Skeletons In The Cupboard Collection

Chapter 6

Anna Muller was an elegant and bold woman, with strong equine features and an enviable wardrobe. She was proud of her Russian heritage but strove to improve her English in order to fit in with the little community in which she lived. It was important to Anna that the villagers accept her, especially as there had been a general distrust of all foreigners seeking refuge in England both during and after the war. Now in the third year of her residency in the village, Anna was still very much aware of the awe in which others looked at her every time she opened her mouth. But it wasn"t just her strong St. Petersburg accent that drew their attention. If Anna had looked around her, she would have seen that it was her statuesque figure and sleek raven hair that caused people to stop and stare. The village women were envious of her high cheekbones and flawless complexion often stopping Anna, as she entered the village shop or made her way to church, for advice on everything from night creams to hair conditioners.

Her Polish husband was a much less memorable figure and rather reminded one of a shy dormouse just emerging from a long winter of hibernation. He wasn"t a small man by any means but, being several inches shorter than his wife, Wolfgang Muller appeared to be of slight stature as he walked alongside the beautiful Anna. Nobody knew how long the Muller"s had been married, but neighbours wondered if or when the couple would have children. Of course nobody ever asked, as the pair seemed to prefer to keep to themselves and besides, it wasn"t the sort of question that you could ask in passing.

Despite their lack of day to day interaction with the other villagers, the Muller"s were regular church-goers and never missed a Sunday service. They also attended the fund-raising activities in the local district, and could be relied upon to provide unwanted items for the "White Elephant" stall at the fete or bottles of homemade wine to be sold for a good cause. Wolfgang Muller was becoming quite a well-known name when it came to festive tipples, with such creations as mulberry and cinnamon, elderflower and rosehip, and his most revered dandelion and juniper. The villagers always looked forward to purchasing his wonderful array of alcoholic beverages at Christmas, not in the least because Wolfgang offered a generous sample glass for every interested customer, which was always accompanied by one of his wife"s exquisite ginger biscuits. Nobody seemed to mind that the couple had no interest in forging solid friendships, it was simply accepted that they both had a different social upbringing to the English folk around them and they were left to their own devices.

Of course, there were always the curious ones who would while away the hours in idle chatter, pondering how the meek little Polish man with his milk-bottle lenses had managed to snare the tall and refined Russian beauty, but nobody dared to pry. Besides, sometimes it was much more fun to let both the imagination and the gossip run wild. Nobody meant any harm, and the whole village was unanimous in their respect for the foreigners wanting to keep their married life private. It was with a mild curiosity that curtains twitched as Wolfgang Muller left his house at exactly the same hour every morning, come rain or shine. Nobody seemed to know his profession or why he was always seen wearing a pristine business suit, even at the weekends. He would trot down the path at a brisk pace with a brown paper bag containing his lunch gripped tightly in one hand and a long black gentleman"s umbrella in the other. However, the villagers were even more interested in Anna Muller, who would appear an hour later, furtively glancing around her as she closed her front door, looking as beautiful and radiant as ever in her navy raincoat and red paisley silk headscarf. Monday to Friday, she would head off down the lane to the bus-stop and not return until an hour before her husband later in the day.

The Muller"s front door was painted a deep shade of forest green, with the brass knocker and handles having been polished until you could quite clearly see your reflection in them. The front lawn was a decent but manageable size, with marigolds and dahlias planted neatly around the border, and a cascading rose bush taking pride of place in the very centre of the immaculately mown grass. Every window in the house was dressed in pure white plain net curtains, preventing passers-by from getting even the slightest glimpse inside, which only resulted in the people of the village becoming more inquisitive about their secretive neighbours. Even the postman had commented on the Muller"s lack of letters from their relatives overseas, they were destined, so he thought, to be loners.

At the weekends, the Mullers conducted their household maintenance in much the same manner as every other couple in the village. Mr. Muller would pull his battered old manual lawnmower out of the shed and carefully stride up and down cutting the grass, after which he would tirelessly pull out any weeds which had found their way in to the borders and then take out a set of wooden ladders in order to give the front windows a good clean. Meanwhile, if you watched for long enough, slight glimpses of Anna could be seen hanging out washing, beating her intricately designed Persian rugs on the back doorstep and carefully setting out washed milk bottles ready for collection. However, unlike the carefree females who peered at her with intrigue from the confines of their own little cottages, not a hair could be found out of place on Anna"s head, her white pinafore was crisp and starched and silk stockings adorned her slim, shapely legs as she worked. Many a conversation at the village shop had been centered upon the amount of time it must have taken the dignified Russian to get ready every morning, with figures ranging from two to six hours. The overall consensus was that such a well-manicured and groomed lady must either never sleep or she had a personal beautician on hand to preen her to perfection.

