Chapter 3

“Your secret is safe with me but if you bring a woman home you should at least warn me so that I can afford you some degree of privacy,” their eyes met.

“Will you do that, for me?”

“Of course,” she blushed.

“Thank you,” Agnes leaned over and kissed her cheek, “good night.”

Josephine felt the dampness on her cheek as she sat on her bed some fifteen minutes later and when she looked at herself in the mirror she could see the outline of Agnes’s lips, forming an imperfect bow. The spontaneity had indeed taken her by surprise because she wouldn’t have put Agnes in that category. Was she curious about the mysteries of the lesbian world or was she merely reassuring her that all was well?

She touched her cheek as she let her mind wander. The last time a woman had kissed her on the cheek had been Simone, she opened her eyes and swallowed as she fought to suppress the memory.

It wasn’t your fault, you were betrayed.

Josephine let herself fall back onto the bed and as she did so the memory returned. She heard the shouted commands in French and then the quieter orders in German. She saw the stoicism in Simone’s eyes even as the other woman tried not to look at her but she also saw the fear as she was marched to the car that whisked her away to the police station. A tear inched its way down her cheek and then she heard footfalls at the door and a gentle knock.

“What is it?” Josephine sat up as she wiped her eyes.

The door opened to reveal Agnes dressed in a nightie, she was brushing her hair.

“I was thinking,” she looked at her and then stopped, “you are crying?”

“I did shed a tear,” she swallowed, “this is the first time I have come out like this to another woman and instead of asking me to leave you promised to keep my secret.”

“Oh,” Agnes’s eyes softened, “so they are tears of happiness.”

“Yes,” she replied and then straightened up, “thank you, but what did you want?”

Agnes’s eyes shifted as she looked past her.

“I was thinking of taking the old couch out of the shed tomorrow after work, if I get home in time and you are able to help me.”

“Of course,” Josephine nodded.

“Good,” she nodded abruptly, “good night, again,” and with that she closed the door and left her to her own devices. Josephine fell back onto the bed a few moments later and stared at the light bulb above her.

Why do you lie so easily?

It was a question she knew the answer to only too easily. Her very life had depended on a carefully constructed labyrinth of lies. It had to be if you were to avoid capture and yet in this place she wasn’t afraid of informers or Gestapo agents. She was merely hiding her sexual orientation from a woman who had casually informed her that she would never spill her secret and to make matters worse, Josephine was quite sure that Agnes was telling the truth as well and that only made her feel worse because this was not a lie to protect some national secret, just her reputation and standing in the community. Was she so different from those in the corridors of power who sent men and women to their deaths?

The next day brought persistent rain and with it her mood began to deteriorate. She was even short with her ‘students’ but thankfully they were just as miserable as her with the downpour that lasted until mid afternoon. The only one who seemed unaffected by the weather was Mary, she was as bright as ever and in a moment of weakness she considered seducing the younger woman. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d played the seduction game and she’d certainly been on the other side more than once.

Nevertheless, some degree of sanity returned as she made her way home and because it was a Friday afternoon she was home earlier than Agnes, which at least gave her time to take a bath and let the anxiety subside. Agnes’s willingness to just accept her sexuality just like that had both frightened and excited her she acknowledged some time later. That latter aspect was a little surprising because she’d not recognised it as such, rather she’d thought it had more to do with lust.

Am I really that bad? Josephine stared at herself in the mirror as she brushed her hair. She had been called names before, harlot, whore, queer and much worse, and whilst she could shrug it off, some of the mud did stick and no amount of washing could remove the memory and as a result she erected yet another barrier.

The sound of the front door opening caused her to take a step back and then she heard footsteps drawing nearer. The door opened a few seconds later and Agnes came to a stop as she stared at Josephine standing in front of the mirror with a towel wrapped around her body. It was not the first time either woman had walked in on each other but last night she’d come out of her self imposed closet. Agnes stared at the toilet next to the bath and then she brushed past her and pulling her pants down over her buttocks, hoisted her skirt up over them and squatted on the seat.

“Don’t mind me,” she grunted, “nature calls.”

“I’m finished anyway,” Josephine replied.

“You don’t have to go.”

“You’re peeing,” Josephine managed a tight smile.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve relieved myself while you were in the bath,” Agnes reminded her.

“True,” Josephine inclined her head, “how was work?”

“They had us cleaning up,” she replied, “a night shift is coming in to pack parachutes, they loaded them onto a couple of lorries and they’ll be at work about midnight.”

“In the middle of a black out?”

“Needs must,” she replied, “I was thinking about this couch, can we start tomorrow?”

“Of course?” Josephine shrugged.

Agnes didn’t reply as her flow started and then she exhaled.

Josephine returned the smile and exited the bathroom to get dressed.

They started their project the very next day and after taking some stuff out of the shed they managed to get the couch out and onto the back porch and then they set to repairing the legs. The couch had belonged to her sister in law, Caroline, and it had been one of her ‘wedding presents’ to them, along with a dining set. Sadly however the legs had given way after a particularly strenuous lovemaking session early on in their marriage and so it had been put in the shed because Frank was too embarrassed to tell his sister how the couch had been damaged.

“He was always very careful to keep on her right side. She’s older than him by about fifteen years,” she held up a wedge-shaped piece of wood.

“I’ve always been a little in awe of her myself, Caroline can be matriarchal.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met her.”

“For good reason, she hates Glasgow with a passion. She loves Edinburgh because she has friends there who are just as snooty as her, besides,” she picked up one of the wooden wedges that Josephine had fashioned out of scrap timber.

“A visit for Caroline is like organising an invasion. She takes enough luggage to last a week or two even if it’s a two day visit and once you let her in the door she’s the lady of the manor and likes to be treated in the manner to which she’s become accustomed.”

