The boy was taken to an internment camp where he was cleaned and fed and then interrogated by British military officers, in particular, a Major Ferris. However, at all the interviews, even with German-speaking personnel, the boy refused to answer any questions. A few weeks later Marcus was informed his father had been captured by the Russians and executed as an SS officer. Marcus showed no emotion on receiving this news, but inwardly was joyous and relieved that he was now also free of his father, but wondered why there was no word from his brother. Surely, now the war was over, Marius would come and take him home where they would be safe, and play together like they did when he was younger.
They questioned Marcus for days, wanting to know how his mother hanged herself, especially as her hands had been cut off at the wrists. Marcus acted the dumb orphan and just stared at his accusers with his bright steel blue eyes until they realised the interrogation was going nowhere.
As a minor, his captors were undecided what to do with him. Several translators were unable to get anything out of him and stopped short of beating him. Later, Marcus thanked God he had not been in the Russian or American sectors – he was not sure how he would have fared with their interrogation methods.
After four weeks of intensive questioning, an army doctor intervened. He had been supervising Marcus’s condition since his arrival and insisted on being present during the questioning. He also spoke some German so was able to communicate with Marcus on a different level, as a friend, rather than an inquisitor. He would bring chocolate bars and treats to Marcus in his dormitory and talk to him quietly, gaining his trust. Marcus distrusted any close associations after his enslavement by his parents. He assumed all adults were child molesters, no matter how caring they seemed to be.
But Dr Nathan Star was kind and compassionate to Marcus, and slowly gained his trust. He gave him errands to run and tried to keep him busy, until he gradually succumbed to a more normal way of life, if that was even possible, in what was nothing less than a detention camp for displaced people.
After a while, Dr Star gave him a job as an orderly in the medical unit. There he had access to fresh clothes, regular hot meals and even started to interact with other normal decent people. By now he had learnt some English and was able to converse a little - with those he chose to. The population of the displacement camp dwindled over time when relatives had been found or they were allowed to leave having been cleared of any atrocities. One day Dr Star took Marcus to one side. “Marcus, they want to hand you over to the police, in Vienna.” Dr Star spoke slowly so Marcus could understand what he was being told. “The death of your mother is still unexplained, but Major Ferris says it is now a civil matter.”
“I will not go,” is all Marcus would say, looking Dr Star defiantly in the eyes.
Rosa was still massaging him, and he sighed with pleasure at her gentle touch.
Dr Nathan Star had argued on behalf of Marcus as to why the boy was to be handed over, but he was stone-walled every time. “Don’t interfere, doctor. See to the sick.” Was the retort from the commanding officer.
Dr Star’s tour of duty was coming to an end and he was looking forward to going home – back to his wife and five-year-old daughter, Barbara, whom he had not seen for over a year.
The day came. Several of his colleagues were travelling with him and they were to depart by bus to Graz, then a plane to Berne, and finally a flight back to London. Accompanying them were two gravely wounded men; one a soldier and one a civilian, who needed urgent treatment at the Queen Victoria Hospital, East Grinstead in England, where new and successful techniques were being carried out on burns victims. However, the day before departure the young civilian patient died in the middle of the night from trauma. Dr Star was called but nothing could be done for the young man, but there was something he could do for someone else.
With the help of a trusted nurse, they swapped the identities of the dead patient with Marcus’s and bandaged Marcus’s face and arms so he could not be recognised. Six medical staff and two patients left the camp the following day as planned, and arrived back in England four days later. As Marcus's stretcher was carried out to the waiting truck, an orderly was overheard to say, “Blimey, this guy weighs a tonne.”
Marcus stayed with Dr Star and his family in Surrey as their adopted son, although nothing was officially recorded. He went to the local school and sung in the church choir, and was very quick to learn. By the time he was eighteen he was fluent in five languages and had a good head for maths. In 1953 an old friend of Dr Star, who worked at the London Stock Exchange, took Marcus on as an apprentice 'Trader'.
A few days after Dr Star's departure, Major Ferris requested his sergeant to bring Marcus to him for transfer to Vienna but was informed he could not be found.
“What do you mean, sergeant? He has to be here somewhere. Bring me Doctor Star.” He bellowed. The Sergeant seemed unmoved by his superiors’ outburst. “Sir, Dr Star left four days ago to return to the UK. His replacement has not arrived yet.”
Ferris stared momentarily, analysing this information. “Who left with him, sergeant?”
“Doctor Freeman, nurse Anne Cowell, Nurse Sally Peters, anaesthetist Raymond Smith and two patients on stretchers, being transferred to a burns hospital in England, sir.”
“What were their names?” Ferris asked.
“Private Banner and an Austrian civilian, Herr Rosenberg. He was badly burnt in a fire two weeks ago if you remember, sir.” Ferris sat thoughtfully tapping his fingers on the desk. “Sergeant, do a thorough search for Marcus von Hartstein. He has to be somewhere in this camp.”
Nathan Star and his wife were the only ones who knew Marcus's true story, and they took it with them to their graves when they died in a car crash in 1956. Marcus knew he would tell Rosa, as he had Barbara, the same story one day – when the time was right.
It seemed longer than five years ago since Marcus had rescued Rosa from her own nightmare in Armenia, and wondered what would have happened to her if he had left her there to fend for herself.
He felt the warmth of Rosa as she manoeuvred herself into him. “You were asleep I think,” she said playfully. “What were you dreaming about? You started to mumble something.”
“I was . . . remembering. I was remembering how lucky I have been. I do want to help those two young people, Isabel and Charlie, and I want you to help me. Will you do that for me, my dear Rosa?”
Rosa cocked her head to one side and smiled. “You know I cannot refuse you anything, Marcus. When do we start?”
Chapter Three
When the sun sets over the River Thames it is one of the most beautiful sights I have had the pleasure to witness, especially in the 'Golden Hour', as the sun dips low, bouncing off the glistening water at low tide; something I have photographed many times. The ice in my Martini has melted, but it still tastes good as I drain the residue and nibble on the sliver of lemon. I always remember him when I drink a Martini Vermouth; Marcus Hartmann, friend, lover, benefactor and . . . and . . . someone I really didn't know that well. Whatever life he lived, I only know him as a kind and gentle man. If he had secrets, which I am sure he did, then they have disappeared with him, wherever he is. From where I am sitting on the small patio of our Victorian terrace house in Barnes, contemplating reaching fifty in a few months, I can see the