The Muller"s neat little house was just two doors away from Olive and Geoff"s and being in such close proximity, you would have expected the two couples to have become quite well acquainted but, as it was, a quick greeting at the gate and a wave from the garden were pretty much all that was exchanged. In such rural areas as the village it was common for people to borrow tools, exchange cake recipes and to offer their services to neighbours in need, but the Muller"s kept their door closed, their garden gate shut and their personal business to themselves. All that the villagers had managed to glean from them in three years was Anna and Wolfgang"s nationalities, despite their surname sounding very decidedly un-Polish, and the fact that they both enjoyed classical music. This was confirmed each and every Sunday afternoon, when the dulcet tones of Mozart and Beethoven could faintly be heard coming from the Muller"s gramophone. It seemed that the couple were financially comfortable, but nobody had ever so much as peeked through their front door, so no-one actually knew in what style the Muller"s lived. Olive thought it a pity that her closest neighbours weren"t a little more sociable, especially as they were of a similar age to her and Geoff, but she was on friendly terms with plenty of others in the village and was happy to let it be.

However, all that changed one September when Olive"s eldest daughter started senior school and needed to travel in to town on the local bus.

Eileen had always been a gifted child, therefore Olive and Geoff"s decision to send her to an all-girls secondary school where she could focus on her studies without teenage boys to distract her was nothing of a surprise to their friends and family. They had high hopes for Eileen and wanted the very best education possible for her. A half hour journey each way on the local bus was a small sacrifice to make and, besides, Eileen was both sensible and mature enough to make the trip on her own. Also, the driver was a cheerful and conscientious local man and would ensure that Olive"s daughter was safely delivered to her destination. Unfortunately the same could not be said of Barbara"s academic status, and despite their other daughter still having two more years in junior school, it had already been decided that she would be enrolled in to the state comprehensive with the rest of the village children.

It was only after a couple of weeks of travelling back and forth to her new school that Eileen became aware of another regular passenger following the same route. Day after day, Anna Muller would be waiting at the bus-stop in her smart navy mackintosh and sensible shoes, clutching her handbag and a brown paper parcel. Every morning she would be looking eagerly up and down the lane, head held high and silk scarf tied neatly under her chin, awaiting transport to the market town. Eileen always politely said hello and Mrs. Muller always smiled back at her in response.

Eileen noticed that her neighbour alighted at the same stop every day, just on the outskirts of town near the park, and was waiting at that exact spot on the return journey after school. Eileen wasn"t a mischievous girl and had no intention of letting her curiosity get the better of her, although she knew very well that her younger sister would have played detective and followed Mrs. Muller with the intent of discovering what pursuits filled her hours every day. As time passed, Eileen became preoccupied with her studies, making dozens of new friends and slowly coming to terms with the increasing amount of homework that she needed to complete each evening. Weeks turned in to months and the summer gave way to autumn winds and cold showers. Still Anna Muller made her journey in to town, the only change being the addition of a sweater under her coat and a pair of leather gloves covering her perfectly manicured hands.

Eventually Eileen could bear the suspense no longer and resolved to find out the reason for Mrs. Muller"s continuous trips. For a young girl it was deeply puzzling. Should Anna Muller not be at home baking bread and doing laundry like mother? Did she have enough time to prepare an evening meal for her husband after being out all day long? Did Mrs. Muller have a sick relative for whom she needed to care every day? Or could it possibly be the unthinkable and she was having an affair? One morning Eileen had confided her suspicions in her best friend while they played hopscotch in the schoolyard, but unfortunately, Gloria had in turn become convinced that Anna Muller was a spy. It was quite common for women to pretend to be housewives during the war, whilst secretly penetrating top government secrets, Gloria had told her. Besides, she continued, from the description of Mrs. Muller it was highly unlikely that such a glamorous foreign woman would be innocently living in the English countryside. Eileen had no such thoughts and the two girls had quarreled continuously for the whole duration of their lunch break. It was the first time that Eileen had ever shouted at her friend, and she spent the rest of the week avoiding the subject of Anna Muller"s origins, and concentrated her efforts instead on winning back her best friend. However, the question of the Russian"s movements still bothered her, therefore the only way for Eileen to stop tormenting herself was to simply ask.

