The Fragile Hour Read online

  “This is a treat,” Karl remarked when the potato arrived steaming with his meal.

  Anna enjoyed hers equally. “I’ll never take this humble vegetable for granted again when the war is over.”

  “Neither shall I.” Karl raised his glass of water with a smile. “This should be wine, but let’s drink anyway to Eva’s generosity.”

  “To Eva.” Anna sipped her glass, but although she lowered it afterwards she promptly raised it again. “I drink to you too, Karl.”

  He could tell by her taut expression that her anxiety about his safety on his forthcoming sortie had not diminished in any way. He was relieved that she did not suspect his concern was entirely for her.

  It was when they entered the dark street leading to the guesthouse that Lars, coming from the opposite direction by pre-arranged timing, went past them without a glance. But Anna knew that the coded message had changed hands.

  In her room Anna sat on her bed and removed her shoe to slide off the flat heel. Karl tucked the message into the cavity and slid it back on for her. She put her shoe on again.

  “Now I’ll fill in that work permit for you.” Karl took it from a concealed pocket in his rucksack. “I’ll give you a spare one and some extra travel passes.”

  He had quite a collection of them. When he had filled in the permit for her she put it in her purse, but the extra passes went into the false bottom of her suitcase.

  Karl glanced at his watch. “We’d better check out now.”

  He turned up the collar of his dark blue ski-jacket when they left the guesthouse. It had become much colder again and the night was milky with falling snow. He had selected a pass that enabled him to go right on to the quayside with her. There Anna brushed a snowflake from her lashes as she and Karl faced each other to say goodbye.

  “I’m glad we met,” she said huskily. She did not use his name as there was a different one on his present pass. She was also aware that two soldiers were on duty by the gangway and could overhear all that was said. “You know I wish you well.”

  “I wish you all the best too.” Karl handed over the suitcase that he had been carrying for her. Although she took it, she made no move to go aboard.

  “Thank you for all your help.”

  “It was no trouble at all.” Karl withdrew slightly, ready to leave.

  Anna knew she should delay no longer, but as yet she was unable to part from him.

  “Is there anything else?” he queried on a hint of warning, puzzled by her deliberate extension of what should have been over by now.

  Anna did not reply but, in a sudden upsurge of emotion at what he was shortly to undertake, she dropped her suitcase to throw herself forward and kiss him fully on the lips. Instantly his warm mouth opened to hers and his arms went hard about her, almost lifting her from the ground. It was an obsessively passionate kiss as if they were seeking the heart of each other in this brief, ignited moment snatched from the misery and brutality of war.

  He released her slowly, staring down into her face. Removing his glove he trailed his fingertips tenderly down the side of her snow-cold cheek and then traced the outline of her lips with his thumb. “Take care, Anna,” he said softly.

  She nodded, too choked for speech. Snatching up her suitcase, she hurried away up the gangway. At the top she paused to look to look at him once more. He gave a single wave in final farewell.

  Chapter Six

  When it was sailing time Anna and the other passengers, civilian and military, had to be on deck and wearing life-jackets. There would be no going below until the mine-sweeper, sailing ahead of the coastal steamer, steered a safe way through the minefield at the mouth of the fjord. In the wake of these two vessels was one of the German brothel ships that went up and down the coast to serve the forces.

  It was impossible to see the passing shore in the snow-laden darkness, but Anna tried to judge when she was level with the factory where even now Karl might be gaining an entrance. She was following him in spirit through the whole hazardous sortie, even though the details of his new plan were unknown to her.

  “Cigarette, fröken?”

  Anna was standing so tensely that she was startled by the German soldier holding out a cigarette packet to her. She saw he was young, not more than eighteen, a shy smile on his face. Inexplicably at such a moment she pitied him, far from home and in a country where he and his comrades had expected to be welcomed by a people they saw as fellow blue-eyed, fair-haired Aryans. Instead they had met hostility on all sides.

