Chapter 16

Early February – late December 1968

I arranged to visit the solicitor’s office on Friday afternoon after school. On Thursday I struggled at school and in the Polish class but disappeared before anyone could ask me questions – although I caught a puzzled look from Mrs Kowalczyk. I was more distracted at school on Friday.

What does ‘my inheritance’ imply? Euan had gifted me his weights...

The solicitor’s offices in Eagle Street made me feel small: high ceilings and dark polished wood with an enveloping silence barely disturbed by the click of a typewriter. A thirtyish woman sat typing at reception, hair pulled into a tight bun above a pinched face. Her eyes flicked to me in my school uniform when I walked in, but she returned to her typing.

I stood for a moment, summoning the confidence to interrupt her. “Excuse me, I’m Karlota Miller. I have an appointment with Mr Jameson.” My words vied with the rapid clack of the typewriter.

The sound continued for some seconds before she glanced at me. “Take a seat, please.” She dialled a number and spoke into the phone.

I sat there for several minutes as she continued typing before standing up. “Come with me, please.”

I followed her to a door with “Mr Jameson, Senior Partner” lettered in gold script. The woman knocked, waited for a moment and opened the door.

“Miss Karlota Miller to see you, sir.”

A lean, balding man in his fifties stood up. “Come in, please, Miss Miller.”

He indicated a chair in front of his desk and sat after me. He glanced at a file open on his desk and steepled his hands. “Miss Miller, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how old are you?”

“I’ll be eighteen in about three weeks.”

“Hmm ... that makes things more complicated.” It seemed he was speaking to himself more than me. He turned a page in the file.

I sat in silence, waiting for him to continue.

He took a deep breath. “Madame Zaytseva was a wealthy woman who had no heirs. Her most recent Will is clear about what she wished to happen with that wealth after her death.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“There are several bequests to various people and one to the Russian Club here in Brisbane, subject to certain conditions.” His eyes were boring into mine. “But Miss Zaytseva has left a large part of the estate to you.”

I blinked.

Mr Jameson’s keen eyes inspected me for a long second.

“I do not know the exact value of the estate and there are death duties to pay, of course. But I estimate that your share will be around a million dollars.”

The hair rose in a wave across my arms and head. That sum was beyond immediate comprehension.

Mr Jameson steepled his hands again, fixing me with a penetrating gaze. “Did Madame Zaytseva know your age?”

I fought my way out of its daze to bring my mind to his question. “Yes. Yes, she did.”

A million dollars?

“Hmm.” He paused, looking down at the file. “Knowing your age, it seems strange that she did not make provision for a trust.” He looked up at me. “But you are underage, which I had not realised. I will need to speak with your father about this.”

I was confused and for a moment, panic threatened at the thought of him contacting my father in east Germany. “My father is dead.”

“Hmmm – your mother?”

“My mother’s Frida Miller.”

“Very well. Please ask her to phone this office to make an appointment. I will need to draw up fresh papers.” He looked up. “There are a few other matters to discuss and that discussion is best done with your mother present.”

I was still trying to come to terms with what was happening.

Mr Jameson gave me an appraising look. “Young lady, this is probably quite shocking news for you – not bad news, but nonetheless ... unexpected. I would suggest that you do not discuss the matter with anyone apart from your mother.”

It didn’t feel real to me, anyway.

Why had Aunt Anastasia done this?

Mr Jameson stood up. “Please ask you mother to contact me as soon as possible.” He handed me a business card.

I stood up. “I will.”

He walked round the desk and opened his office door. “I will see you soon. Good afternoon, Miss Miller.”

On the street, this news had dazed me, but I mustered enough brain power to get myself home. I was still trying to come to terms with this when Mutti arrived, turning on the radio as usual and kissing me on the forehead.

“What did the solicitor want, Liebling?”

“It was about Aunt Anastasia’s will. I knew she was well off but didn’t realise that she was truly wealthy.” I could see confusion on Mutti’s face. “She has left me a huge amount of money.”

Mutti blinked. “By huge, what do you mean?”

“The solicitor said it would be around a million dollars.”