Raising the question itself was the hardest part but, one cold and windy day after a particularly difficult geography lesson, Eileen plucked up the courage to delve into the mystery. Therefore that miserable afternoon, as Anna Muller climbed on to the little green bus, Eileen edged forward from her place at the rear and slid onto the seat behind her neighbour. At first Eileen gave a short cough but it failed to create a response, so the young girl took the bold step of tapping Mrs. Muller gently on the shoulder.

Anna Muller turned around slowly, her shining dark eyes taking in the pretty blonde girl behind her like a crow surveying its prey. But instead of asking what it was that Eileen wanted, the genteel Russian merely tapped the leather seat beside her and slid towards the window, gesturing with a slight incline of the head for Eileen to join her. Anna was curious, this pretty child from the village was courteous and meek.

At first the two sat in companionable silence, neither looking at the other but both feeling inquisitive and shy. The town gave way to countryside and the bus made several stops to allow passengers to either jump on or depart. It was the older woman who finally broke the silence.

"Did you have a good day at school?" she asked, the words tripping faultlessly off her tongue.

"Yes, thank you, well apart from having to learn the name of every ocean and sea from here to China, which I really don"t see the point of", replied Eileen, immediately feeling slightly embarrassed that she had shared such a trivial bugbear. She stared down at her hands, wondering if the lady at her side thought her a fool.

"Oh, but it"s very important to know where the waters lead to", came the response, "One day you may feel the wish to travel and see the world, then you will definitely need to know where the oceans go".

Eileen thought for a moment. It seemed that not only was Mrs. Muller attractive but she was wise too.

“Have you travelled a lot, Mrs. Muller?”

“Not too much”, said Anna, dismissing the question with a wave of the hand, “But you are still very young and have your whole life ahead of you. The world is your oyster.”

"I suppose you"re right", replied the schoolgirl, "Did you have a good day?"

Eileen wasn"t sure but she thought that she felt her new friend stiffen at the question, nothing too drastic but just a momentary arch of her shoulders. Whatever the emotion behind the sudden twinge, it was gone within seconds and a smile slowly spread across the Eastern European"s bow-shaped lips.

"Yes, thank you", nodded Anna, "I suppose I did have a good day today".

With a short nod of the head, Mrs. Muller then turned to look out of the window, lost in her thoughts and now oblivious to the child at her side. The conversation was over.

That evening Eileen lay in front of the roaring fire, her homework books lying redundant on the rug in front of her, thoughts a million miles away. What a stylish and chic lady Mrs. Muller is, she mused, and she has such good English for a foreigner, although Eileen had never actually met a non-English person before and had nobody else to compare the elegant Russian"s language skills with. She reached forward and drew the hard-backed atlas towards her. Now how many seas would you cross to get to Russia? she pondered.

“What"s that you"ve got there then?”

Eileen looked up to see her father stooping down to look at the map. She explained her conversation with Anna Muller earlier that day and how she was now counting the different seas between their own little island and the vast country from which the lady next door but one hailed.

Geoffrey nodded wisely and settled back on the sofa.

“Russia played a big part in the war”, he explained, “Sit up here and I"ll tell you all about it.”

Eileen listened eagerly as her father recounted tales of Hitler, outlined with his finger the countries whose men had fought alongside their British allies and the harsh conditions endured by the Russian soldiers as they had marched towards the battlefront. As a patternmaker for Rolls Royce aircraft engines, Geoff"s job had been deemed important to the war effort and he had been excluded from enlistment, much to Olive"s relief, but Eileen could see that he was just as patriotic and informed about it as those who had fought under Winston Churchill"s orders. Her father had a gift for making stories come to life and that night a spark was lit in the young girl"s mind, prompting her to borrow cultural books from the library and to raise her hand persistently in geography class at school. Russia seemed so very far away to a young girl who"s most adventurous trip had been a family outing to the coast in North Wales. Never before had Eileen encountered such enchanting buildings as the cathedrals and palaces that graced the picture books on Eastern Europe. It was another world, one where princesses and tsarinas danced in gilded ballrooms and drank tea from golden samovars. One day, when she was grown up, Eileen would go there to see for herself she decided. For now, she would have to be content with flicking through the pages of her battered atlas and making regular trips to the library in town to satisfy her curiosity. Of course it would have been much easier to ask Anna Muller to tell her all about Russia, but Eileen was unsure whether the woman"s home country would hold fond memories for her or not. After all, if she had been happy there, why come to live in England?

