Roots of Evil(139)

‘You brought him back to England?’ said Francesca.

‘Yes. It was a circuitous route we took, Ilena and I – we wanted to be sure no one was following or watching. Perhaps we were both a little paranoid after the years in the camp. And I thought Alraune could live with us all, that we could be a family. He had two sisters who would love to have him, I said.’ She paused. There was no need to say that beneath everything she had been frightened of the child’s self-possession and his dark history. She had thought: This is a child apparently responsible for viciously blinding a man – a man who, according to the reports, had shown him only kindness.

‘Ilena stayed in England,’ she said. ‘By the time I was given the Ashwood contract she had qualified as a doctor, and she obtained a post in a hospital nearby. We were pleased to think of being so near to one another. And I was delighted with the Ashwood deal, which was for two films – interesting work and very profitable. The studios were hoping to rival Alfred Hitchcock’s productions – he had already made The Thirty Nine Steps and Rebecca, and he was only a couple of years away from Dial M for Murder – and the films in prospect were glossy murder mysteries, very typical of that era. Quite good screenplays though,’ said the lady who had known and worked with von Stroheim and Max Schreck, and sparred with Brigitte Helm and Dietrich. Despite herself Lucy smiled.

‘And the thought of living in England again after so long – it was another of those moments of extreme and intense happiness,’ said Alice. ‘I had money again – not a fortune, but enough to buy a house near to the studios. Ilena stayed with us often, and her family came to England regularly. We travelled a little – it was possible by that time. I took the children abroad for holidays.’

‘On Howard Hughes’ Stratoliner?’ said Lucy involuntarily.

‘Yes. How on earth did you know that?’

‘I found an old newsreel,’ said Lucy. ‘Pathé News.’

‘There were usually cameras around,’ agreed Alice. ‘But altogether it was beginning to be a good life again. Conrad was there, of course; he loved the idea of living in England: he thought he would be an English gentleman and he wanted to write music to rival Elgar and Vaughan Williams.’ She stopped again, and Lucy felt her heart bump with nervousness. We’re coming to it, she thought. We’re coming now to what really happened at Ashwood.

But it was Liam who leaned forward, and said, in a voice far more gentle than Lucy had heard him use before, ‘Baroness. We know that Edmund Fane’s father killed Conrad. But who killed Leo Dreyer?’

For a long time Lucy thought Alice was not going to reply. We’ve overdone it, she thought in horror. It’s been too much for her – she’s over ninety, for goodness’ sake, and she’s relived half her life for us tonight!

But then she saw she had been wrong; the lady who had survived Auschwitz, and who had survived God knew what other hardships and atrocities, sat up a little straighter.

‘Michael, dear, I believe I will have a small brandy with my coffee,’ she said. And, when Michael had poured it, and had added glasses for himself and Liam, Alice said, ‘This is what really happened that day.’



Alraune had been well-behaved and apparently normal after Alice and Ilena brought him to England, and if the killing of Reinard Stultz had affected him he did not show it. Alice had dared to believe him innocent; to think there had been someone else in the house that day – perhaps someone with a grudge against former Nazis, someone who had been in one of the camps, or who had lost a loved one there. There would be plenty such people, for goodness’ sake!

He had a bright intelligence that pleased Alice, and he seemed to be fitting into the household smoothly and easily, although he was wary of Conrad. Or was it that Conrad was wary of him? Alice had not told Conrad about the rape – she had been too afraid that Conrad would hate Alraune because of it, and Alraune had had more than his share of hatred in his life already. And Conrad had appeared to accept Alraune amiably enough. ‘One day perhaps you will tell me what happened in Auschwitz,’ he said once. ‘But only when you wish to and only if you wish to.’

‘Will you ever tell him?’ Ilena said one day.

‘No. He would mount a vendetta or a crusade to find the men who raped me, and challenge them to a duel or something equally ridiculous,’ said Alice. ‘Whatever he did, he would never be able to look at Alraune without remembering.’

Ilena said, ‘And you? Can you look at Alraune without remembering?’

‘I can,’ said Alice, and thought: I must. And in the meantime was grateful that Conrad seemed perfectly happy for Alraune to be part of the family.

Deborah and the small Mariana accepted Alraune unquestioningly. They called him Alan as they had been told to do, and Alice tried to call him Alan as well, although she found it difficult. And dozens of times during those first weeks in England, she found herself watching the boy covertly, and thinking: have I brought a murderer into the house? A killer who might turn on Deborah and Mariana?

And then she would remember how Alraune had witnessed men blinded in cold blood inside a German concentration camp, and how he had been hidden away in a dank wash-house and in the roof spaces of huts so that Josef Mengele should not find him. She would remember the swivel-eyes of the searchlights constantly raking the compound as she carried him into hiding, and the feeling of fear and urgency because it was vital to dodge the lidless white glare if they were to remain alive…