  “I don’t smoke.” Anna glimpsed how dejectedly he lowered the packet as she edged her way deeper into the cluster of civilian passengers. She found herself with two of the three older women from her cabin. They promptly included her in their chatter, but must have found her poor company, for her concentration was directed elsewhere.

  Beyond the minefield the coastal steamer was on its own as it sailed through the night. The voyage was without mishap, although at dawn a U-boat came alongside and everybody was roused from sleep or called from duty as naval personnel came aboard to check the identity of each person. It brought home to Anna how important it was for her never to think she was safe anywhere from a surprise check on her papers.

  It was afternoon when Anna stepped ashore at Alesund, Karl still in her thoughts. At first sight, ignoring the presence of the enemy, the salty old port looked exactly as she remembered. Built on three islands and linked to the mainland by a bridge meant that around any corner there was water and dozens of fishing vessels at their moorings, a moving canopy of seagulls wheeling overhead. The old wooden warehouses, red, yellow, brown and green, hugged each other in rows and the lids of snow on their roofs added to their venerable appearance.

  She paused outside a corner stationers. It still sold postcards with cut-out dolls and clothes that she had bought with her pocket money on shopping trips with her aunt. Otherwise in the vicinity of the harbour the shops continued to sell rope and tackle for deep-sea fishing, the glass floats for nets piled up in the windows like translucent green bubbles. In childhood she’d thought they were like magical crystal balls and would stop to gaze in on them, hoping to see something mysterious in their depths.

  Her first act was to buy a newspaper in the faint hope that a late news column might report something about the Bergen sabotage, but there was nothing. She dropped it in a street waste-bin as she went on into the main part of the town.

  There she came across a sight that had always delighted her in childhood and even now, in spite of everything, brought a smile to her lips. It was the great rock that seagulls had made their own from time immemorial, meeting there in their hundreds every season and always heedless of the passing traffic. They were coming and going around it now with a constant beating of wings and a discordant screeching. She found it comforting that in the midst of so much change the sea-birds had not been frightened away by gunfire or the tramp of marching feet.

  She had noticed already that there was an aggressive military presence in the town and the abundance of official notices pasted up everywhere gave further emphasis to the iron rule. She saw one in particular prominently displayed everywhere: ‘Anybody attempting to contact the enemy will be shot!’ She knew that it referred to those escaping to England and along this coastline with its hundreds of inlets and bays and islands as well as an abundance of boats it must be a nightmare for the Germans attempting to control the outflow of escapees. She despised their Nazi inability to grasp even now the resolute character of the Norwegian people.

  There was no need for her to ask the way to the Ryan Hotel as Karl had given her full directions. She soon reached it and regarded it appreciatively. It was old, built of stout timber as were most buildings in Norway other than those she thought of as city structures. Ornamented with charming gables, it had a Hanseatic look about it as if it might be as old as Tyskebryggen in Bergen. She must have passed it many times in the past without noticing it, but the war and its terrible destruction of so much fine architectu
re had opened her eyes as never before to everything that had its own particular beauty.

  After showing her papers to the soldier on duty by the stone steps, Anna entered the lobby, which was hung with woven tapestries in traditional local designs. Three officers were talking together. The two younger ones glanced in her direction as she went to the reception desk. A girl with soft platinum-fair hair greeted her.

  “I’m here to see Fru Sande,” Anna said, explaining that she had come from Bergen to apply for work that a friend thought she could obtain here. She had used the exact words that Karl had instructed her to say, for it was an undercover introduction for anybody who would know.

  “Your name, please.”

  Anna gave it and waited tensely while the receptionist left the desk. But the girl soon returned and showed her into Fru Sande’s office.

