Rose and Vernon had breakfast at the cafe near Universitätsplatz then wandered around the old town, looking in shops. Rose wanted to buy presents for Joan and Mrs Westing, and perhaps Mr Duncan and Mr Hobbes but all the specifically German things, pipes, tankards, toys and books could only end up as embarrassing ornaments, and most other things she saw you could buy just as easily in London. At a gallery she was tempted by some watercolours of local views, but once she had bought – at great expense – a watercolour to give to her dad when she was camping in Wales, so she knew that such things quickly lose their charm once they’ve spent time in a knapsack or suitcase.
She wasn’t much of a shopper, and she’d never known 314a boy who was any sort of shopper at all. With Vernon it was different. They pointed at things in windows and made jokes, not clever jokes or even particularly funny, just things like, pointing at a hat and saying, ‘I can just see Mr Duncan wearing a thing like that.’ Twice they said exactly the same thing at the same time, as if they were both thinking the exact same thoughts.
Back at the hotel there was a message waiting. Rather earlier than anticipated, Professor Forsch had finished his work on the head.
Rose and Vernon practically ran to the university.
The written report was short, but it came with a sheaf of drawings, some very plain, just outlines, full face and two profiles, others more like proper paintings.
‘The line drawings are probably more accurate. The others are, of course, somewhat fanciful, being based on a certain amount of conjecture as well as measurement. There were a few strands of hair attached, which may or may not have belonged to our man, but cross-contamination is always a problem – from the murderer, the police, maybe even the pathologist. We have done our best.’
Rose looked but had no way of knowing whether the drawings were accurate. They were certainly well done inasmuch as they looked like a person, somebody you could meet in the street.
She didn’t think the telegraph apparatus would be able to send the coloured drawings, and even if it could, the newspaper wouldn’t be able to print them, but the line 315drawings, she supposed, would be fine.
‘They are excellent,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’ She reached into her satchel for the folder of German money. ‘Do I have to pay you or …?’
‘The payment is all arranged with the Daily Graphic,’ the professor said.
‘Good. They said they want these as soon as possible and I might be able to telegraph them from the offices of the Heidelberger Tageblatt.’
‘You’ve arranged that?’ the professor said.
‘I went to see them yesterday morning.’
Vernon looked impressed. The professor looked concerned.
‘It’s only a five-minute walk from here,’ Rose said.
‘I know,’ the professor said. There was something he wasn’t saying. He handed her the hatbox. ‘Here. Don’t forget your head.’
They could hear music almost as soon as they left the university. There were police on Hauptsrasse, and a crowd, some of them in Brownshirt uniform, marching to the sound of a band.
Rose, who, as always, had studied her map until she knew it by heart, led Vernon off the main road up a side street. A couple of left turns brought them on to the north end of Brunnengasse. The march, meanwhile, had also turned off the main road and was now coming towards them, led by trumpets, drums and a tuba all played by Brownshirts. 316
They played better and were better turned out than any Boy Scout band that Rose had ever seen. Two men at the front were carrying banners displaying the same Nazi emblem, the cross with bent arms, as the men’s brassards.
Vernon said something else, but Rose couldn’t hear him. The marchers had started chanting.
They had stopped outside the offices of the Heidelberger Tageblatt, which seemed to be the focus of their discontent.
Vernon pulled Rose back the way they’d come. ‘Isn’t there anywhere else that could send the stuff?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. It needs special equipment. What’s going on?’
‘It’s getting worse and worse. I think the Tageblatt printed something in support of Emil Gumbel, the mathematics professor who was forced to resign.’
‘And the Brownshirts don’t like him?’
‘It was the Nazis who forced his resignation. He’s a pacifist and a Jew.’
The band stopped playing and the chanting grew more insistent. Somebody threw a stone at one of the windows. Others followed.
‘Should we get the police?’
‘The police won’t get involved. Half of them are Nazi sympathisers anyway.’
‘Doesn’t anybody stand up against them?’
‘Only the Communists. They’ll probably show up in a bit. Then it’ll be outright warfare. Come on. We should get out of here.’ 317
‘But this isn’t right. People—’
‘Come on, Rose.’
Through the bodies, she could see the Brownshirts had invaded the building and were dragging people out. One of them wore a green suit. He fell to the ground. The Brownshirts kicked him.
‘It’s Willy.’
‘What?’
‘It’s Willy Brechenmacher, the man who helped me yesterday.’
Vernon grabbed Rose and forcibly turned her. ‘There’s nothing we can do, Rose.’
The crowd had spread the length of the street. Somebody thrust a leaflet into Vernon’s hand. He gave it a glance, crumpled it into a ball and threw it to the ground. The man looked from the paper and back at Vernon.
Smiling, the man pressed another leaflet against Vernon’s chest. Vernon backed away. Behind him, two other men, one of them in uniform, were moving in.
The men formed a threatening circle around Vernon.
One of them threw a punch but, before it could connect, they were all distracted by Rose, doing a war dance, chanting the Guide Promise in a voice loud enough to be heard a mile away and, most effectively, waving the charred head. One of the assailants moved towards her and, quite inadvertently, Rose’s flailing fists caught the side of his head, near the eye. Furious he grabbed her arm and shouted at her.
