Chapter 14

Mid May – late September 1965

The newspaper article contained no detail; Mr Gruber had disappeared on a business trip to Newcastle and his car hadn’t been found. The New South Wales police were asking the public for help.

Mutti stared at the full-face picture in the newspaper. “Vogel...”

I remembered Mutti had mentioned she might send information to someone about Gruber/Vogel.

Is this disappearance a result of Mutti telling someone about him?

Mutti’s gaze narrowed, fixed on Gruber’s photograph.

A hint of a grim smile?

I watched Mutti concentrating on the photo, thoughts swirling inside me.

Had she contacted someone? How did she know people that might make Gruber disappear?

Mutti shook herself and reached for Gruber/Vogel’s index card, adding the information about the article. “Cut out the article and photo please, Kal.” She flicked through the rest of the pages and passed the paper across to me, picking up the next one.

After I checked the reverse of the article, I cut it out to add to Gruber/Vogel’s file. We kept working at it for about an hour until we’d finished the German papers and Mutti started on the Russian one.

“Look, Liebling, there’s a photo of you at the ball.” She frowned at me. “You should have told me there were photos. Please, get me a copy of this one and any others of you.”

I looked over her shoulder. It showed me dancing with Maxim Korolev. The caption said: “Maxim Korolev, son of well-known property developer Sergei Korolev, enjoying himself at the Brisbane Easter Ball”. I didn’t rate a mention.

Mutti chuckled. “His face is not showing much enjoyment – but you look lovely, Liebling.”

“It was formal, Mutti ... structured. I think we were both conscious of the many eyes on us as we danced. That doesn’t make for much enjoyment.”

“And this is the young man that Aunt Anastasia wants you to ... um ... cultivate?”

My face flushed. “I’ve told Aunt Anastasia that I can be his friend, but not his girlfriend.” The emotion I had shared with Aunt Anastasia felt comforting. “I told her about Willi and she told me about her fiancé, Yuri – a cavalry officer, killed in 1904.” I sniffed, sudden moisture in my nose, surprised that her story affected me. “She still has his letters and a photo. Her father made her return their engagement ring – but Yuri’s mother gave it back to her, ensuring Aunt Anastasia still had something of his.”

Mutti shook her head. “The poor woman.”

I blinked. “That’s what she called you.”

Mutti looked confused, raising a questioning eyebrow.

I realised that once again I’d let my mouth lead me. “Umm ... I let slip that you had been in Ravensbrück.”

Mutti sighed. “Liebling, I know you trust Aunt Anastasia, but you must be more careful.” She stared from beneath her eyebrows. “Please...”

I shared a contrite look. “Yes, Mutti ... Oh, but it’s probably helped us I slipped up. Aunt Anastasia says there are a few survivors of the death camps here in Brisbane. She’s not sure if any were in Ravensbrück, though.”

Mutti blinked several times. “I’d not thought of that – but it seems unlikely as the Russians arrived there, not the western allies.”

“I’ll see if she can find out more, shall I?”

“That’s a good idea.”

Lying in bed that night stroking a purring Imbi, my questions about Mutti kept circling. That Mutti was hiding some part of herself from me seemed possible. I was dozing when I sat up, disturbing Imbi, who retreated to the foot of the bed.

During my interrogation when we defected, my interrogator had been asking about my parents when she stopped and left the room. She had realised something didn’t seem right. I let out a frustrated breath – but they’d let us into England and moved us here.

It can’t have been about Mutti – it must have been about my father.

I struggled to remember what we had been talking about. I knew I’d written about it in my diary – but they’d taken that from me as a security risk.

Come on, Col – think.

But while I could see my interrogator’s face – Jennifer, the name leapt out at me – I couldn’t remember the detail of that talk. Imbi walked up my body, standing on my chest, staring into my eyes. I reached up to stroke behind his ears. He settled, sliding down beside me as he drifted off to sleep. Despite my questions about Mutti, I soon followed him.

May travelled into June, the temperature in the mornings falling. I needed a thin jumper over my T-shirt when I ran: runs that started in the darkest greys of almost dawn. Sometimes Euan was there at the end – but as the cold weather took a deeper hold, his appearances became scarcer. Swimming stopped as the pool became too cold and wouldn’t start again until late September. I pushed harder in my runs and with the weights, trying to keep my fitness at a reasonable level and build strength in my shoulders.

