terrace. “Wait here,” she orders before disappearing again. I drop to the bench where I sat with Rose the night before. My eyes fill with tears. I lost so many people during the war: my parents, my friends from the resistance. People I had known much longer and better than Rose. But the war is over. We are the survivors, the ones who made it. This isn’t supposed to be happening now. I put my head in my hands, sobbing.

A moment later, I hear footsteps. I look up and wipe my eyes beneath my glasses. Dava stands in front of me, holding two cups of tea. “Drink this.” I take one of the cups from her, cradling the warmth in my hands.

Dava sits down beside me. We sip our tea in silence, looking across the lake at the mountains. “I was with her,” Dava says suddenly. “At the end, I mean.”

I turn to face her. “Oh? Did she say anything?”

“She asked me to thank you for trying to help her.” Dava pauses. “She also asked me to give you this.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small envelope.

Puzzled, I take the envelope and open it. Inside is a folded piece of paper with an unfamiliar seal engraved at the top. Typewritten, it appears to be in English, but I cannot understand what it says. “What’s this?”

“It’s Rose’s visa to England,” Dava replies.

“Visa? I don’t understand…”

“Rose has an aunt in England who sent her a visa to come live with her. She never mentioned it to you?”

I shake my head. “Only that she had an aunt in London. Nothing about the visa.”

“Rose probably never mentioned it because it was a moot point,” Dava offers. “She was too sick to travel.” But I know this was not the reason Rose kept the visa from me. Rose knew that I had no one to go to in the West. She did not, I am sure, want to hurt my feelings by talking about her own opportunity. Dava continues, “She mentioned she was trying to get a companion visa for you to travel with her. She even wrote to her aunt to ask about it. I guess she wanted to see if it was possible first.”

Rose going to England. Me going with her. My head spins as I try to process all of this new information. “It was a nice idea,” I say finally. “But she’s gone now.”

“Before she died, Rose said she wanted you to have her visa, to go on to London without her.”

I stare at Dava, stunned. “But this is Rose’s visa. How can I…?”

“Technically it isn’t transferable, but there are ways. We can get you identification that says you are Rose for the purposes of the trip.”

My mind reels. “I can’t go to London,” I protest. It is too far away, too big.

“You’ve been studying English,” Dava points out.

“I’ve read a few children’s books. That’s hardly the same as speaking a language, using it every day. And I don’t have the money…” I falter, embarrassed. “For the passage, I mean. And to live.”

“Rose had a little money that she left. It will be enough to get you there.” Traveling to England with Rose would have been daunting enough, but the thought of going alone is terrifying. Dava grasps me by both shoulders. “Marta, listen to me. I know you are upset about Rose. I am, too. And to consider this trip on top of everything that has happened may seem overwhelming. But this visa is worth its weight in gold. You don’t have any special status, no relatives to go to in the United States or anywhere else. The camp won’t be here forever, and if you haven’t found a place to live when it closes you may not have much say over where you are sent. You need to settle somewhere, make a life for yourself. Do you understand me?” I do not answer. “Anyway, if you go to London you can take Rose’s belongings, tell her aunt personally that Rose is gone. You would want to do that for Rose, wouldn’t you?”