“Is it a happy marriage?”

“I wouldn’t call it a happy marriage,” she handed her the wedge, “she’s the mistress of the house and George is her willing hostage. He’s twenty years older than her and I think he can’t really believe that someone has beautiful as her would ever fall for him.”

“Maybe she’s in love?”

“Maybe,” she held the wedge in place whilst Josephine tapped a nail partway in, “or maybe she just fell in love with his rather large house overlooking Loch Lomond, it’s hard to say, even Frank couldn’t enlighten me.”

Josephine giggled as she kept hammering.

“Are you saying,” she finally managed as she hit the nail one more time, “that your sister in law married for money?”

“Well it wasn’t his riveting personality. The Major is very much one of those pipe and slipper men, he fought in the last war and managed to survive a gas attack,” she peered at the couch and then went on, “that looks quite sturdy now.”

“All it needs is lacquer or paint.”

“I didn’t see any in the shed.”

“Nope, but I know where I can get some.”

“The basement at work, I was rooting around there the other week and literally stumbled over tins of paint that have been there for months. I don’t think anyone knows they’re there,” she straightened up.

“I’ll ask on Monday morning.”

“Only if it doesn’t get you into trouble.”

“Don’t worry, my job isn’t worth losing over a tin of paint, even if your sister in law comes down to visit.”

“Which she won’t,” Agnes reassured her, “she sent me a long letter the week after you moved in, assuring me that I was still part of the family and inviting me up to the house whenever I could find the time.”

“She didn’t think to send you a ticket?”

“Caroline hates going to the toilet because she’s giving up part of herself without being paid for it, which explains why she gave her baby brother this old couch because it was supposed to be a family heirloom. When their mother died suddenly, she didn’t even wait until she was cold, she was right in there marking off the things she would take. It didn’t make her popular with her brother and sister.”

“So, she won’t supply paint,” Josephine grinned.

“I should think not, unless it’s too old to use,” she grinned.

Nevertheless, the paint situation was resolved in an unexpected manner on Sunday when Agnes came back from church to find Josephine putting the finishing touches to the legs with some white paint.

“Where did you find the paint?”

“I thought there was none in the shed?”

“There was none in our shed but there was some in Old John’s shed,” she nodded at the block of flats next door, “he saw me sanding down the legs with some sandpaper from the shed and offered to donate some paint but it comes at a price.”

“Oh aye?” Agnes raised her eyebrows.

“Scones,” Josephine grinned, “I offered to make some scones.”

“I can make the scones,” Agnes offered, “if you paint the legs.”

“An excellent arrangement,” she grinned.

Josephine came into the kitchen some time later whilst Agnes was cutting the dough, the radio was on in the front room but she wasn’t listening until Josephine turned the volume up and she heard the rather bland newsreader telling of the encircled German Sixth army at Stalingrad. She was trying to picture its exact location on a map when Josephine came into the kitchen with an opened atlas. She was studying the map with intensity and their eyes met as she laid it on the table and leaned on her palms.

“The tide is turning,” she murmured.

“Stalingrad is in Russia,” Agnes wiped her hands as she stepped over to the table.

“Yeah,” Josephine replied, “I’ve been following the news on the Eastern front ever since Hitler invaded the Soviet Union.”

“It all seems so far away.”

“True but Hitler has not paid attention to history,” she pointed to Stalingrad, “his supply lines are stretched too long, he had the same problem in North Africa and now his troops will have to fight through another Russian winter.”

“How does that affect us here?”

“Do you not see?” Josephine’s lips twisted into a crooked grin, “the Nazi war machine is being hurled against countless armies. The Russians can lose twenty million men and still fight their way to the gates of Berlin, the Germans can’t even lose a quarter of that without dire consequences for Hitler’s Thousand Year Reich.”

“You seem so sure,” Agnes stared at the map, “how can you be so sure?”

“I learned a lot about the Russian mentality from Anastasia. She fled the Bolshevik regime a few years after Stalin seized control of the Central Committee, even then the Nazis were talking of war with Russia.”

“Who was Anastasia?” Agnes asked, it was the first time she’d heard any name fall from her lips apart from her husband’s name.

“An old lover,” Josephine murmured.

“Your lover, this was before you met your husband?” Agnes glanced over her shoulder as she placed the tray into the oven.

“It was after,” she replied, “she was living in Toronto and I was trying to teach her English but in the end we taught each other a few new tricks.”

Agnes blushed as she closed the door and rose.

“So, how is it between women?” Agnes wiped her hands on her apron.

“What do you mean?” Now it was Josephine’s turn to blush.

“Do I have to say it out loud?” Agnes rolled her eyes, “how is it in the bedroom? You are the first woman I have met who admitted to intimate relations with other women.”

“It is,” she looked past her, “how much do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Agnes replied, “it is not a subject I have discussed in depth with anyone and these days all the talk is of the war, the rations and the weather, so talking about intimate matters between women will be a welcome change but I need a cup of tea though.”

“My pleasure,” Josephine shrugged.

Over a cup of tea, she did her best to talk about love between women and whilst Agnes did feel highly embarrassed she tried not to show it as she sat drinking tea, occasionally she’d look at the oven as if she could peer through the metal door.

Josephine had not just told her the ways of women, she’d also talked of her upbringing in a household that could best be described as leftist. As a result, she’d never been raised with the fear of God although she had read the bible, the Rig Veda, the Koran along with various texts by free-thinking liberals. Initially she’d been somewhat supportive of the Nazis but that had soured when she went to Berlin for a weekend whilst she was in Paris and saw the way the Nazis treated those who didn’t live up to the Aryan mythology. Her introduction to women had been at university where she’d been involved with an older girl who might have broken her heart but she also introduced her to a different kind of love.