Chapter 20

20

‘I've had a letter from Lenka,' whispered Jana, leaning over the trestle table.

Dasha dropped the clothes she was unpacking back in the crate and stared at her. ‘Tell me everything! Is she all right? And the baby?'

The community hall was crowded today and as three women began to hunt through the clothes on Dasha's table, Jana and Dasha retreated to one side. In a lowered voice, Jana outlined the contents of Lenka's letter and then went on to her idea about a charity delivery of books and clothes to Terezin.

Dasha turned pale. ‘You want to go into Terezin? We don't even know what the place is. A prison, a town, a work camp? There are all sorts of rumours flying around.'

‘Exactly,' said Jana. ‘That's why I want to see for myself. Maybe I could even get to see Lenka. You know someone from the Red Cross, don't you? I thought maybe you could put me in touch with her.'

Dasha's expression was dubious. ‘Miss Novak from the Red Cross will be here tomorrow morning to speak to the pastor. I could introduce you then, but I don't know if she can help.'

‘Thanks, Dasha. It's a starting point.'

The following morning, Jana and Dasha spoke with the pastor and Miss Novak about the proposed idea; they were both enthusiastic about the plan but realistic about the hurdles to be overcome.

‘Getting inside Terezin is something the Red Cross has been pursuing for some time,' said Miss Novak, ‘but the German authorities are dragging their feet. And now with Heydrich…' Her voice tailed off and she shook her head.

They talked about the rigid bureaucratic channels to be negotiated and Miss Novak suggested they meet again in three weeks' time. By then, it would be the beginning of May; everything took so long and Jana dreaded to think what might be going on in the meantime. Heydrich's words of transporting thousands still haunted her and although she had no proof this was happening at Terezin, uneasiness kept her awake at night. She wondered what the resistance were doing with her information, if anything at all.

Jana rolled out the grass-green paper in the window front and scattered over the flowers she had crafted from scraps of material. She was determined to make the spring display as cheerful as possible despite the ugly swastika she was obliged to hang in the window. As she laid out the selected books, her thoughts kept returning to the contacts who came for her coded messages. It was frustrating; their visits were irregular and it seemed the resistance movement had become extremely fragmented since Heydrich arrived in Prague. She would like to be able to notify a contact if she had an important message; give some kind of sign.

Mulling this over, she laid out her handmade bookmarks as always amongst the book display; sometimes, she split them into two colourful fans, other times just one. Passersby often looked at her window even if they never entered the shop.

Leaning back on her haunches, she narrowed her eyes. That would be it; the bookmarks would act as her sign. Two fans of bookmarks would mean no news. One fan would mean an urgent message was waiting. She smiled to herself. It would be easy enough for the resistance to find inconspicuous passersby to note how she'd done her window display. She would notify the next contact of her idea.

She didn't have to wait long. A couple of days later, a tram driver, still in uniform, made contact with her and she passed on her proposal.

The early-morning breeze that drifted through the open office window was cool, but when Jana looked out at the blue, cloudless sky, her heart lifted. The April sunshine of the last days had melted any remnants of snow and all over the city, green shoots were emerging announcing the arrival of spring. Working in the office adjacent to Heydrich's, she was rolling the carpet sweeper over the ornate rug when the noise of an engine halted her.

The sound of the motor car was unmistakable: Heydrich's Mercedes-Benz convertible. She left the sweeper standing, snatched up a duster and began to polish the glass as she peered down from the first-floor window. Heydrich climbed out of the driver's seat and adjusted his SS cap. He had driven through the city alone, the roof of the convertible down, without even a security guard; the Reichsprotektor of Bohemia and Moravia, self-confident and arrogant.

Jana watched as he allowed himself a moment to admire his vehicle before striding into the palace as upright and proud as a king. She checked her watch: twelve minutes past eight. She would note down everything she'd just observed in her secret code.

Moments later, she heard him enter his office next door, followed by someone else. It wasn't long before Heydrich was engaging in his favourite pastime: thumping his desk. Jana collected up her cleaning things and walked into the hallway.

The door of Heydrich's office opened, and a member of the SS exited, beads of sweat on his forehead. Heydrich stood in front of his desk, legs astride, glaring at the back of the man, but on seeing Jana, he beckoned her to him. She looked at him questioningly, her stomach in knots. Did he really mean her? What could he possibly want? She was a mere cleaner, not worth his time. His sudden attention made her nervous.

‘ Fr?ulein ,' he shouted, impatiently.

She bolted into his office.