  Greta Sande, who was in her forties, sat at her desk in a pleasing room with shelves full of books and two eye-catching, strongly-hued paintings. Her looks were arresting in that she had accepted her lack of beauty and dramatised the fact. Her gold-tinted hair was pulled back into a coil that emphasised her angular features with the prominent nose and chin. But her deep-set eyes, one screwed up against the smoke of the cigarette between her lips, were a magnificent violet and her smile on a mouth wide enough to split her face had extraordinary charm. Anna could tell that she was a woman who had always lived life to the full, probably many men passing in and out of her affections, and it was likely that she thrived on the present dangerous role that she played.

  “Come and sit down, Anna.” The woman stubbed out her cigarette in an empty ashtray and indicated a chair with a graceful gesture. “Who sent you here?”

  “Karl Kringstad. I’ve a letter for you.” Anna handed it over.

  Greta read it through carefully, leaning back in her chair and swivelling gently to and fro. Then she folded the letter again. “What have you brought me?”

  Anna was cautious. “I’d prefer your door to be locked first with those officers in the hall.”

  Greta smiled again. “Don’t worry. I never lock this door on purpose, which means to them that I’m not concealing anything in here.” Her tone mocked their ignorance. “Until barracks were built the Germans took over town halls, hotels, schools and any sizable building for their own use or accommodation early on in the Occupation and mine was taken almost at once. I soon made sure that they respected me, partly because I’d worked hard to build up this hotel and I was determined not to lose it. I also had wild plans about poisoning those who were staying here and other mad thoughts of revenge.” She gave a wry laugh at her own folly. “Later, when things settled down and the Resistance became organised, I found a more practical way to hit out at them, especially as their presence under my roof gives me perfect cover.”

  Anna could believe that Greta would have carried out those original wild plans if they had proved feasible, for there had been a ruthless glint in her eye when she had spoken of the invaders. “I can understand your feelings, because I experienced a similar sense of outrage yesterday when I heard that my family home had been requisitioned.”

  Greta inclined her head sympathetically. “I’d like you to tell me about that later and also give me some news of Karl. He mentioned in his letter that you had an idea that would explain your presence here, because as he told you, I’m not allowed to take any civilian guests.”

  “I thought I could be here as a hotel trainee, if you’re agreeable. That would enable me to come and go as a temporary member of staff. Then, if I have to leave in a hurry, the Germans could be told that I’ve gone on to another hotel.”

  Greta narrowed her eyes as she considered the suggestion. “Yes, that should be plausible enough. You’d better be a trainee manageress. That will give you even more freedom of movement. As a matter of fact, that should work out very well, because I have contacts with two other Home Front hotel proprietors, one in Oslo and the other in Trondheim, who could take you in. But you’ll have to get a condensed training while you’re here if you’re going to pass yourself off in that role if you’re questioned.”

  “Are you sure about my being here? It does add to your danger.”

  “It also adds to my pleasure in deceiving the Germans even more.” Greta sat back in her chair. “So you can be safely installed here. We can talk more later and you can tell me what background you’ve been given and so forth. I’ve known everyone in my present employ for a long time and all are patriots, although with the exception of the only man on my staff, Emil, they are all ignorant of my being involved with the Home Front. You’ve met my daughter, Margot, at the reception desk. Now let’s deal with whatever you have with you.”

  “Yes, of course.” Reassured by all that had been said, Anna slid the heel off her shoe and extracted the tiny, folded message. “This is to be sent off at once.”

  Greta took it and nodded. “Emil will deliver it tonight.” She tucked it into the waistband of her skirt where she had a concealed pocket. “Now I’ll take you along to the kitchen. Not all the staff will be there as some are part-time.”

  She swept ahead, straight-backed with a fluid grace, her black skirt swinging. On the way she explained the layout of the hotel, which was larger than had appeared from its frontage. Everything that she said was accompanied by a gesture that compelled attention to her beautiful hands, a gold wedding ring on her finger the only jewellery she was wearing.

  The kitchen was as scrubbed and spotless as was usual anywhere in the country. The cook, who was in a crisp white overall and a cap, was preparing a large turbot. Another woman was piling up plates and a third was checking a cupboard.