As October winds turned to November rain, Eileen"s daily journeys became filled with intrigue. It became a regular habit for her to sit closer to the front of the bus, and every day her neighbour would gesture for the child to board the vehicle ahead of her and, without hesitation, Mrs. Muller took the seat next to Eileen. Usually no more than a few words were exchanged between the young girl and the beautiful Russian but slowly and surely an invisible trust was forged between the two and Eileen shared her frustrations and dreams. In turn the mystery of Mrs. Muller"s regular trips to town gradually began to unravel.

At first, when Eileen learned the true reason behind Anna Muller"s daily routine, she was both disappointed and confused. It seemed that her elegant friend did little more than sit in the park, feeding the ducks and pigeons with bread from her small brown package. Apparently Mrs. Muller hated confined spaces and rather than spend her days cooped up at home, preferred to sit on a bench with only fresh air and feathered friends to disturb her thoughts. Eileen couldn"t understand the appeal. Some days were so damp and miserable that even the heated classroom barely warmed her through. Still, each to their own devices, she thought, hoping that her new friend wouldn"t catch a chill sitting in the open air all day. What a strange way to spend your day, the youngster mused, she must be there for over six hours, with nobody to talk to, nothing to read and the chance of rain looming all the time. Eileen wondered if Mrs. Muller had told her the truth. What if Gloria had been right all along and her foreign friend was up to something? The county"s council offices were located overlooking the park, perhaps Anna waited in the park for one of its officers to furtively pass her some secret information? But then again, surely a bigger borough or even a city would have far more classified files than this little market town. Eileen could quite clearly imagine the scenario taking place, with the elegant Russian sitting waiting on a park bench, a tall handsome gent in a light coloured trench coat casually walking past, and then stooping down to tie his shoelace as he approached the bench. As he bent over, the man would deftly drop a slip of paper next to the woman"s foot, where she would quickly cover it with her shoe, waiting to retrieve it when the man had completely disappeared from view. Or wait, was that the scene of a Hollywood movie that she had seen at the cinema with her Aunt Dolly? Whatever the case, thought Eileen, feeding birds in the park every day certainly wasn"t fun so there must be more to it than Anna Muller had revealed.

And then, one afternoon, everything changed.

Eileen had been ill at home for a week, nothing serious, just a stomach bug, but it was enough for her mother to insist on full bed rest and regular doses of hasty pudding, a sugary and milky concoction that Olive believed was the answer to all ailments. Poor Eileen was bored being stuck in the house and missed her school friends desperately. She also missed her regular chats with Anna Muller. Every morning, as the youngster sat at the kitchen table eating her toast and jam, she had craned her neck to watch the tall, mysterious foreigner hurry down the lane to catch the bus. Olive had laughed at her daughter on a few occasions, and took her interest in Mrs. Muller to be no more than that of a child taking her first steps towards a love of fashion. After all, the immaculate Anna Muller was extremely well turned-out, with never a loose button or fraying cuff to mar her trim and stylish outfits. At the few events in the village that Olive had seen her neighbours dress up in their best frocks, the tall Russian had always out-shone them all. In a very humble but effective manner, Mrs. Muller had arrived sporting a simple but classic dress, with perfectly coifed hair, and just the right amount of lipstick and rouge. It was with great amusement that Olive had witnessed other ladies in the vicinity trying to emulate Anna"s impeccable style, but with a far lesser degree of success. Either they lacked the Russian woman"s curvaceous bone structure, failed to control their hair with grips or quite simply smeared on the blusher as though using a trowel.

On the day that Eileen returned to school, she earnestly looked forward to seeing her neighbour and was delighted to see the tall, handsome woman waiting at the bus-stop as usual. A smile played on the Russian"s lips, as though she too had been looking forward to this meeting.

"Are you feeling better?" asked Mrs. Muller.

"Yes, much", replied Eileen "But how did you know I was ill?".

"Oh, it"s not very hard to work out", replied the older woman "If a schoolgirl misses her lessons for a week during term time, there is usually only one reason behind it".

Eileen nodded, it didn"t take a genius to work that out, but that was also exactly the type of reasoning that a spy would use when trying to work out something about their enemy. She looked up at the woman by her side to see if she could detect anything more going on behind her dark eyes and rigid features but saw nothing more than someone genuinely showing concern.

