Chapter 11

11

Dressed in her black maid's uniform and carrying a basket with cleaning materials, Jana waited outside Heydrich's locked door. A few moments later, her manager, Miss Jezek, who had interviewed her, bustled along, keys in hand. She had accepted Jana's excuses of being absent with a pinched expression earlier that morning, and had warned Jana to in future refrain from travelling in bad weather conditions on a Sunday.

Miss Jezek always opened the office doors for the cleaners and locked it again when they finished. Security was tight on the first floor of Salm Palace. It was strict protocol that the office doors were left wide open when cleaners were inside, and Miss Jezek patrolled the landing, keeping an eye on the staff. There was also an armed guard on duty at the end of the hall.

Jana set to work. Heydrich's office was what one would expect in the baroque palace: large with an imposing desk, grand chair, and oil paintings on the wall. Looking somewhat incredulous alongside the artwork was the obligatory portrait of Hitler. Jana gave his face a good slapping with her long feather duster before moving over to the sideboard .

On a silver platter stood a cut-glass crystal, brandy decanter and two glasses made from the finest Czech crystal. She took a small cloth and with delicate hands wiped the precious crystal before turning to Heydrich's desk. Everything was immaculately tidy, the surface of the desk empty except for an ink pot and a picture of his wife and four children. His wife was apparently an ardent Nazi and fully supported her husband's career within the Nazi party.

Jana's eye was caught by something she'd not seen in the office before: a violin case propped up against the wall. Heydrich played violin? The thought of this barbarian handling such a beautiful instrument jarred her; it must belong to one of the children.

Next, she dusted the antique bookcase, pausing to read the spines of the books. Many were beautiful, old, leatherbound copies and she guessed special editions. The authors were mostly German, such as Goethe and Schiller.

‘Do you enjoy German literature?'

She spun round to see Reinhard Heydrich appraising her. He had fine features and an aquiline nose which gave him an almost regal quality. His blond hair, blue eyes and athletic physique made him fit the Aryan ideal far more than any other top Nazi.

Her mouth went dry and she took a moment to answer.

‘I do, sir. I studied the subject.'

‘Indeed?' He placed his briefcase on the desk, strode to a coat stand, hung up his coat and smoothed down the jacket of his pristine uniform. His boots gleamed and the silver SS pin on his collar shone.

‘Good to hear a Czech speak articulate German. Most of you lot can't string a sentence together.' He seated himself and waved his hand dismissively. ‘You may leave. '

He didn't look at her as he reached for the phone.

‘Yes, sir.'

She hurried from the room, relieved to get away from him. The man was arrogance personified. She checked the watch on her trembling wrist and made a mental note of the time: twenty past eight. From now on, she would note his arrival times as requested and pass the information on to her next contact. She finished her shift and wound her way down Nerudova Street and on to the bookshop.

Later that afternoon, as the light was fading from a bleak sky and Jana was switching on the table lamps, Pavel arrived. He stamped the snow from his boots on the doormat and looked at her shyly. Normally, she would have given him a warm hug as greeting, but now she just managed an awkward smile.

He looked around the shop as he approached. He too didn't hug her. She asked how things were at the warehouse where he worked near the shore of the Vltava River.

‘It's pretty hectic. The Reich has stepped up production at the steel works, and hundreds of boxes of ammunition are passing through our warehouse now the war is raging.' They were both silent for a moment as they considered the implication of his words.

‘I have to work double shifts starting from next week,' he said, then added in a soft voice, ‘I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me this evening at our favourite little restaurant.'

Jana looked into his hopeful eyes. Everything within their friendship had changed since their kiss: the way they spoke to each other, their body language and the atmosphere that emanated between them. Having dinner with him would, in his eyes, be a date. She had made a mistake and she owed it to him to be honest.

He reached out, touching her hand briefly, his eyes shining.

‘I haven't stopped thinking about you since the last time we met. I've wanted this for so long, and when you kissed me, it was the most wonderful moment of my life.'

‘Pavel, I'm not sure?—'

‘Don't worry. I won't get heavy on you,' he said quickly, as if realising the weight of his declaration. ‘We can take things slowly. Just dinner.'

Jana gazed at his boyish face, his expression full of longing. She stalled at crushing him completely.

‘I'm sorry, I can't this evening. Another time, maybe?'

His face dropped. ‘That's a shame. I'll be working long hours in future, but I'll let you know when I have some time.'

‘Yes, do that,' she said, smiling in an effort to lift his spirits.

As there seemed nothing more to say, he left, leaving her with the feeling she had just lost her closest friend.