‘ Guten Morgen, Herr Protektor ,' she said in her best German accent.

His greeting was a curt nod of the head. As usual, he looked immaculate, lean in his pristine, black uniform with its gleaming insignia pins and buttons. His cool-blue eyes studied her a moment, before he waved a hand at his floor-to-ceiling bookcase.

‘I inherited this office. It is like a library, which would be charming if the shelves were not so chaotic. You're interested in literature – sort it out for me. That's more useful than flicking a duster around.'

‘Yes, sir,' she said, glancing down at the bucket in her hand. Did he mean now instead of finishing her duties? Her shift ended in half an hour. But of course, no one questioned Heydrich, least of all a cleaning maid.

Seeing her uncertainty, he frowned. ‘Forget the damn bucket and start now.'

She put down the bucket and moved to the mahogany bookcase which she had dusted earlier that morning.

‘How would you like the books sorted, sir? Alphabetically?—'

‘However you think best. Just get on with it,' he said, reaching for his Czech crystal whisky decanter. Heydrich was not in a good mood, and she wondered how often he had a drink before nine o'clock in the morning. He took a cigarette from the silver box on his desk and stood at the window, cigarette in one hand, whisky in the other, his expression hard, calculating. As she turned to the books, she wondered what terrible things he was scheming.

He had just spent a couple of days in Berlin and it was rumoured he'd had a high-level meeting with Hitler and Himmler. A shiver went down her spine just thinking about what might have been discussed: countries to attack, people to persecute and murder, nations to oppress and bend to the will of the Reich.

Heydrich's secretary entered the room, laden with a pile of files. The plain-faced German woman with hair tightly braided around her head placed the files on Heydrich's desk. She glanced, surprised, at Jana, who averted her gazed and busied herself with the books. Heydrich dismissed his secretary and then sat at his desk shuffling through the files in silence.

Jana's nerves were as taut as the strings of Heydrich's violin that lay in its open box. It was bizarre and terrifying to be in the same room with this man who could turn on her in an instant and order her execution. The more she tried to work quietly, the louder were her movements: one of her shoes squeaked, a book collapsed with a thud on the shelf, and then to her dismay, her stomach began to rumble.

Heydrich, however, did not seem to be disturbed, and continued to ignore her as he worked.

A shrill noise pierced the room and Jana jumped. Heydrich grabbed the telephone receiver and after a few moments of listening – to what Jana could make out as a man's urgent tones – Heydrich barked, ‘I'm on my way.'

‘Finish up in here,' he said to Jana before shuffling the files together and pushing them to the side of his desk. He strode out the room, leaving her frozen to the spot. She had only ever been in his office early in the morning when his desk top was empty. She had once tried the drawers but they were, of course, locked. But now files of information lay on his desk a couple of steps away.

The office door was wide open. It would be madness to start rifling around in the Protektor's paperwork. Anyone walking past would see her immediately. She bit the inside of her cheek, thinking hard, then heaved a pile of books from the shelf and put them on Heydrich's desk, shielding the files from view if someone appeared at the doorway. Keeping her eyes on the open door she flicked through the files, scanning the covers. A beige one with an official emblem of a spread-winged eagle, clutching a swastika between its claws, caught her attention. She opened it, concealed behind the pile of books, her heart pumping. There were a few carbon copies of recently dated letters signed by Heydrich.

Fear clouded her vision; the typed words, a smudged carbon blue, jittered before her eyes. She forced herself to focus: a letter to his immediate superior, Himmler.

Snatches of words sprung out at her:

Not only is the idea of extradition of undesirables to Madagascar ridiculous, it is logistically and financially inviable. Please rest assured that I take our Führer's concerns seriously and that I'm in the process of implementing a solution ? —

‘Ah, the bookshop girl.'

Her head shot up. Brandt stood in the doorway, his eyes small and hard.

‘And what might you be doing in our Protektor 's office?'

In a swift movement, she flicked the file shut and pulled the book pile on top of it.

‘Herr Heydrich asked that I sort his bookcase. It's easier when I lay the books out.' She spoke with as much authority as her parched throat would allow.

‘That's a very important job for a cleaning woman,' he said snidely.

Sweat ran down the back of her neck as he approached. She lay her hand on the pile of books that now covered the file underneath. Brandt's bulk neared, his scarred cheeks reddening.

‘My goodness. It's like a party in here.' Heydrich's secretary entered with a small watering can. She stared at them both.

‘The cleaning girl here has some story about tidying books,' said Brandt with a sneer.

‘Well, Herr Heydrich has requested that she do so.'