“I"m looking forward to going back to school”, she said, “I"ve missed a lot of lessons.”

“You"ll catch up in no time”, Mrs. Muller replied, “Of that, I have no doubt at all.”

Eileen blushed. She felt that the compliment had been heartfelt and genuine.

A few minutes later the little green bus arrived, whisking its passengers along the winding lanes and creating a loud hum over which Eileen and her friend exchanged pleasantries. Anna Muller commented on the weather and how the evenings were becoming darker much earlier week by week, while Eileen shared the names of books that she had read while at home recovering from her illness. For the young girl, this was the first time that she had encountered an adult who had never read the Bronte sisters novels or entered the glorious world of Dicken"s characters and she enjoyed outlining the stories and their colourful heroines. It was on the return journey later that day that something happened to alter their alliance.

Anna Muller had left her spot in the park a little earlier that afternoon. She had missed her daily interaction with Eileen over the past few days and wanted to buy the young girl a few sweets to show her how much she had missed their conversations. And so when Eileen took her seat beside her companion a while later, she was greeted with a broad smile and a gift-wrapped box of toffees. Eileen was over-joyed, the packaging was so pretty with its yellow ribbon and printed card but most of all she was overwhelmed by the kindness of Mrs. Muller. These were no ordinary candies.

"Thank you so much", gushed Eileen, "They"re fabulous".

"I hope you enjoy them dear child", replied Anna, "I"m just so glad you"re feeling better".

"Oh yes, I am", came the response "Better than ever".

Mrs. Muller patted Eileen"s hand, "Good, I"m very glad". But as the larger hand rested momentarily on the smaller one, the Russian couldn"t help but notice how cold the girl"s hands were.

"Dear me, where are your gloves?" she exclaimed. Eileen blushed, they were left behind in her desk.

"Here, borrow mine", offered Anna, and before the young girl could protest, a pair of soft red leather gloves were being thrust upon her.

"Wow, they"re so glamorous!" Eileen enthused, "You"re like a model in the magazines Mrs. Muller!"

At that moment, Anna Muller lifted a cotton handkerchief to dab at a tear in the corner of her eye, she was overcome with emotion at the sweetness of this lovely golden-haired child. But in the same instance, Eileen happened to glance up at the sleek figure beside her and couldn"t help but notice a row of crudely inked numbers tainting her delicate white wrist. Eileen knew at once what it was, both of her uncles had fought in the war and she had heard them talking in hushed tones about the atrocities in the German concentration camps. Could this wonderful, stylish lady really have been a prisoner in one of those places? Eileen"s mind raced, she was hardly able to comprehend what she had seen.

The Russian pulled franticly at her sleeve, wanting to both cover the unsightly marks on her skin and to push them out of sight before this innocent child at her side could see. She already knew that it was too late.

Slowly, Anna Muller placed her hand on top of the young girl"s and allowed the tears to fall freely down her cheeks, streaking her carefully applied make-up and causing her body to become rigid with grief. Now Eileen understood why this beautiful Russian needed the comfort and space that the outdoors afforded her. Her confinement had been a source of terror and continual ritual, forcing Anna to close doors within her mind to block out the dreadful memories of her years in captivity.

“It"s okay Mrs. Muller”, whispered Eileen, “I promise not to tell anyone.”

“Thank you, it was such a terrible time in my life”, replied Anna, “One I can never forget.”

Eileen"s mind raced. She had so many questions but knew that not one of them would leave her lips. Instead she sat silently contemplating the consequences of what she had just learned and felt a knot start to form in her stomach. There were now only two others passengers aboard the bus, but luckily they were deep in conversation and noticed none of the emotional turmoil unfolding in front of them. The driver had his eyes fixed firmly on the road, cautiously approaching corners just in case another vehicle was travelling the same road. High hedgerows and sharp bends made it a difficult route to drive, and he too was oblivious to the steady flow of tears and hushed voices behind him.

As the bus neared the village, so Anna Muller regained her composure. She still held tightly on to Eileen"s hand but slowly released her grip as they drew up at the end of the cul-de-sac where they both lived. For the first time, Anna and Eileen walked together towards their respective homes, a mutual bond between them, nothing needing to be said but everything understood. At the Muller"s gate, Eileen turned to say goodbye but her friend was already unlatching the gate and hurrying indoors. It was Olive"s voice that pierced the silence, telling her daughter to hurry in before she caught a cold. Some things never change, thought Eileen, but then again other things will never be the same.

