a glass in each hand. His expression one of questioning. Instantly she tried to cover up, to speak first, to try to gain an advantage.
“I wanted a fresh glass.”
He shook his head at her.
“No only one has lipstick on it.”
Then it dawned on him. The photographs facing the wrong way. Two glasses used, lipstick on one. The new stockings in the drawer.
“You’ve had someone here. Another man.”
“No I…. I haven’t.”
“Don’t lie to me,“ he shouted.
He rushed over to the dressing table elbowing her out of the way. He yanked the drawer open and held the stockings under her nose.
“He bought you these didn’t he?”
“No. No I told you my father….”
“Lies. Lies.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Who was it? Who?” he yelled.
“No one I….”
Suddenly he was rushing for the door.
“If you won’t tell me maybe the old bag will.”
“Otto stop! I’ll tell you everything,” she said desperate for the old lady’s safety now.
Then a thought struck him. He came back into the room.
“It was him wasn’t it.”
She was lost now. Not sure as to who he was referring.
“Him. The Colonel I passed in the lobby. The Colonel in the Wehrmacht. It has to be. Who else could afford such gifts?”
Now she knew she was fighting not just for her but for her lovely Hans as well. She had little doubt that her husband would track him down and kill him.
Otto Wurtz began pacing up and down the room with his hands on his head.
“I’m so stupid. I thought it was safe to leave you here all by yourself . I thought the little rich bitch was happy and all the time I’m away you are screwing every Tom, Dick and Harry.”
While he was talking she grabbed a large pair of scissors and held them in both hands behind her back. She vowed that he’d never beat her again. He would never humiliate her like that again.
Then he did something unexpected. He went to the telephone.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m ringing your precious father to tell him what a whore his daughter is.”
“Please Otto don’t. Leave my father out of this.”
He slammed the receiver back.
“Who is he? What’s his name?”
“You think I’d tell you!”
He picked up the receiver again.
“He’s a Colonel. Higher rank than you,” she sneered “He eats Majors for breakfast.”
“You think his rank frightens me. We the SS fear no one.”
She could see that he meant it. Could it be that her Hans was doomed?
Suddenly he slammed the receiver down again and in a rage he picked the telephone up and threw it at her, missing her by inches.
“You’re a filthy fucking slut! I’ll fucking kill him!”
Something snapped inside her and suddenly she was rushing at him scissors held high. It took him by surprise but even so he was able to avoid her downward slash. He twisted and chopped her with the flat of his hand across the back of her neck. It increased her momentum and she tripped over a rug, her body out of control now, and crashed heavily into her dresser, the force of the collision knocking it over and breaking the mirror.
There followed utter silence.
Elsa Wurz lay face down amid the furniture and items that were scattered. Otto stood staring unsure as to whether she was acting or not.
“Elsa,” he called gently.
No reply.
“Elsa.”
Again nothing.
Slowly he approached her afraid of what he might discover. The scissors were still clutched in her hand and he took them out of her grasp and threw them out of reach across the floor.
“Elsa.”
He gently stroked her hair. She looked as though she was sleeping. He wanted to wake her softly. Slowly he turned her over. Her eyes were open. A purple bruise was already forming on her forehead. When he touched it, it felt spongy, almost as if there was no bone beneath it.
She was dead.
He picked her inert form up and cradled her for a moment. His beautiful wife. Perhaps she would be all right. He put her down gently, her head bumping the floor slightly.
Otto Wurtz went into the bathroom and leaned on the basin. He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment then put the plug in and ran the cold water tap until the basin was half full. He cupped both hands and splashed the cold water over his face. With his eyes closed the unexpected shock of the coldness made him gasp. He looked at himself in the mirror again, his fringe dripping. Then a thought struck him. This would finish his career. There would be no