The Villagers

Chapter Two – Anna & Wolfgang Muller-1

Chapter Two – Anna & Wolfgang MullerAnna 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.