Page 46 of The Resistance Book Club

‘You were keeping her safe,’ Margot said. Her sobs had calmed now. She wiped away her tears. ‘I’d assumed…’

The Professor smiled a sad sort of smile, then said, ‘I don’t blame you.’ He nodded a polite farewell. ‘If ever I can help…’

Something had changed inside her. She thought back to that moment some years ago when he’d spoken to her about her husband. She thought of the photos in his cellar of the family he must’ve lost. She didn’t want him to shut the door and go back inside his lonely flat. She reached out and caught his sleeve.

‘Professor…you’re very good with Isabelle, and she needs friends. I promised her mum I’d care for her.’ Margot swallowed. ‘Can I trust you, Professor Lauterborn?’

The Professor met her gaze and Margot saw in his single good eye all the sadness that had engulfed her too. She wondered then where the little bear had come from and whether it had once belonged to the happy girl who smiled out of those old photographs. A moment passed and he replied simply, ‘Yes.’

‘I suppose you might be wondering why I went up to your cottage,’ Margot said. She stroked Isabelle’s soft hair. ‘I thought you’d been killed. That’s why I left you some flowers. And then, suddenly, there you were.’

‘They’re in water in my sitting room. Thank you.’ He smiled. ‘You must wonder about what you saw. In the cellar?’

Margot nodded. ‘I saw your photos, and I saw…’ She was so touched that he’d brought the flowers with him. ‘You had a radio down there, and you’d written something in German.’

The Professor nodded once before he said, ‘Then I must ask, madame, canItrustyou?’

Margot’s eyes widened. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I think you’ve worked out that the books…’

‘We’re on the same side. I promise you that. Would you join me for tea?’

And Margot trusted him, because Esther had. ‘I’d love to.’

As they sat together in the Professor’s flat, Margot glanced around at what he’d done. Although she’d tried to keep it clean and tidy, he’d given the place a good scrub and there wasn’t a trace of dust or cobwebs. He’d settled in and turned the empty rooms into a comfortable home, with his family photos, which she recognised from his cellar, standing along the mantelpiece and the dresser. He’d even polished the piano – the old wood was now gleaming – and a piece of music stood open on the stand. The purple wildflowers that Margot had picked for him were in a vase she didn’t recognise, which stood on top of the piano.

She hadn’t seen the cushions on the sofa and the armchair before. She propped up Isabelle among them, and the little girl looked quite at home as she waved her new toy at the Professor.

Margot sipped her tea before saying, ‘You’ve made this place look so cosy.’

‘The stallholders at the flea market in Clarenville have done me proud,’ he said with a smile. ‘There wasn’t much left after the fire. I was lucky to be away, and I always carry little Herr Knuddel in my bag when I travel.’

Was it his daughter’s little bear? Margot wondered.

Margot glanced up at his family photos. ‘I hope you won’t think I was being nosey, but when I went up to your cottage I saw the photos. I recognised the harbour at once.’ But she didn’t say anything more. She didn’t want to force him to talk about his family if it was too painful for him; she knew how it felt, to keep names and memories quietly in one’s heart.

‘My wife and I spent our honeymoon here.’ The Professor took a sip from his teacup. ‘We were very happy. Her name was Gretl and we had a little girl, Lotte.’ He pointed towards one of the photographs that clustered on top of the piano inmismatched frames. Margot recognised it from the basement of the ruined cottage; it showed the little family in happier times. ‘We were very happy. It seems a long time ago.’

‘You honeymooned in Cordeval, and then came back,’ she said as she met his gaze. ‘I lost my Serge, and…it was so sudden. He fell ill with pneumonia. He went to hospital, but there was nothing they could do. I didn’t know that someone so young could be taken so fast.’

Although Margot didn’t cry, she could still feel the emptiness in her heart.

‘I’m sorry,’ the Professor murmured. ‘It’s all so sudden, the loss. We were visiting Gretl’s family for Christmas in Großheringen. It was Christmas Eve in 1935…I remember it like yesterday.’ He drew in a deep breath, then set down his cup and saucer and left this chair to go and sit at the piano. Still silent, he spread his fingers on the keys and began to play a lilting, gentle melody. ‘We were looking down at the river from the train when the express hit us head on. The signal had failed and— it was going at full speed, so…I lost everything that was dear to me that day.’

Margot went cold. In her mind, she could hear the steam trains, the clack of the metal wheels over the rails. Then the dreadful tearing roar as the trains collided – the screams, the calls for help. And the silence of those who had died.

She got unsteadily to her feet and gently rested her hand on the Professor’s shoulder.

‘Oh, Professor…’ she said. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

Still playing, he glanced over his shoulder at Margot and replied, ‘I lost my daughter; I’ll do anything to make sure that little Isabelle has the life she deserves.’ For a moment the Professor looked back at the keys, before addressing Margot again. ‘I left Germany because I no longer recognised my homeland. We won’t let France change as Germany did.

‘Esther was a great loss to many people,’ he continued. ‘I have some money, I’d like to make sure she has a proper burial.’

Margot nodded. ‘Joséphine is making arrangements; it’d be worth talking to her. I think you might know her?’

He nodded. ‘I think we understand one another, madame.’ And when the Professor looked up at Margot this time, he was smiling.

So he really was working for the resistance, too. She knitted her fingers. ‘You must know Daniel, Esther’s husband. I want to let him know that Isabelle’s with me. He’s never met his own daughter, and I just wish there was a way for them to meet.’