My time at the Polish and German clubs produced nothing worth a report. I was worried that Mr Franks might get impatient, but Mutti reassured me that all was well there – no news was good news. Mr Caune found me a copy of Lem’s Solaris and it felt as if my life was finding a settled rhythm after the vast changes in the previous twelve months.

My Saturdays with Aunt Anastasia were part of that continuing rhythm. She’d been teaching me about the important people in the Russian community. She surprised me with two photographs of me taken at the ball. These delighted Mutti and aroused Lizzie’s envy when she came round one day. Aunt Anastasia’s diamond necklace was notable in both.

Two weeks before the Korolev’s party, I went to Finney Isles again – this time without Aunt Anastasia as she was suffering from a severe cold. I’d felt uneasy spending her money, but she’s assured me that this was part of our work and told me to enjoy the shopping.

I was under orders to find a ‘suitable outfit’ for an afternoon cocktail party. As I walked into Finney-Isles, I still felt like an imposter, with everyone’s disapproving eyes following my gauche moves. Aunt Anastasia had organised Sandra to take care of me again. She helped me select a blue floral dress that was quite short, with half sleeves and a square neckline. It was not a miniskirt, as Sandra said that would not be appropriate, but still well above the knee. To go with the dress, we found lingerie, a small handbag and shoes that matched the blue in the dress. Michelle helped me with a blue eyeshadow, mascara and a new fragrance. Apparently, daytime fragrances differ from evening ones.

With my dress in a dust bag and everything else in a Finney-Isles carry bag, I walked through the city up to Aunt Anastasia’s flat.

“Come in, come in, Kal.” She smiled at the bags I was carrying and sneezed.

“Bless you.”

A lace-edged handkerchief appeared from the cuff of her cardigan and she dabbed her nose. “How did the shopping expedition go?”

I laid the dust bag over a dining chair and put the Finney-Isles bag on the seat. “I think it went well, thank you. Here, I’ll show you.” I picked up the dust bag to open it.

“No, no, dear.” She waved me off with a smile. “Dress. I want the complete picture.”

“Okay.”

I picked up everything and changed in ‘my’ bedroom, touching up the makeup sitting at the dressing table. From the bedroom, I walked towards Aunt Anastasia, who smiled and indicated I should do a twirl. The dress lifted and my hands moved to my thighs to control it.

Aunt Anastasia chuckled. “That’s not as short as many I’ve seen, but you need to be careful.”

Clearly.

“Now sit down.”

I dropped into the other chair in my usual way – and the skirt rode a long way up my thighs.

“That won’t do at all, Kal.” She shook her head. “You look lovely, but you must sit more gracefully. Sit at the front of the seat and slide back a little once you are seated.”

I tried again.

“Better – again.”

After several more tries, Aunt Anastasia looked satisfied. “Remember not to move fast – and watch out for the wind.”

I stood up. “I’d better change.”

“In a moment, Kal. There’s a box on the dining table. Please bring it here.”

I’d not noticed the box – a jewellery case. Inside was a gold necklace with a delicate gold pendant in the shape of the double-headed Russian eagle, two small diamonds glinting in its claws.

“Kneel, Kal.”

I did so, removing Willi’s chain and leaning forward to make it easier.

“There.” Her hands left my neck and I straightened.

Aunt Anastasia smiled, but with a misty look in her eyes.

“Yuri gave me that for Christmas in 1903.” She sighed and lifted my chin. “It suits a youthful neck.”

I reached up and took her hand. “Thank you for letting me wear this.”

Aunt Anastasia held my hand between hers. “It’s my pleasure, Karlota. Jewellery exists to be worn and this,” she reached out to touch the pendant where it hung below my throat, “has waited many years.” Her smile was wistful. “Look at yourself in the mirror.”

I walked across to the mirror, tilting it to see myself from head to foot. As I found when wearing the finery for the ball, I barely recognised myself in the sophisticated reflection. I tried several poses, admiring myself. With a twirl, my panties appeared; Aunt Anastasia had not exaggerated the problem. A much slower turn lifted the dress, but it was no longer immodest.

“I’d better change and get lunch.”

Aunt Anastasia smiled and picked up the Russian newspaper. After changing into my usual clothes and removing the make-up, we spent lunch and an hour after talking about the Russian community. Aunt Anastasia told me who would be at the party and why they were important.

“Hang your new things up in the bedroom, Karlota.”

Leaving them here made sense.