  Emil in green overalls was just coming into the kitchen with a screwdriver and an electric iron in his hand. Grey-haired with a ruddy face, he looked as if he might have been a seaman before some accident caused him to limp. He gave Anna a smile that wrinkled his face like a walnut as Greta made her announcement.

  “Fröken Larsen,” she explained, “has come to commence here as a trainee manageress and stay for a while. I know you’ll do all you can to assist her. Please, Emil, would you introduce everybody. Afterwards, come to the office. I think the lamp there is faulty.”

  Only Anna and he knew that the real reason was being covered.

  After the introductions Edith, the cook, who had twinkling eyes, answered a question from Anna about the difficulties of catering on the rations. “I’ve become such an expert that I could make soup from the proverbial rusty nail.”

  Anna laughed. “Has rationing reached that stage in Alesund?”

  “Not quite.” Edith indicated the turbot. “That’s how we can serve this for the officers’ dinner this evening and there won’t be any left over. They like their food too much. But even they’re having to tighten their belts these days. At least they get plenty of German wine and beer that’s shipped in to keep the troops happy.” Edith shook her head censoriously. “There are some noisy parties here sometimes, I can tell you.”

  As Anna was led upstairs she decided to learn as much as possible from Edith while she was here. It would be useful to gain a full knowledge of how Norwegian women coped with the food shortages, quite apart from adding substance to the additional role she was playing.

  The room was small but comfortable. Left alone, Anna went to the window and looked out. Three floors below, a narrow division of the sea lapped at the rock on which this northern Venice of a town was built and on the opposite side, traffic was passing a row of small shops. She was thankful that her own part in the chain of the message’s delivery to London had been fulfilled without mishap, not for her own sake, but for Karl’s trust in her.

  “Be safe, Karl!” she whispered fervently.

  A tap on the door made her stir. Straightening up, she went across to open it. Margot Sande stood there smiling at her.

  “I know I’m interrupting your unpacking,” she said apologetically, “but I had the chance to hand over the desk for ten minutes.”

&nb
sp; “I’m glad you’ve come and I haven’t started unpacking yet. It can wait a little longer. Do sit down.”

  She indicated the only chair, which stood by the window, and settled herself on the bed. Margot paused to look down at the water below before seating herself.

  “You could fish from this window, Anna,” she joked.

  Anna was amused. “I suppose I could.”

  “That’s about the level of entertainment here. Dances are banned as they are everywhere else, everybody boycotts the ski and other sports contests that the Germans organise and we can’t see any films that aren’t German. It’s a bore.”

  She had something of her mother’s vivacity, but otherwise there was no likeness, for her features were pretty and symmetrical. Anna liked her: she was natural and unaffected, a person in her own right in spite of her parent’s dominant personality.

  “I don’t expect to have time for entertainment anyway,” Anna remarked. “I’m here first and foremost for one purpose only.”

  “I realise that. Mother just told me how we’re going to explain your presence to the Germans. It sounds all right to me. You’re the first courier who’s actually stayed here for any length of time. Mostly we hide them overnight or for a few days at the most. The Germans will never know if you’re here or not, because Mother objects if any of them set foot in the kitchen. Even the officers’ batmen bypass it to the boot-room by way of the staff hallway.”

  Anna was intrigued. “Do they trust her so implicitly?”

  Margot made a dismissive little gesture. “Of course not. They don’t trust anybody, but they’ve no reason to suspect that Mother is anything but a zealous businesswoman who wants to keep her guests comfortable and content while they leave the running of the hotel entirely to her. As for the staff, they believe that Mother is in the same position as themselves, which is that it’s only by working for the Germans that a livelihood can be maintained. No patriot wants to do it and it’s a bitter pill to swallow, but that’s how it is for many of us these days. So,” she concluded warningly, “just make sure you never run the risk outside this hotel of appearing to be sociable with the enemy, because you’ll be marked as a traitor from that time onwards.”