‘Yes.’ Alice smiled. ‘My dream was that I would one day dance again with Conrad – a waltz, to one of his own compositions.’
For Lucy the words instantly conjured up the image of a well-lit ballroom: men in the sharp black and white formality of evening dress, ladies wearing silks and velvets, the air laden with expensive perfumes…
‘By the time the camps were liberated,’ said Alice, ‘Alraune had long since left. A year earlier he had been taken away by a man who was – who had reason to believe himself the father.’ She paused to drink her coffee. Lucy had no idea if she was playing for time, or if she was deliberately creating an effect, or if she was simply taking a drink before going on with the story.
‘You do not need to know the circumstances surrounding Alraune’s conception and birth,’ said Alice. ‘They were macabre and violent and deeply disturbing, and something no female should ever have to endure. But I will say that there was a young German officer who could have been Alraune’s father, and I found that he had constantly tried to see the child. His wife and baby had died in the air-raids on Dresden, and although he had no heart to remarry he liked the idea of having a son. So one day he came to Auschwitz and he took Alraune away with him.’
Lucy said, ‘You gave him up?’
‘If I had resisted I would have been overruled and Alraune would have been taken anyway. But I didn’t resist,’ said Alice. ‘He was a German and a Nazi, that young man, and he was on the enemy’s side. But at that time we had no idea how long the war would last – it could have gone on for many more years. There were stories that Britain was losing – that might have been propaganda or it might have been the truth. Again, we had no way of telling. We were afraid that if Germany won we would never leave Auschwitz, and that meant Alraune might not know any other life. I would have done anything to get him out. The officer was young, and I had seen shame and pity in his eyes at some of the atrocities. I thought he could be trusted. And when you are half-starved,’ said Alice with a sudden hardness in her voice, ‘and when you shiver through every winter’s night, and have only the sparsest of clothes and barely enough water to survive, your values change. What did it matter which country Alraune lived in if he had food to eat and warmth, and the promise of a reasonably normal childhood and some happiness?’
‘Yes, I see that,’ said Lucy softly.
‘The officer promised that Alraune would be known as his nephew,’ she said. ‘And that the circumstances of his early childhood would never be told. He said Alraune would have everything of the best – everything within reason that money could buy. And so I let him go. But after the war ended – after I got out of Germany, Ilena and I searched for him. Ilena was the finest, truest friend I ever had. Elsa, whom you met earlier, is her daughter.’
‘And in the end, you found him,’ said Lucy.
‘I did. But it took a long time,’ said Alice. ‘I had very little money, and I had no idea then where Alraune was, or where Conrad was. So I searched for them both, and at the same time I made attempts to re-enter the film world. That was harder than I had expected. There were rumours that I had spied for the Nazis, which meant I was looked on with suspicion and often with derision. They said I had slept with von Ribbentrop and consorted with G?ering – all nonsense, of course, but the stories stuck. And as well as that, the competition was much fiercer: there were a great many talented actors and directors who had survived the war in their various ways, and who wanted to resume their careers. But we had to learn new techniques – there were no longer any silent films, for instance. Garbo had talked, and the rest of us had to follow suit. But I was determined to regain what I had lost, so I donned the mantle of the vamp again…’