Mutti turned and plonked down beside me. “Liebe Gott. Ich glaub’ ich spinne.” She almost fell onto the sofa, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Quite.” I gave her a quirky smile. “And Mr Jameson, the solicitor, needs to speak to you because I’m underage.” I passed her his business card.

Mutti looked down at the business card. “Is this real?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know – but I think it must be.”

Mutti took a deep breath. “Well, first thing, this stays a secret – we’re not going to tell anyone about this.” She gave me a serious look. “Not the slightest hint.”

“Mr Jameson suggested that as well.”

We sat in silence for about a minute before Mutti stood. “Come on, Liebling, let’s get tea.

At swimming in the morning, Lizzie noticed I was out of it – and my swimming was well off the pace.

“What’s wrong with you this morning, Kal? Your mind’s not on the job. Are you sick?” Coach was aggressive and I flinched at his outburst.

Lizzie was on to him. “Go easy, coach. A friend of hers died this week.”

His face flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry, Karlota. I didn’t know.” He stood for a moment and turned away to harass some other poor swimmer.

Lizzie gave me a hug. “Are you okay, Kal?”

“Sorry, Lizzie.” I sighed, looking down. “It takes getting used to.” My eyes moistened. “After swimming, I used to go straight to her flat.” Lizzie drew me into another hug.

After some seconds, I pulled away. “Thank you, Lizzie.”

“Come and sit down.” She led me towards where our towels were. “I have to go – my race is up next.”

“I’m coming with you, to cheer you on.” Staying involved would stop my thoughts from spiraling off.

Lizzie smiled – and blitzed the field. She’s getting better all the time.

When we changed and walked out, Lizzie turned to me. “What are you doing now?”

“I thought I’d head into the city and browse the bookshops.”

Lizzie gave me a diffident look. “You can come home with me, if you like.”

“Thanks Lizzie,” I gave her hand a squeeze. “But I need to spend some time trying to sort my head out.”

Lizzie looked unconvinced.

I squeezed her hand again. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll see you at school on Monday.”

She drew me into a hug. As I walked into the city, an aching, empty tract of time opened before me. My steps pulled me towards Mr Caune’s bookshop, but I forced myself past. I couldn’t visit right now. I bought a sandwich at a milk bar and walked down to the Botanic Gardens and sat there eating it before catching the ferry to the German club.

I was early and we sat around for a while.

Miss Bauer picked up my mood. “Is everything okay, Karlota? You weren’t here last week.”

“I’m sorry Miss Bauer. I completely forgot to phone and let the club know I wouldn’t be there.” I paused for a moment, wondering if I should say more. “I was at a friend’s funeral.”

Miss Bauer took my hand. “I’m sorry to hear that, Karlota. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“Thank you.”

After the book club meeting, Miss Bauer produced two weeks of German papers and passed them over with an encouraging smile. “Take care of yourself, Karlota.”

“Thank you, Miss Bauer.”

At home, I sat reading with Imbi until I heard Mutti on the stairs.

“I’ve had a message from that man.” Mutti pulled a face. “We are to continue on as before for the moment.”

“What do we do now that I’ve lost my Russian contact?”

Mutti shrugged. “Nothing, it would seem.” She sat for a moment. “I contacted the solicitor’s office. We have an appointment at four o’clock on Monday – and I was told to bring our passports, for identification, I suppose.”

I pulled out the German newspapers and we set to work on those before tea. The meeting on Monday afternoon was a distraction for me for the rest of the weekend. The solicitor had mentioned he had ‘a few other matters’ to discuss and I wondered about those. This distraction continued at school on Monday and I drew several disapproving looks from my teachers.

I walked to the solicitor’s office after school, arriving early. The secretary directed me to sit and wait. Mutti arrived and at four o’clock the secretary showed us into Mr Jameson’s office.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Miller, Miss Miller. Please take a seat.”

After we sat, he smiled at Mutti. “Mrs Miller, did you bring your passports?”

Mutti retrieved them from her handbag and passed them across.

Mr Jameson paged through them, glancing up to check our faces against the photos. He made a note on a pad of paper and returned them to Mutti. “Thank you. Those seem in order.”

