As love comes to them so does separation.
Chapter 27
How quickly the days passed. She tried not to worry about what would happen when Francis returned to Finland, and enjoyed what each day brought. Many of the animals at London Zoo had been spared by the Blitz, but many had been badly frightened by the bombs and were more timid than they used to be. One example was the green-nosed monkey, a notorious food-snatcher in the Congo, or so Hilda was reliably informed; it clung to its one remaining mate, looking tentatively over its shoulder to see if any member of the human species had come too close.
They enjoyed the sunshine, even the occasional shower, and found joy and humour in everything they did – even a bus trip to Epping Forest which was beset by delays. A new normality was springing up all around the city. Mobile hot drink bicycles had a good trade going, and shop windows were constantly restocking to take advantage of the members of the armed forces who were returning in high spirits, and seeking out presents in the city centre to take home to a loved mother, sister or wife. Gifts were also heading home for the fathers and brothers of the Canadian, New Zealand, Australian and American forces. Back pay and savings meant servicemen had money to flaunt; the Americans in particular certainly knew how to spend, and had no difficulty enticing young women on to their arms.
On a Saturday morning towards the end of her time with Francis, Hilda received a letter. She was required to sign for it, so she knew exactly what it was likely to be. She was not wrong. The citation read that Frau Hilda Richter was to attend the International Court of Justice at Nuremburg as a witness in the case against Herr Gerhardt Eicke, who faced charges for war crimes. Specifically mentioned in the letter was his charge of having been in active command of the 'cleansing' of Hamburg, leading to the deportation and death of thousands of Jews from the city and its environs to the gas chambers of Treblinka and Bergen-Belsen. On her arrival in Nuremburg, she was to report to the office of the chief prosecutor, where her travel expenses would be reimbursed. She would be accommodated in the Hotel Agneshof at 10 Nurenberg-Mitte, where her stay would be paid for and she would remain as long as it was necessary.
It was with a heavy heart that she informed Francis of the news. Perhaps it was the thought of seeing Eicke again which depressed her, or maybe the fact that her hours with Francis were dwindling away. Either way she was not at ease and he could see it.
That afternoon they walked along the Victoria Embankment. Old Father Thames ebbed and flowed as though nothing had ever happened over the past five years. Lying hidden in its bed out of sight there were probably unexploded bombs, and the debris of others frequently came to the surface. Some ragged planks of wood floated by the river's edge. The river was the vein of the city, the detritus which befouled it seemed to symbolize the past six years.
As normality reasserted itself around her, she realized her relationship with Francis was coming to a crossroads. She saw no clear route ahead. Her options seemed many and few at the same time.
Francis saw some clarity for her. ‘The trial will come to an end,’ he said. 'And after that, who knows?'.
She clung on to his arm and looked up at him. His eyes met hers. He said nothing, he just smiled.
They made their way to the Serpentine later that afternoon and fed the ducks, which were beginning to regain their trust in humans as fodder providers. Spare crumbs would have been scarce during the war.
‘You see that white swan, Hilda?’
She shaded her eyes and focused on the bird. ‘Yes, beautiful isn’t it?’ she replied.
‘It reminds me of you.’
She nudged Francis playfully in his ribs. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It has survived the war, like you. It hides its feet, which motor like a paddle steamer below the water but maintain an elegance and control above water, also like you. And it's beautiful, just like you.’
‘I am not a river swimmer; I don’t have a long neck... I...’
‘Not many agents get through the war unscathed, especially double agents. It makes you a very special creature. Just like a swan.’
‘Oh Francis, I can't decide whether you are profound, or just teasing me.’
He made no reply, but gave her a hug instead. She gave up the fight and accepted the compliment.
That night as they ate at Les Trois Couronnes, an elegant French restaurant, the wine gave her a warm glow, and she felt perfectly relaxed. She somehow knew she had crossed the Rubicon in their relationship, and hoped that was what Francis was feeling too.
They gathered their coats and set off in the cool evening to the box in the theatre that Francis had booked. She had not seen a Shakespearian play since her school days, but here in London the magic of the stage unfolded almost every night.