A moment later, as if Rose had summoned it, a typewriter, 318thrown from one of the windows, landed at their feet with a terrific crash, scattering the tormentors.
Rose saw her opportunity, shouted to Vernon and, still swinging the head, ran. Vernon was close behind. The tormentors came after them.
Rose ran west, with the vague idea of getting back to the safety of her hotel, but by now, too many roads were blocked by people, cars, horses and trams, so she turned south and ran for a while and then saw an alleyway where they could perhaps hide while the Brownshirts ran past. It was a dead end. A fence divided the alley from a mess of railway lines and points. Rose gave the fence a shake. Chain link, perhaps seven feet high. Solidly built. She and Vernon exchanged a nod. Rose carefully placed the head, only a little worse for wear, back into the hatbox, passed it to Vernon, and began to climb. At the top she did the sort of vault you’d do over a five-bar gate and dropped to her feet at the other side. Vernon climbed to a point where he could throw over the hatbox and Rose’s satchel then followed.
They found a concrete coal bunker, nearly empty, open where it faced the line, and cowered together, listening to the sounds of their pursuers shouting to each other.
After a while, the sounds died down.
Rose could feel Vernon’s breath on her cheek.
‘That was …’ Vernon said.
‘Exhilarating.’
‘Actually, I was going to say “terrifying”.’
Rose smiled. 319
Vernon smiled back. ‘Do you think they’ve gone now?’
‘Best stay here a couple more minutes, be on the safe side.’
It was very cold.
A train approached and passed, thunderously close.
When it had gone, Vernon emerged from the bunker and looked up and down the line. His clothes were already filthy with coal dust.
He returned to the bunker and seemed about to say something, then didn’t, walked away, and back again.
‘I know this is a daft thing to talk about now, but it’s not unlikely that we’re both going to be either beaten to death by Brownshirts or run over by a train quite soon, so I’d better say it.’ He was talking very fast. ‘Only I don’t know what you think of me, really. I’ve never met anybody like you. And, the thing is, the first time I met you, I thought you were very nice and since then my … admiration has grown.’ He was looking at the sky now, as if casually wondering whether it was going to rain. ‘Because you’re clever and funny and you speak like an ordinary intelligent person, which makes a refreshing change from Clarissa.’
‘Who’s Clarissa?’ Rose said.
Another train was approaching. Vernon ducked back into the bunker. The driver saw him and shouted something from the footplate.
‘We should move soon,’ Vernon said, but didn’t. On the other side of the fence they heard more running footsteps and shouts. 320
‘The thing is, when I got the chance to come over here to study, I didn’t have to think about it very hard – it was a wonderful opportunity and, after all, there was nothing to keep me in London.’
‘Not even Clarissa?’ Rose immediately felt awful for saying that, worse because an unfamiliar spikiness had infected her voice.
‘I’m not doing this very well, am I?’
‘To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure what it is you’re doing.’
Vernon stood up took a look through the fence. Everything seemed to be quiet. He knelt down in front of Rose. Another train went past, so some time went by before he could speak.
‘The thing is, I’ve given the matter a lot of thought and … I’m not sure I want you to be my girlfriend and I’m not sure I want to be your boyfriend.’
‘Oh,’ Rose said.
‘No, I mean. Because … boyfriend, girlfriend feels silly and it’s only a stage on the way to something else, so I was thinking perhaps we could go straight on to the something else.’
‘Oh.’
Vernon cleared his throat and ducked back into the coal bunker. ‘The thing is, if you were to live to be a hundred, I would want to live to a hundred minus one day so I wouldn’t ever have to live without you.’
‘That’s Winnie the Pooh, isn’t it?’ 321
‘Sort of. I thought it might be …’
‘Well – it isn’t. And anyway, you’re nearly two years older than me, so if you died a day before your hundredth birthday, I would have to be a widow for over a year.’
‘Is that a “yes”?’
‘I didn’t know you’d asked a question.’
‘Well, I have.’
‘Right,’ Rose was trying hard to remain sensible. In these situations, she knew, people get overexcited and say silly things.
‘You do know it’s polite to give an answer either way,’ Vernon said. ‘Quite quickly. Put a chap out of his misery.’
‘Are you sure it’s not just the excitement?’
‘I’m sure.’
She didn’t want to be sensible any more.
‘Then, yes it would be very nice to marry you, Vernon, and thank you very much for asking and now I think we should do some kissing, if that’s all right.’
They kissed.
Another train went by.
Over Vernon’s shoulder, Rose caught sight of the hatbox and imagined the head inside watching them. She thought of Alma Dent, Girl Reporter.
‘Missing a deadline is probably the worst thing a journalist can do,’ she said.
‘Good thing you’re not a journalist, then.’
They kissed again.
‘Is that the station down there?’ 322
Vernon looked. A little further down the line there were lights and shadows. ‘Probably.’
Rose stood. ‘Come on,’ she said.
‘Where are we going?’
‘I’ve had an idea.’