He turned the pages of a thick file on his desk. “Madame Zaytseva’s Will is explicit in a number of places concerning your daughter, Mrs Miller. Please allow me to detail these and then I will be happy to answer questions.”

I looked at Mutti, who gave Mr Jameson a nod.

“Very well. The contents of Madame Zaytseva’s flat are to go to Miss Miller, but not the building itself.” He looked up from the papers. “You will need to arrange clearance of the flat at a later date with this office.”

I am to have all of Aunt Anastasia’s beautiful possessions?

“Except for a ruby and emerald necklace and earring set, all Madame Zaytseva’s jewellery is willed to Miss Miller.”

That’s the one she said was for an older woman ... Mrs Caune?

“Madame Zaytseva’s other assets are an extensive share portfolio and various properties here in Brisbane. To meet death duties and the other bequest, we will need to sell some of these assets.” Mr Jameson looked up. “I would suggest that we handled this through the sale of one or more of the properties rather than shares; the commercial property market here in Brisbane is quite buoyant at present.” His eyes returned to the file and he checked some detail. “The last item is a bequest to the Russian Club here in Brisbane – but it is conditional and involves you, Miss Miller.”

I shifted in my chair. “Involves me?”

“Indeed. The bequest is not small and has two conditions. First, the Russian Club must grant you, Miss Miller, life membership. Second, they directed all expenditure from the bequest to the creation and maintenance of Russian language skills in Brisbane.” He raised his head from the file to look at me. “And that expenditure is subject to Miss Miller’s approval.”

I blinked.

Aunt Anastasia has set things up to let me continue in the Russian club as a member — and one with some influence. But would the club accept the conditions that placed a German in a position of influence?

Mr Jameson looked up. “If the Russian Club cannot accept the conditions, the bequest returns to Miss Miller.”

Mutti and I shared a rather confused look.

“You have questions, I suspect?” Mr Jameson steepled his hands, waiting for us.

Mutti leant forward. “When you say, ‘not small’ – how much is the bequest to the Russian Club?”

Mr Jameson pursed his lips. “Hmm ... as you are involved, it seems reasonable that you should know. The amount is fifty thousand dollars.”

I glanced at Mutti and turned to Mr Jameson. “Please, could you tell me what ‘shares’ are – shares of what?”

Mr Jameson gave me a small, patronising smile. “Shares are shares in publicly traded companies on the Australian stock exchange. Their value changes with the profitability of the company. Shares generate income each year through their dividends – a particular amount of money per share depending on the company’s profits. Last year, Madame Zaytseva’s share portfolio generated about thirty thousand dollars in dividends. From this year, that money will be paid to you, Miss Miller, once Madame Zaytseva’s affairs are settled.”

Mutti’s eyebrows went up. “Is that the amount for this year? What about other years?”

Mr Jameson smiled at her. “The amount varies from year to year depending on the profits made by the companies. Madame Zaytseva has ... er ... had a well-balanced portfolio and I expect it to continue to produce similar income in future years.”

Mutti sank into her chair.

“Do you have any other questions?”

I looked at Mutti, giving my head a shake. She turned to Mr Jameson. “What is my daughter to do with all this money?” She looked across at me. “I don’t mean how is she to spend it, but how does she look after it? We know nothing about shares ... or commercial property ... or anything to do with this.”

“An excellent question, Mrs Miller.” He considered this for a moment. “Madame Zaytseva used a well-regarded firm of stockbrokers to manage her shares. Another company specialising in that area managed her properties. She engaged a well-known accounting firm to see to her taxation affairs. We will continue with those arrangements as Madame Zaytseva’s executors and can arrange meetings at the appropriate time. You can continue with them for your daughter if you wish.”

That sounded sensible. “What about the Russian Club?”

“With whom do you think I should speak at the Russian Club?”

“The club president is Dmitri Mikhailov. He and Aunt ... er ... Madame Zaytseva were friends. I think he would be the person to speak to.”

Mr Jameson blinked at the name and passed me a piece of paper. “Please, could you write that name down for me?”