It was King Lear one of Shakespeare’s longer plays, though Hilda knew little about it. She would never know. She tried hard to keep her eyes open, but the wine and the heat of the theatre conspired against her best efforts. Francis must have been aware, and wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulders. He understood the tangle of thoughts in her mind, because he was similarly affected. For Hilda it was not only the court case; it was also the knowledge that this growing relationship they had both come to value so highly was about to be severed .
During the third act, Hilda regained consciousness and her dignity. She looked at the programme notes and caught up; fortunately, she was already familiar with the plot. By the time the curtain dropped for the last applause she could say she had enjoyed the evening, and most of all having Francis by her side. King Lear himself had left the stage, and he failed to see him go.
Francis walked her home in a dreamy mood.
‘A penny for your thoughts,’ she asked him.
‘I think we should visit St Paul’s Cathedral for our last day. What do you think?’
‘Inspirational thinking,’ she said.
‘Matins or Eucharist?’
‘Steady, Francis, I’m a Scottish Presbyterian with leanings towards Lutheran. Not used to high Anglicanism. Not sure when to stand, kneel or pray.’
‘I’ll be with you to show you the ropes. Moreover, the Church of England won’t turn anyone away, especially now, with so many troops in town with spiritual needs. ’
They lingered under the gas lamppost outside her accommodation for a few minutes. Francis seemed deep in thought once more. With the insight of the Scottish Highlander, she knew he was about to ask a question.
‘After Nurnberg, will you come to Helsinki to visit?’
‘I’d love to. In fact, the clear air of Helsinki might help me to sort myself out after the trial. Then, who knows? Perhaps everything will be resolved.’
‘I hope so,’ he said.
On their last morning together, they entered St Paul’s Church, which stood tall and undamaged by Axis bombs, a symbol of defiance, a centre of hope and place of prayer. The incumbent offered prayers and the bishop brought them to their feet with hymns both stirring and reflective. They were all familiar, and Hilda enjoyed singing and hearing the tenor-baritone line in Francis fine voice sing. When the Eucharist was called, the bread broken and the wine transfigured, she followed Francis to the oak-barred rail and knelt with her hands in a cupped fashion. The curate came along the line and distributed wafers; hers stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she managed to dislodge it with her explorative tongue before the wine was offered in its communal silver chalice. A slight nudge and she was up and walking in line back to their pew.
‘Now that wasn’t so difficult, was it?’ he whispered.
After the benediction they stood to let the celebrants retire, and then to the heart-lifting melody of Henry Purcell’s Trumpet Voluntary, they made their way out through the central aisle. They stopped at the door to shake hands with the bishop, and gazed over a quiet Sunday morning London. The city was at rest, and the strains of the organ and Purcell’s music remained in their ears and in Hilda’s toes. She had a sense of elation, and looked forward to a memorable last day before Francis left.
Halfway down the steps, Francis took a couple of paces ahead. She thought he had tripped, but he turned and stood before her, blocking her way. He fumbled in his suit pocket and bent down on one knee.
He took her hand. She gasped in quiet astonishment. They had hardly left the church. She could hardly believe what was happening, and would certainly never have imagined it in such a public place.
‘Hilda, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife? Will you marry me?’
Such a flux of emotion washed over her: a thrill of excitement, of acceptance, of wonder and of delight. She had been proposed to on the steps of St Paul, and those departing the service stopped in their tracks in silence, awaiting her response.
‘Francis, of course I will. I will marry you, my darling.’
Francis rose and from his pocket, he produced an engagement ring. It shone in the sunlight. He placed it on her finger and it slipped down easily; he had chosen exactly the right size. She drew him close, and there and then they sealed their betrothal with a close embrace and kiss, oblivious to all the applause and cheering behind them.
She was engaged to be married, and so very happy to be so. She wore her ring proudly. Her only disappointment was that she had no family with which to share this special moment of joy. Francis noticed her sudden sadness and understood it.
‘It is a new life you will have, Hilda. One I want to share with you forever. I am your family now. You will never be alone again.’
Hilda’s smile began to disappear. While Sir Frances was heading for Helsinki, she was heading to Nuremburg.
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