The Girl Behind The Curtain (Hidden Women) by Stella Knightley Page A
Authors: Stella Knightley
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Sarah,
I don’t know if you ever expected to hear from me again or if this email will be welcome. I am only sorry that I have to get in contact with you in this terribly impersonal way. I would far rather have written a letter. Putting pen to paper feels so much more intimate than this electronic method of communicating, but right now I don’t know where you are and I didn’t want to contact you via your old university friends.
So, forgive me for this and trust that while this may seem like a lazy way of reaching out, I have certainly not written to you quickly or lightly.
I think I owe you an apology. That afternoon in Venice, when you took me by surprise, I said some terrible things and not all of them were true. None of them, in fact. You have every right to decide to cut me out of your life, just as I asked you to, but if, by some chance, you were still willing to be in contact with me, I would consider myself to be a very lucky man.
With fondest wishes,
Marco.
I couldn’t believe what I was reading. He wanted to be back in touch with me.
I didn’t know how to respond. In so many ways, this was the email I had been waiting for, yet now that it had arrived, it suddenly seemed too little, too late. It was bloodless and formal. So very Marco. And it was a very easy, lazy way to test the waters. I had put everything on the line when I flew to Venice to confront him in person. He had typed a couple of paragraphs and pressed send. If it mattered so much to him to make a good impression on me, then surely he would have found a way to talk to Nick or Bea. He knew I was going to be in Germany; I had told him about it months ago. He might have called the university or sent a letter in its care.
It was not enough. It did not touch me half as much as it should have done. Something about the tone still suggested that an overreaction on my part had led to our estrangement. He said he ‘thought’ he owed me an apology. I found my eyes stinging as I thought about that last trip to Venice. I remembered the moment when he told me to go and I had to walk out past Silvio, feeling like a fool who had misinterpreted mere friendliness as love.
No. I’d had enough of humiliation.
I decided I would not reply. I went so far as to press delete so I could not even be tempted. Marco was no longer in my address book, I told myself. Oh, as though I didn’t know his email address by heart. But I had to stay strong. No more fantasies. I picked up Kitty’s diary again and forced myself to read on.
Chapter 14
Berlin,
Saturday 2nd July 1932
Dear Diary,
I hardly slept a wink after Otto kissed me. I lay on top of the scratchy blankets and remembered the moment again and again and again. When I put my fingers to my face, I could smell the scent of Otto’s hand on mine. He uses a delicious sandalwood soap. Today I’m going to buy a bar so I can sniff it when he’s not around.
Berlin,
Saturday 2nd July 1932
The very early hours!
Dear Diary,
I’ve just got back from work. I had the most wonderful evening.
‘You’re early,’ said Marlene, when I turned up. ‘And you don’t look in the least bit tired, which means he didn’t keep you up. What happened? Did he only want to walk you home so you could gossip? Did he tell you that he’s actually in love with Isadora?’
‘No!’ I protested. I was about to tell Marlene about the kiss when Otto walked in. Everything happened exactly as it does in all the best novels. My stomach actually flipped. I saw stars. He kissed Marlene ‘hello’ as is his custom. Then he did the same to me. But this was no ordinary kiss of greeting. His lips lingered on my cheek. I felt myself turn crimson.
‘I’ll walk you home again tonight,’ he said.
‘Yes, yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, please!’ I couldn’t wait for my shift to be over.
Nothing could spoil my mood. The boorish customers who would ordinarily have made me want to drop sauerkraut in their laps seemed sweet
I don’t know if you ever expected to hear from me again or if this email will be welcome. I am only sorry that I have to get in contact with you in this terribly impersonal way. I would far rather have written a letter. Putting pen to paper feels so much more intimate than this electronic method of communicating, but right now I don’t know where you are and I didn’t want to contact you via your old university friends.
So, forgive me for this and trust that while this may seem like a lazy way of reaching out, I have certainly not written to you quickly or lightly.
I think I owe you an apology. That afternoon in Venice, when you took me by surprise, I said some terrible things and not all of them were true. None of them, in fact. You have every right to decide to cut me out of your life, just as I asked you to, but if, by some chance, you were still willing to be in contact with me, I would consider myself to be a very lucky man.
With fondest wishes,
Marco.
I couldn’t believe what I was reading. He wanted to be back in touch with me.
I didn’t know how to respond. In so many ways, this was the email I had been waiting for, yet now that it had arrived, it suddenly seemed too little, too late. It was bloodless and formal. So very Marco. And it was a very easy, lazy way to test the waters. I had put everything on the line when I flew to Venice to confront him in person. He had typed a couple of paragraphs and pressed send. If it mattered so much to him to make a good impression on me, then surely he would have found a way to talk to Nick or Bea. He knew I was going to be in Germany; I had told him about it months ago. He might have called the university or sent a letter in its care.
It was not enough. It did not touch me half as much as it should have done. Something about the tone still suggested that an overreaction on my part had led to our estrangement. He said he ‘thought’ he owed me an apology. I found my eyes stinging as I thought about that last trip to Venice. I remembered the moment when he told me to go and I had to walk out past Silvio, feeling like a fool who had misinterpreted mere friendliness as love.
No. I’d had enough of humiliation.
I decided I would not reply. I went so far as to press delete so I could not even be tempted. Marco was no longer in my address book, I told myself. Oh, as though I didn’t know his email address by heart. But I had to stay strong. No more fantasies. I picked up Kitty’s diary again and forced myself to read on.
Chapter 14
Berlin,
Saturday 2nd July 1932
Dear Diary,
I hardly slept a wink after Otto kissed me. I lay on top of the scratchy blankets and remembered the moment again and again and again. When I put my fingers to my face, I could smell the scent of Otto’s hand on mine. He uses a delicious sandalwood soap. Today I’m going to buy a bar so I can sniff it when he’s not around.
Berlin,
Saturday 2nd July 1932
The very early hours!
Dear Diary,
I’ve just got back from work. I had the most wonderful evening.
‘You’re early,’ said Marlene, when I turned up. ‘And you don’t look in the least bit tired, which means he didn’t keep you up. What happened? Did he only want to walk you home so you could gossip? Did he tell you that he’s actually in love with Isadora?’
‘No!’ I protested. I was about to tell Marlene about the kiss when Otto walked in. Everything happened exactly as it does in all the best novels. My stomach actually flipped. I saw stars. He kissed Marlene ‘hello’ as is his custom. Then he did the same to me. But this was no ordinary kiss of greeting. His lips lingered on my cheek. I felt myself turn crimson.
‘I’ll walk you home again tonight,’ he said.
‘Yes, yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, please!’ I couldn’t wait for my shift to be over.
Nothing could spoil my mood. The boorish customers who would ordinarily have made me want to drop sauerkraut in their laps seemed sweet
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