In the sitting room, Aunt Anastasia looked across at me. “As you’re not swimming next Saturday, can you get here earlier?”

“Of course.”

“Good. We’ll have an early lunch before we dress. We should arrive at the Korolev’s house about half-past three.”

I glanced at the mantelpiece where the invitation card leant next to the elegant clock. “I thought the invitation said three o’clock.”

“It does. But we are important guests – and we need to let the less important people arrive before us.”

I frowned in confusion. “I don’t understand – and anyway, I’m not important.”

Aunt Anastasia frowned. “Sergei Korolev asked for you by name – that makes you important. But,” her face relaxed into a smile, “you are arriving with me and that alone makes you important. After the ball, you are a person of some interest in the Russian community.”

I made a sour face. “Your pet German.”

Aunt Anastasia fixed me with her pale blue eyes. “You know that’s not true. The woman who said that wants my position and is angry because I refuse to die.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Her jealousy is of no account.”

“Why am I interesting to the Russian community? I’m boring me.”

Aunt Anastasia pulled me in front of her. “But you are interesting — young, beautiful and mysterious.” Her eyes twinkled at this. “You are my protégée and ... you danced with the sons of all the important Russian families here in Brisbane.” She gave my hands a gentle shake. “Add to that, you speak better Russian than those sons – and some of their parents.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

Aunt Anastasia smiled. “Yes – you are all of those. Believe me.” Her demeanour became serious. “At the party, you need to be self-assured and a touch mysterious. Listen, but speak little.” She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think people will be indiscreet – but you never know; listen to the conversations around you and remember them. Some guests will not know you speak Russian.” She raised an eyebrow. “We still have a job to do.”

“Yes, of course.” But it was easy to forget that when being treated as someone special, like at the ball. I started as a thought occurred to me. “That man’s not going to be there, is he?”

Aunt Anastasia sneezed again, her silver hair catching the window light and the handkerchief appeared again. “I doubt it, Karlota, but if he is, it doesn’t matter. We know what’s going on – he only thinks he knows.” She looked up at me. “But we still need to satisfy that man to keep all three of us safe.”

“Okay.”

“Off you go. Take care and I’ll see you early next Saturday.”

“I hope you are over the cold soon.” I turned at the door and gave her a wave. On the ferry, I refreshed my memory about the next chapter of Death in Venice.

The German book club was more relaxed this week with no Mr Neumann creating a scene. I sensed unease at the homosexual undercurrent in the book, but the more we read, the more sympathy I had for Gustav.

Is this because I had already struggled, knowing Willi was a seventy-year-old mind in a teenage body?

This sort of echoed Gustav’s feelings in reverse. Of course, I could not explain that to the book club. Over a cup of tea once the discussion wound up, I told them I would be absent next week as I had a personal engagement.

Miss Bauer raised an eyebrow. “Is everything all right, Karlota?”

“Of course. I have another engagement.”

Miss Bauer almost asked for more information. Instead, she pulled this week’s German newspaper from her bag. “I’ll save next weeks for you as well.”

“Thank you, Miss Bauer.”

During the week, school was school and my slow integration into Lizzie’s group continued. The girls accepted I was a private person, reluctant to share much about myself. I watched as the lies slid from my tongue when sharing became necessary, leaving a greasy feeling in my stomach.

On Saturday, I ran and then travelled into the city with Mutti. I spent some time browsing, ending up in Mr Caune’s shop before walking up to Aunt Anastasia’s flat. I found her sitting in the window chair, wrapped in the beautiful silk robe, but with a rug around her legs.

“Good morning, Aunt Anastasia. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you, dear.

“Tea?”

“Please.”

Ten minutes later, we were sipping tea, talking about the day ahead. Aunt Anastasia quizzed me about the important people from the Russian community that would be there. “When we arrive, these people will greet me. Make sure you remember their faces and their names.”

I’d lean on Mutti’s training for this.

“Of course, you met all these people at the Ball.”

“But I wasn’t introduced. I never heard their names.”

Aunt Anastasia’s voice hardened. “Don’t make excuses, Kal. I’m sure you’ll recognise these people; you’re an observant person. All you have to do is to link their names to their faces.”

“Yes, Aunt Anastasia.”

She smiled with approval. “Now, I think it is time for you to read to me and practice your pronunciation.” She passed me the Russian newspaper. “There’s an interesting article on page four about buying houses in Australia. Start with that, please.”

