Free Capital Union, A by Victoria Hendry Page A

‘Take your shoes off,’ she whispered. ‘Jeff might hear us.’
    ‘Why would that matter?’ I asked, but she pressed her fingers to her lips. ‘Don’t talk.’
    She opened the door slowly, holding the broom like a weapon and keeked in. Then she opened the door fully and beckoned me to follow her. The smell was stronger here, a smell of unwashed bodies and illness. There was a man with a bandaged head lying in the large double bed. The curtains were drawn. A vase of dried hydrangeas stood on the dressing table. ‘I’m having problems keeping him clean,’ said Mrs MacDougall. Dirty sheets were piled in a corner.
    I walked forward. ‘Don’t go too close, dear. He might be a bit unpredictable.’
    The man’s eyes were glazed and his face was flushed with a fever. He was young, helpless in a nightshirt two sizes too small for him. He tried to sit up as I approached, but slumped forward at an angle and I guided him back onto the pillow. ‘
Wer sind Sie
?’ he whispered. His eyes rolled towards the window where the sound of the men cutting down the railings had grown fainter as they moved down the street.
    ‘You see the difficulty,’ said Mrs MacDougall, beckoning me. ‘Come through to the kitchen.’
    I followed her through the hall past photos of Professor Schramml’s family on the beach or posed for weddings and christenings, all smiling, never knowing they were now in limbo in Edinburgh in a war, with no loving eyes to look at them. A few frames were missing, just lighter patches on the wallpaper to show where they had been.
    ‘He’s German, isn’t he?’ I said.
    ‘Evidently. But remember you promised to keep my secret.’
    ‘Mrs MacDougall, it’s not about secrets now. He looks like he needs a hospital. He might be dangerous when he gets better.’
    ‘Nonsense, he couldn’t hurt a fly, the state he is in. He has had a wee bump to the head. Anyway, I have my broom. I’ll just give him a good whack if I have to.’
    ‘You’re not making any sense. He needs help. He could be that airman who came down, or a POW.’
    ‘This isn’t about him now. It is about me. If the police are prepared to lock up your Jeff for holding daft views, what might they do to me when they find I have a pet German? I was only doing my Christian duty. I thought he was ill, or maybe drunk, when I found him outside. He was on his knees in the rain. He held the cross round his neck out to me and I saw an opportunity to be a Good Samaritan. A call to serve. I thought he was one of ours.’
    ‘He speaks German.’
    ‘Well, he knew enough to keep schtum when I found him. I thought he might be from the hospital, wandered off. I used to be a nurse, you know. I haven’t always been the old body on the stair. I was going to take him back in the morning when the rain stopped, and then I thought maybe I could do a good job for him here, save the hospital some money, put a little back in the war purse. But then the police came thundering up the stairs.’
    ‘It’s not too late. I could walk round to the hospital. See what they say. It might not be so bad.’
    ‘The authorities might not be very sympathetic towards me. Question my motives like they are doing with Jeff. And what would Mr and Mrs Black say if it gets out, and their poor laddie with his leg blown off.’
    ‘Well, I don’t think Mr Black would take his cleaver to you. You’re one of his best customers.’
    She frowned. ‘I’ll attribute your insouciance to youth. I could never show my face on Morningside Road again. I would be cast out into the wilderness. Our Lord has left me in the storm without guidance. I am like Job in torment.’
    ‘Don’t upset yourself. You have lived here a long time. No one will blame you.’
    ‘But they will, don’t you see? They will doubt me and I will lose my good name forever.’
    She looked at me. ‘You are young. Perhaps you could look after him? He is bound to run off the minute he is well. Isn’t that what they all do?