The book exchange group was lively the next morning. Seated next to Jana was Dasha, an old school friend with whom she'd lost contact until recently. It was good to have her join the book club. Dasha had just passed on a worn copy of an eighteenth-century romance and was now chatting about her brother's new job.

‘…you would think, living in Pilsen, he would have found work in the beer factory, but actually he's been recruited to work at Skoda. '

‘Don't they make weapons there for the Wehrmacht?' asked another.

‘Yes. My brother would've preferred to brew beer, but he has to work where the Germans send him.' Dasha sighed.

‘Free will died back in 1939,' piped in a prematurely grey woman. ‘The Germans try to placate us with better employment, but they use our skilled work force to drive their war machine.'

Dasha nodded. ‘At least our men don't have to join the Wehrmacht.'

‘True,' Lenka said, ‘but that's because we're not considered good enough to be German citizens, although our country is being Germanised. The Reich just wants our workers because all their men are away fighting.'

There were murmurs of agreement from around the circle. Jana glanced across at Karolina, who had inspired the book club in the first place. Today, she was unusually silent, her face pallid and drawn.

When the group came to a close and the mothers were getting their children into their coats, Jana approached her and gave a sympathetic smile.

‘I just wondered if you were all right. You were a bit quiet today.'

‘Just tired, that's all,' said Karolina as she struggled to get her little girl's arms through her coat sleeves. ‘I'm not sleeping well.'

Jana reached out and helped with the child's coat. ‘If you ever want to have a chat?—'

‘Thanks,' said Karolina, ‘but really, I'm fine.' She didn't look at Jana as she spoke, concentrating on her squirming daughter, and then gave a vague wave to everyone as she left.

Lenka groaned as she lowered herself onto the settee next to Jana.

‘Thank goodness Ivan likes to cook,' she said as she arranged cushions in an attempt to get comfortable. Homely sounds and smells emanated from the kitchen: the clink of pans, the aroma of onions frying. Jana looked around the apartment where Lenka and Ivan had lived since their wedding just over a year ago. It was small and cosy and would soon be filled with baby chatter and cries and the cooing of parents over the little wonder they had created.

Jana gave a small, wistful sigh. ‘How are you feeling?' she asked.

‘Exhausted, clumsy and ugly.'

‘You could never be ugly.' Jana took her friend's hand and squeezed it. ‘Only three weeks to go.'

‘I want you to be godmother to the little one,' said Lenka, her face pale and earnest.

As Jana hugged Lenka awkwardly around her baby mound, she said, ‘It would be an honour. And I fully intend to be the best godmother ever.'

What sort of world was it that the baby would be born into? If only their small nation hadn't been deserted by the rest of Europe.

‘I wonder how different things would have been if we had resisted the German invasion,' Jana said.

‘We would have been slaughtered and Prague razed to the ground.' Lenka sighed. ‘Hitler threatened to bomb our historical city mercilessly if we didn't comply.'

‘I know. I mean, if countries like England and France had supported us instead of literally putting us in Hitler's hands in order to pacify him… It was only when he invaded Poland that th e rest of Europe reacted.' Jana couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice.

‘We just weren't important enough.' Lenka sighed again. ‘A tiny landlocked country, far away from London…'

‘We were the sacrifice,' Jana said. ‘But the beast wasn't satisfied.'

Ivan popped his head around the kitchen door. ‘Not long, ladies. Hope you're hungry.'

Lenka patted her swollen stomach. ‘We are starving.' She smiled. ‘Our child has a huge appetite. Must be a boy.'

Ivan's brown eyes, soft with love, gazed at his wife, his chest heaving with emotion before he returned to preparing the meal. Jana was moved to see the deep love between her friends but her stomach flickered with concern. She lowered her voice.

‘Have you been contacted about the radio parts? Surely they wouldn't expect you to take that risk in your condition.'

‘I haven't heard anything. I expect someone else has been assigned the job.'

‘Good. Promise me you won't do anything stupid.'

‘Promise. Now let me bore you with baby stuff.' Lenka leaned to the side of the settee and pulled a basket onto her lap that contained balls of wool, knitting needles and tiny pieces of clothing already completed. ‘I've been busy,' she said, holding up a delicate, cream bodysuit.

‘How adorable,' Jana exclaimed. ‘I have something for my new godchild too. It'll be finished in time for the birth.' Jana lay a hand on her friend's stomach, choking back a well of emotion. She leaned forwards. ‘Can you hear me, little one? I can't wait to meet you and hold you in my arms.'