Brandt's face dropped.

‘But I've just heard Herr Heydrich has been called away for the rest of the day,' continued the secretary, ‘so I'm here to lock up.'

She gave Brandt a fixed look and he retreated from the room, but not before glowering at Jana. ‘I'm watching. Always watching.'

The secretary sighed as if she wasn't particularly fond of Brandt and moved to the windowsill to water an impressive cactus.

‘Please replace the books and leave now,' she said, paying attention to avoid the huge prickles as she watered.

Jana used the moment the woman was distracted to lift the books and slide the file back to the others and then stacked the books on the shelf.

The secretary stepped back, admiring the swollen plant. ‘Even something so vicious needs a few drops of loving care,' she said.

Jana said goodbye and raced from the room, wondering what or who the secretary had been referring to.

Jana flew through the door of the bookshop and went straight to the window. First, she removed one display of the bookmarks and then fanned out the remaining ones prominently in the centre of the window: urgent news. She hadn't understood the reference to Madagascar, didn't even know where that was, but the words ‘extradition' and particularly ‘solution' were ominous; a word often bandied about by Hitler with reference to Jews.

She fetched The Gardener's Diary and began work on the coded message. Annoyingly, the shop was busy that day, and every time she sat behind the cash desk with the book on her lap, a customer came in and she had to snap it shut and shove it beneath the counter. It wasn't until four o'clock in the afternoon that she'd finished and her note was securely hidden in a daffodil-yellow bookmark. How long would it take for her sign in the window to be seen? She needed to tell Andrej the latest news; maybe he could speed things along.

Two days later, hearing the unmistakeable sound of the Mercedes-Benz convertible, Jana checked her watch – eight twenty-three. She had deliberately left cleaning Heydrich's office to last, and although she'd finished, she continued to sweep her duster over the already clean surfaces. As usual, the office door was open and Miss Jezek had already stopped by to check for signs of missed dust.

Jana continued to repeat the words in her head that she'd been practising most of the night. But now that Heydrich's arrival was imminent, nerves paralysed her brain and the words became a jumble of nonsense.

He wore no coat over his black uniform and removed his hat as he entered his office. His heavily creamed, blond hair was swept back, which made his face longer and more severe than usual, doing nothing to ease her nerves. He halted, tall and rigid when he saw her, his expression one of annoyance.

‘Haven't you finished yet? I don't expect to find cleaning staff still here when I arrive.'

‘My apologies, Herr Protektor . I am finished now but was just wondering if you would like me to continue with the bookshelves.'

‘Not this morning. You may leave,' he said, folding his long frame into the chair and putting his briefcase on the desk.

She nodded. This wasn't going to work. What on earth had she been thinking that she, a mere cleaner, could strike up a conversation with the Reichsprotektor of Bohemia and Moravia? It was a ludicrous idea.

He opened his briefcase and glanced up at her, frowning.

‘Why are you still here?' he said.

Her legs trembled. Now was her chance. She tried to swallow over the rock in her throat.

‘Spit it out, Fr?ulein , or get out of here.'

‘Sir, I'm involved with a church charity that is affiliated with the Red Cross. We are trying to get approval to deliver donations to the people of Terezin.'

He fixed her with emotionless, cool eyes. ‘The settlement now carries the German name, Theresienstadt.'

‘Yes, sir, yes, of course,' she stumbled.

‘Furthermore, I am aware of the requests of the Red Cross.' His voice was quiet, but his words cut the air with slivers of ice.

Careful, Jana, careful.

‘Yes, of course,' she repeated, fighting to find the right words without enraging him. ‘It seems to be taking a long time, and I think the Red Cross just want to allay any fears and tick it off their list,' she said, trying to sound casual, as if the visit was of no great importance.

‘Allay fears?' Alertness flickered across his features.

Her stomach lurched: bad choice of words. She'd thought the idea might suit the German propaganda that Jews were being treated humanely.

Seeking to diffuse the situation, she shrugged her shoulders. ‘You know how the Red Cross are. Sorry to have bothered you, sir.'

He studied her for a long moment, his pale face impassive, as immobile as a mask.

She clamped her jaw to stop her teeth chattering. He scared her more like this than when he was thumping his desk and shouting. Behind his glacier eyes, he was calculating, assessing, planning. And then as if bored with her, he turned away and reached inside his briefcase.

‘I have work to do,' he said, dismissing her.

With great relief, she retreated from the room, and stopped in the hallway, one hand on the wall to support herself, taking deep breaths to slow her racing heart.