I read that and several related articles out loud, recognising some names that were involved from the card index Mutti and I were building — amongst them, Sergei Korolev.

After the fourth article, I stopped and looked at Aunt Anastasia. “Is this paper doing a special on property?”

She smiled. “Indeed. It’s quite serendipitous, given this afternoon’s party.”

I folded the paper. “Can you tell me why you are interested in Sergei Korolev?”

Aunt Anastasia’s eyes became distant. “I’m not sure why. He’s tried unsuccessfully on several occasions to involve me in projects as an investor.” She stopped for a few seconds before continuing, her voice softer. “There was nothing I could put my finger on but ... they did not feel quite ... right.” She shrugged. “I prefer to be in control.”

Her eyes refocussed on mine and she pursed her lips. “How he got his start-up funds is a mystery. I believe he arrived as a displaced person from Europe in 1948 with his wife, young son and the clothes he was wearing...” Her eyes lost their focus again.

“What are you hoping I will discover by associating with Maxim?”

Aunt Anastasia stiffened in surprise. “I’m sorry, Karlota. I was deep in thought. What was that?”

“You want me to get close to Maxim Korolev. What are you hoping I will find out?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know...” her eyes narrowed. “ ... anything you can. If there’s anything to find out, it will be a jigsaw piece at a time, I’m afraid – and those pieces may never form a picture.”

It all seemed vague, but Mutti had schooled me that what we were doing involved the accumulation of detail.

Aunt Anastasia roused herself. “Come on, let’s have lunch. There’s a beef stroganoff simmering in the oven – just the thing to give us the stamina to last through one of Sergei’s parties.”

I gave Aunt Anastasia a confused look. “If it starts at three o’clock, when will it finish?”

“They will usher out most guests by about half-past six, but we will stay much later. Didn’t I tell you?”

I frowned. “No, you didn’t. How much later?”

Aunt Anastasia saw my frowning face. “Oh, I’m sorry, Karlota. I sometimes forget details. We’ll be there until late – around midnight. I meant to tell you to bring overnight things ... and, of course, your mother doesn’t know.”

I could see she was getting quite upset with herself. “It’s all right, Aunt Anastasia. I’ll ring Mutti at work and tell her I’m staying with you tonight.”

“But you’ve nothing here.”

I chuckled. “For one night, I’m sure I can survive.”

Aunt Anastasia shook her head at her forgetfulness. “I’m sorry, Karlota.”

“It’ll be fine.” I gave her a reassuring smile. “Can I ring Mutti from your phone, please?”

“Of course.”

Ten minutes later, I’d got through to Mutti at the Ladies Fashion counter by pretending to be a customer and asking for her by name. Once she realised it was me, I explained what had happened and that I’d be staying with Aunt Anastasia overnight as the party would run late. I could hear Mutti was not happy and would quiz me about this tomorrow, but she agreed to let me stay overnight.

The aroma from the Stroganoff was now permeating the flat, encouraging my appetite. I set the table and retrieved the casserole from the oven, placing it on a cork mat.

“This smells wonderful, Aunt Anastasia. Did you make this?”

She smiled. “It’s my mother’s recipe – but no, I did not make it. I have an arrangement with a group of Russian ladies who prepare many of my meals.”

We ate in silence for a while. I noticed that Aunt Anastasia’s portion was spare compared to mine.

“Eat up, Karlota. There will be some hors d’oeuvres at some point, but supper will be late.” She looked across at my emptying plate. “Some more?”

“Yes, thank you.”

We finished eating and I cleaned up, putting the remaining Stroganoff in the fridge.

“The necklace for today is in the box on the table, Karlota.”

“Thank you, Aunt Anastasia.”

My make-up skill were improving. I dressed and was ready well before Aunt Anastasia returned from her room, supported by her silver-topped cane. She had an embroidered dark blue brocade jacket over a cream blouse and black silk skirt, carrying a silk shawl over one arm.

“Come here please, Karlota. I’m worried that you might be cold today.” She held up the cream shawl to show me the delicate Chinese landscape at its centre. “This is hand painted silk and the blue exactly matches your dress.”

To read this story you need a Registration + Premier Membership
If you have an account, then please Log In or Register (Why register?)

What happened to Col and Mutti Frida when they disappeared?

Through different Eyes

Robert Hart

$7.99

You do not have to wait - get it from Bookapy!

Through different Eyes

Robert Hart

$7.99