I wrote the name in both English and Cyrillic scripts and handed it to him.

Dmitri MikhailovДм
итрий Михайлов

Mr Jameson looked at the paper. “You speak and write Russian?” I could hear an edge of disbelief in his voice.

“Yes. Madame Zaytseva taught me.”

“I see.” An eyebrow lifted as he regarded me. “That illuminates the conditions on the Russian Club bequest.”

He seemed to be talking to himself more than Mutti or me.

“Very well, I will contact him and progress the matter.” He stood up. “My secretary has some papers for you to complete and sign.”

He came round his desk and shook both our hands. “I will be in touch with you once we can finalise Madame Zaytseva’s estate.”

“Thank you, Mr Jameson.”

In the outer office, they sat us down at a desk and asked us to complete a small stack of typed forms. Once the secretary checked we had filled them in correctly, we left the office and caught a tram home, both of us silenced by events.

Two weeks later, Mr Jameson rang me at home after school to advise me that the Russian Club had agreed in principle to the conditions on the bequest, but that agreement could not be put into effect until the estate was finalised.

After swimming on Saturday, I purchased a bouquet of white roses and visited the south Brisbane cemetery. It has a large section of Russian graves and I found Aunt Anastasia’s. I laid the roses on her grave and sat beside it, tears rolling down my face as I thanked her in silence for everything she’d done. After a while, the tears stopped and I could speak.

I placed a hand on the headstone. “Dearest Aunt Anastasia, you know I’m not religious, but I hope that, if there is an afterlife, you have found Yuri waiting to envelop you in his loving arms and you find the bliss you were both denied.” I took a settling breath and sat. “You have showered money on me and I have no idea what to do with it, but I will find something useful, something you’d be proud of.”

The silence of the cemetery engulfed me. After a time of contemplation, I rose and stood in front of her grave. “But there is one thing I can tell you I will do – and that is find Willi – and my real self.”

She would approve of that.

The thought of walking away from her brought fresh tears to my eyes. “I love you, Aunt Anastasia.” My throat worked as I turned and walked away. My pace quickened as I feared going slower would end up with me returning to her grave.

I turned eighteen in February and joined the Polish and German clubs as an adult member. This caused a small amount of consternation at the former and smiles at the latter. Mutti and I decided I should stay away from the Russian Club for the moment.

Despite the wealth about to descend on me, life continued as before; the German book club was reading Schiller’s poetry, Polish classes continued and swimming ended in early June as the pool was now too cold. School progressed, aiming at the Matriculation examinations in late October. I would take English literature, French, Maths B, History and German. I’d had a fight to be allowed to take the German exam. My school did not offer German, but they had finally relented and I studied from the language textbook, reading the set texts in free periods. I was lucky with these - Goethe’s Iphigenia auf Tauris and Thomas Mann’s Der Tod in Venedig. I’d pulled apart the Mann in the German Club and still had my much-annotated copy. Miss Bauer helped with the Goethe. She pointed out Goethe’s depiction of Iphigenia as the ideal of a strong, independent woman, a perspective I took to heart. I saw echoes of Iphigenia in Aunt Anastasia and Mutti.

Then in August everything changed in Europe.

The Soviets tried to suppress moves towards freedom and democracy in Czechoslovakia by rolling their tanks into Prague. Mass protests and civil disobedience erupted across eastern Europe. Within a month, the Warsaw Pact governments had all resigned and unrest spread to the USSR itself – and the Soviet Union was no more by early October. Willi had told me this collapse had happened in 1988 in his world. Perhaps his experiences with young people in east Germany had hinted at things happening faster than in his world. But as he hadn’t been to East Germany in his previous life, it was just a feeling.

Mutti and I listened to the news every night. At first, the suppression of Czechoslovakia spread a dismal pall over us. But with each succeeding day, the situation improved and by the middle of September it was clear that the Eastern Bloc had disintegrated. The countries were making advances to the western European nations about joining the European Community. The collapse and splintering of the Soviet Union in October made the changes certain and marked the end of an era.

