Ota’s letters to us, I often thought that it would be marvellous to travel the world. I had not been anywhere outside of Czechoslovakia. My debut into society and my education in Paris and Florence had been halted by the war. But now that I was going away, I found the idea daunting. I thought of the wretched convicts the British had transported to Australia, and imagined their faces peering through the ships’ portholes at their homeland as it disappeared in the distance. Klara and I were not convicts but we were fugitives.
I recalled paní Milotova’s reaction when we had taken her into our confidence. ‘Australia?’ she said, her eyes wide with horror. ‘It’s a wild place. What about Klara and her music? She will have to come back to study in Leipzig otherwise she won’t amount to anything!’
When we returned home, I found Klara sitting in the garden with Frip. My sister was not the innocent child she had been until I was forced to tell her the truth about Mother’s death and why we were leaving. The change was not in her smooth skin, her soft hair or her agile hands. It was in the way she looked at things. There was hatred in her gaze, and I had never known Klara to despise anything. I sat down next to her and wanted to promise I would restore the joy she had once taken for granted. But I could not guarantee anything. I was unsure of the future myself.
‘What are you thinking about?’ I asked her.
She raised her eyes to meet mine. ‘When I am old enough, I will make Milosh and paní Benova pay for what they did.’
Her voice sent a chill through me. She did not sound like Klara any more.
‘You’ve been brave,’ I told her. ‘And we must be careful to hide our feelings. You mustn’t let Marie or anybody else know that we are leaving. We must behave as if everything is the same as it always has been.’
‘It’s not,’ said Klara, leaning down to pat Frip’s head. ‘Nothing will ever be the same without Mother.’
Klara was right. Even without the murder and the price on our lives, the chasm Mother’s death had left would still be there. I longed to be reborn in another, happier life. I wanted to believe that might happen in Australia. But I doubted it. Klara and I might have been able to rebuild our lives in Paris, London or somewhere in America. But the fifth continent? We may as well have been going to darkest Africa.
The morning of our departure, Aunt Josephine and I waited in the parlour for Doctor Holub. He was to take Klara and me to the train station. The story given to our servants was that we were departing to our summer house early with paní Milotova and her husband. Klara was sickly and needed fresh air and a change from Prague. We had a local maid in Doksy and Marie would follow later.
‘I will keep visitors away and live here until I have received word you and Klara are in Australia,’ Aunt Josephine explained to me. ‘Then I will close up this house and put it in the hands of a caretaker until your return.’
Aunt Josephine planned to move back to her own house. She would be safer amongst her high-society tenants than she would be living alone.
The arrival of paní Milotova and her husband in travelling dress added to the surreal atmosphere.
‘Doctor Holub has been delayed,’ paní Milotova informed us. ‘An urgent business matter came up but he will be here before ten o’clock.’
Aunt Josephine glanced at her watch and frowned. ‘That will be cutting things fine. The schedule is tight.’
Klara appeared from the garden with some Perle d’Or roses in her hands. ‘Look,’ she said, holding out the golden-pink flowers. ‘They are starting to bloom.’
Perle d’Or had been Mother’s favourite rose because of its fruity perfume. She had grown those in our garden from seed but had never seen them come into flower.
Paní Milotova put her arm around Klara. I hated my sister looking so drawn but at least her appearance was convincing as an invalid in need of
I recalled paní Milotova’s reaction when we had taken her into our confidence. ‘Australia?’ she said, her eyes wide with horror. ‘It’s a wild place. What about Klara and her music? She will have to come back to study in Leipzig otherwise she won’t amount to anything!’
When we returned home, I found Klara sitting in the garden with Frip. My sister was not the innocent child she had been until I was forced to tell her the truth about Mother’s death and why we were leaving. The change was not in her smooth skin, her soft hair or her agile hands. It was in the way she looked at things. There was hatred in her gaze, and I had never known Klara to despise anything. I sat down next to her and wanted to promise I would restore the joy she had once taken for granted. But I could not guarantee anything. I was unsure of the future myself.
‘What are you thinking about?’ I asked her.
She raised her eyes to meet mine. ‘When I am old enough, I will make Milosh and paní Benova pay for what they did.’
Her voice sent a chill through me. She did not sound like Klara any more.
‘You’ve been brave,’ I told her. ‘And we must be careful to hide our feelings. You mustn’t let Marie or anybody else know that we are leaving. We must behave as if everything is the same as it always has been.’
‘It’s not,’ said Klara, leaning down to pat Frip’s head. ‘Nothing will ever be the same without Mother.’
Klara was right. Even without the murder and the price on our lives, the chasm Mother’s death had left would still be there. I longed to be reborn in another, happier life. I wanted to believe that might happen in Australia. But I doubted it. Klara and I might have been able to rebuild our lives in Paris, London or somewhere in America. But the fifth continent? We may as well have been going to darkest Africa.
The morning of our departure, Aunt Josephine and I waited in the parlour for Doctor Holub. He was to take Klara and me to the train station. The story given to our servants was that we were departing to our summer house early with paní Milotova and her husband. Klara was sickly and needed fresh air and a change from Prague. We had a local maid in Doksy and Marie would follow later.
‘I will keep visitors away and live here until I have received word you and Klara are in Australia,’ Aunt Josephine explained to me. ‘Then I will close up this house and put it in the hands of a caretaker until your return.’
Aunt Josephine planned to move back to her own house. She would be safer amongst her high-society tenants than she would be living alone.
The arrival of paní Milotova and her husband in travelling dress added to the surreal atmosphere.
‘Doctor Holub has been delayed,’ paní Milotova informed us. ‘An urgent business matter came up but he will be here before ten o’clock.’
Aunt Josephine glanced at her watch and frowned. ‘That will be cutting things fine. The schedule is tight.’
Klara appeared from the garden with some Perle d’Or roses in her hands. ‘Look,’ she said, holding out the golden-pink flowers. ‘They are starting to bloom.’
Perle d’Or had been Mother’s favourite rose because of its fruity perfume. She had grown those in our garden from seed but had never seen them come into flower.
Paní Milotova put her arm around Klara. I hated my sister looking so drawn but at least her appearance was convincing as an invalid in need of