“You"re awfully quiet this evening”, Olive fussed as she placed a hand on Eileen"s forehead during tea, “I do hope you"re not coming down with a cold.”

“I"ve got one too”, snivelled Barbara, feigning sickness, “Can I have a day off school?”

“No you can"t you little madam. There"s nothing wrong with you. And anyway, I was talking to your sister. Eileen, you look as white as a sheet, are you alright?”

“I"m fine, Mum”, replied her eldest daughter, “I"ve got homework to do”, and with a final parting glance Eileen slid out from her seat at the table and made her way upstairs to her bedroom.

Eileen sat at the bedroom window for a full half hour before even attempting to grapple with the long division sums awaiting her attention. She gazed up at the dark clouds, thinking that they very much resembled people"s emotions, sometimes calm and unmoving but at other times causing a storm from which the only release was shelter and comfort. Eileen felt that she had grown up that afternoon. A piece of her heart had melted away and the innocence of her youth had given way to the real tragedies going on in the world around her. So many people had suffered in the war, and damage had been done that could never be repaired, both mentally and physically. She pondered about the life that Anna Muller must have had before her capture, such a genteel and refined woman must surely have had a privileged childhood, maybe her parents were members of the Russian aristocracy? But surely if that were the case, they would have been able to seek passage to America or Canada before the Germans invaded? Eileen"s mind raced, one scenario after another pushing their way in to her thoughts, but her foremost concern was how her beautiful friend had to relive her innermost horrors every day of her life, that was something that she could never fail to forget.

After clearing away the tea plates later that evening, Olive noticed a pair of fashionable red gloves lying on the top of the sideboard. They really were beauties, a softer pair she had never seen, let alone been able to afford. Better return them to their rightful owner, she thought, and Olive knew exactly who that person was, after all there had been talk amongst the women in the village about how much a pair of gloves like that would cost. She stroked the soft leather with her forefinger before taking off her floral apron and heading out in to the hallway.

As she tapped at the back door of the Muller"s house, Olive could hear raised voices. This obviously was a bad time and she would have to call back in the morning, she knew exactly how it felt to be interrupted by visitors whilst a disagreement was in full swing. But as she hesitated on the doorstep for a moment, Olive heard a thud as something was smashed against the wall. She dearly hoped that quiet Mr. Muller wasn"t trying to throw his weight around, he didn"t look like a bully but nobody knew what occurred beyond the walls of her neighbour"s property. She would just wait another minute to make sure everything was alright.

As Olive huddled against the Muller"s porch to take respite from the bitter wind, the argument inside grew in intensity and a further clatter confirmed that things were indeed being hurled across the room. As the volume of the residents voices increased, Olive could clearly make out both Anna and Wolfgang shouting in what she concluded to be German. She really didn"t want to pry, but having a basic knowledge of the language thanks to her brothers, Olive stood transfixed as she attempted to translate the kerfuffle inside.

It seemed that Anna Muller had shown something to someone today, something that her husband thought needed to be kept a secret? Was that the right word? Yes, a secret. Olive struggled to keep up with the flow of words as she listened to the dispute, but was thankful that German was obviously Anna"s second language after Russian, as she spoke much more slowly and pronounced than her husband.

It was on that thought that Olive stopped. Why were they speaking German? Despite his name, the villagers had insisted that Wolfgang Muller was Polish…

Olive pressed her ear to the keyhole.

Anna Muller was upset about her time in prison? Really? And what was that other word? Olive tutted to herself in frustration, sometimes knowing half a language was worse than being totally oblivious, she thought. She was sure the woman had used the word "Camp". Hairs had started to rise on Olive"s neck, she had already heard far too much but was unable to tear herself away without finding out more. She waited with baited breath as another item was flung across the room.

Suddenly the male voice broke down and wept. He kept saying sorry, over and over, sorry, so sorry. There was silence for a few moments and then the distinctive smash of plates being thrown.

"Sorry?" screamed Anna Muller. "I only agreed to marry you so that you would save my sister. What did you do to the rest of my family?!"

“It was out of my control”, came the faint reply, “There was nothing I could do. Please, Anastasia forgive me. We can be happy, if only you will forget about those days.”

“I will never ever stop hating you, Wolfgang Muller”, roared the woman, “You evil, evil man.”

Outside footsteps scurried away down the path. Olive"s eyes were as wide as saucers as she gently slipped back in to the comfort of her own home.