Page 117 of Villa of Secrets

After a moment’s silence, Fritz continued. ‘I was shocked and horrified and decided to try and find her father. It took me five years, but eventually I discovered he was in a residential home in Switzerland. My plan was to hand him over to the authorities, but before I did, I wanted to see him for myself. Three months ago, I went to the residential home and found a ninety-five-year-old man close to death with advanced Parkinson’s disease.’

Fritz looked up at Rebecca. ‘I’m sorry I deceived you.’ He turned to Bubba again. ‘It’s the only secret I’ve ever kept from my wife, partly for her sake and partly because I was so ashamed to have come from him, his bloodline.’

Rebecca entered the cottage. ‘Is that where you go on the first Monday of the month? Switzerland?’

Fritz stared at her. ‘You knew? I’m sorry I deceived you, darling. You said you needed absolutely no stress. I thought it better not to tell you, even though I was desperate to talk about it. You see, I had to decide what to do. Like keeping the letters from you, it was a mistake I made because I thought it was in your best interest.’

‘You had no right, Fritz. You can’t control my life, no matter what you think is best for me. It was up to me to decide if I wanted to read the letters or not.’ She placed her hand on her stomach and paused. ‘We’ll discuss this another time, but I can’t help wondering what else you’ve done in my best interest?’

Naomi interrupted. ‘And about your grandfather, Fritz. What decision did you come to?’ she asked quietly.

He glanced from one sister to the other, seeming unsure for a moment. ‘Last month, when Rebecca thought I’d gone to America, I returned to Switzerland to meet with Nüller for the last time. I told him that I, his grandson and only heir, had married a woman of Jewish descent, then I read him Bubba’s diaries.

‘He begged me to stop, but I wouldn’t. He swore he had only carried out orders, but I said I didn’t believe him and neither would the war-crimes tribunal. He had escaped death by disappearing fifty years ago, but I would make sure it wouldn’t happen again. The diaries of an innocent sixteen-year-old girl were proof of the pleasure he got from his persecution of the Jews of Rhodes. He would be exposed for who he was and what he had done. He became deranged and fell into an epileptic fit. I informed the medical staff that he did not wish to be resuscitated and then I told the police my grandfather’s true identity.

‘Frick Nüller is dead.’

Bubba stared into space. ‘Then the world is a better place. May he be damned to burn in hell for eternity.’ The room was silent, everyone with their thoughts, then Bubba spoke.

‘And the letters I wrote to my granddaughter?’

Fritz sighed deeply. ‘I am so sorry. I have them all bar one. When we go home I’ll give them to Rebecca and she can decide to read them now or keep them until after the babies arrive. I was simply trying to protect her, Bubba. I realise now that I had no right to take matters into my own hands. I should have let her deal with them. My mistake.’

After a long silence, Bubba said, ‘It took some courage to come here and tell me this.’ Naomi realised that Bubba could not look at Fritz. ‘You could have kept it to yourself and nobody would have known, except for me of course. And do you know why that is?’ She turned to face him, blinked hard and shivered. ‘Because you, Fritz Neumanner, are the absolute double of your grandfather. I cannot look at you without remembering that day on the dock.

‘When you walked through that door and said you were going to take my granddaughter for your wife, it’s a good job my gun was with the priest because I wanted nothing more than to kill you.’ She sighed deeply, glanced at each of them in turn, and said, ‘But the past is in the past and it’s finally time to move on. Let’s try to put this behind us.’ She almost smiled. ‘And will you get up and sit on a chair?’

‘First, I’ve brought you a gift.’ Fritz opened the shoebox and folded back layers of red tissue.

The scarlet velvet slippers had lily-of-the-valley embroidered over the fronts and were edged with tiny white pearls. They had a luxurious, oriental appearance. Gently, Fritz removed Bubba’s brown-check footwear and slid her feet into the flamboyant slippers.

‘How do they feel?’ he asked quietly.

‘They feel expensive,’ Bubba replied, and for the first time, Bubba and Fritz exchanged a cautious smile.

*

It had been a long day with a satisfactory result. When the kitchen was finally empty, Naomi, bone-tired, climbed the stairs with the diary in her hand.

Chapter 49

Monday, 16 July 1945

Today is my birthday, and I sit at the kitchen table and remember my last celebration, when we lived behind the shop in town and everyone spoiled me with so many fine gifts, only days before we were parted. So much has happened since that time, it’s hard to accept it was only a year ago.

Sonia is ten weeks old, healthy, and incredibly beautiful. The doctor says she is going to be tall, and I am pleased about that. We are dependent on handouts. The kindness of my Paradissi neighbours knows no limits and I’ll always be in their debt. They have given me baby clothes, toys, a crib and a pushchair. I confessed to the papas most of the events that took place with the Andartes. Nobody has said anything, but I suspect he told people that I’d worked with the Resistance, and this is the reason for their charity.

I didn’t tell the papas, or anyone else, what had happened to Evangelisa, only that she’d died. I’m ashamed and so very sorry, and I beg her forgiveness in my prayers each night.

There were questions about Sonia’s father. I wore my wedding ring on the leather thong around my neck over my clothes. I said that it was my husband’s mother’s, a family heirloom that I would have altered to fit when I had the money. I am sure rumours circulated but I told the truth: Sonia’s father was a soldier who had not yet returned from the war.

Times are hard now, with little food and no money. I live on herbs, snails, and anything I can get my hands on. I keep a yeast culture going in a jar on the windowsill and make bread with it twice a week. I collect driftwood from the beach and salt from the rockpools. Bags of pine cones from the forest fuel the stove. If I have flour and olive oil, I manage. Mrs Spanaki unravelled her blue bed jacket and knitted a matinee coat, a bonnet, and bootees for Sonia to keep her warm. Sonia’s first cradle was a drawer on two upturned crates, next to my bed.

One afternoon, while Sonia slept on Mrs Spanaki’s porch, I held a skein taut for her, while she wound the wool into a ball.

‘What’s happening to your father’s shop, Dora?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know. I was thinking I’d like to go into town and clean it, ready for his return.’