For Germany, the situation was more complex. Germany existed as two separate countries stained with Nazi guilt. But both east and west Germany wanted to re-unite. In Australia, there was some concern about a re-united Germany. Australians had volunteered in their tens of thousands to serve in 1914 and the death toll had been horrific for such a small country, over sixty thousand. The toll for Australia in the second war had not been as great in Europe, but my experiences had shown me that Germans were still regarded with lingering distrust.

Would the European powers allow them to re-unite?

The news one evening in early September reported they had disbanded the Stasi. People could view their own Stasi file. The breath whooshed out of me and it took seconds for me to gasp in a fresh supply. I needed several other deep, centre-seeking breaths.

“Mutti.” The hope was almost strangling me. “If they have disbanded the Stasi, that means father can’t hunt us down.” I shivered as weird feelings of entwined hope and fear coursed through me. “Doesn’t it?”

She sat there, silenced by the news. Finally, she turned to me. “We need to be careful about this, but I think you’re right.”

“And ... that man can no longer blackmail us.”

Mutti pursed her lips in thought. “Well, not about telling your father. But remember how he controlled Aunt Anastasia – by threatening to reveal her to the Russian community? And there’s still the KGB – at least for the moment.”

My mood sank.

“He might try that sort of blackmail with us.” Mutti thought for a minute. “But I’m not sure he’ll want us – or can afford us – anymore.” She looked across at me with a faint smile on her lips. “If there are any communist agents in the Russian, German or Polish communities, I suspect they are feeling quite lost and isolated.”

A flutter of hope began deep within me again. “You think we can be free? We can be ourselves – not his ... and her ... pawns?” Underneath the hope was a flicker of anger at Mrs Henderson – but the hope was flooding through me, its blaze suffocating the anger. “We can return to England?”

Mutti’s eyes held mine. “Home is Leipzig, Liebling, not England...”

I pursed my lips. “But England first.”

“I understand.” Mutti took in a lengthy breath. “But we must sort out that man before we can do anything.”

My lips thinned at that thought.

“And you need to finish school.”

I grimaced at that – I wanted to leap on a plane to England now.

“Liebling.”

I could hear the warning in Mutti’s voice and my unwilling eyes turned to her.

“Liebling. We have survived these years by being careful and cautious, and you have done this well.” I could see the love in her eyes – it reached inside me and calmed my impatience as her hand stroked my arm. “We must continue like that. There is still no-one on our side ... except us.”

“I have to keep living and telling the lies?” That familiar, greasy darkness was there, trying to smother the hope.

Mutti sighed. “Yes – both of us must, for now.” I could see the distaste on her face. “And we have to do that until we re-establish our real identities.” She paused for a moment and a dark look passed across her face. “If that’s possible.”

“What do you mean?”

“Who knows what bridges that woman burned in building these identities for us?” She shook her head. “We may never reclaim our real identities ... I don’t know.”

I shivered again at that thought. After a moment, I pulled Mutti’s left arm to me – she always wore long sleeves. I undid the cuff on her left sleeve and slid the sleeve up to her elbow, revealing the blue numbers tattooed on her forearm. “You have these to prove who you are.”

Mutti’s breath was stuttering as she hugged me with intensity. We stayed clasped in each other’s arms for a while. Sitting up, she released me, keeping my hands in hers.

“It’s time you knew the truth about your mother.” She looked at me, tension building throughout her body. “You know I trained as a translator?”

“Of course.” My voice echoed my sudden insecurity.

What had she hidden?

“But I trained for another job as well.”

The hands holding mine were now grasping almost painfully. Those puzzle pieces that had lingered in the deep recesses of my brain clicked into place, pulled by their mutual magnetism.

“You were a spy.”

Mutti blinked in surprise. “How did you know that?”

I sat in wonder at what my brain had done. “I didn’t – until now.” My tension seeped away. “It’s lots of little things – like how you handled that woman ... and that man, the way you knew how to go about the tasks we had to do for him. The ways you could help me.” I smiled at Mutti. “You were so clever, so subtle that all I had was odd, disconnected, little thoughts – until they clicked.”

Her hands were still holding mine, but the fear-driven clasp had relaxed. “But I lied to you.” She pulled her hands away.

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