9

After Drewitz and the visit to the factory, Thomas continued on to Potsdam. Once at the station, he walked directly to Käthe’s apartment and climbed the staircase up to her door.

‘Please come through to the living room,’ she said as she answered, adopting a sort of precise politeness she reserved only for the most nerve-wracking encounters.

Once inside, Thomas recognised the entrance hall with its carved dado-rail and painted Rosenthal vase. There were strips of eucalyptus-green wallpaper brightening one wall and continuing into the bedroom, and in the corner, a rubber plant with over-sized leaves, lounging imperialistically. These lodgings had been scored in his memory more indelibly than he realised.

‘How have you been?’ he asked. He was pleased to be in the same space as her, pleased that her face was just as he remembered.

‘I’ve been well.’ She smiled generously as she walked through the apartment. She wanted him to feel relaxed with her. And she was amazed to find how quickly her own nerves were slipping away.

‘I’m sorry about the last time I was here,’ he said. Then by way of an explanation, ‘Drinking doesn’t always agree with me. You must have thought me an absolute fool.’

She turned and took his hands in hers and rubbed the centre of his palms with her thumbs. She was remarkably tender; she surprised herself at how tender she was. ‘That’s ok. I have this feeling that I can trust you and that you will come to trust me. I really believe it to be true. Now please shut up, and follow me.’

Her words had a strong effect on him, as if they suddenly cured him of a stubborn illness. He laughed gratefully and walked with her. She invited him to sit in one of the armchairs and suggested a small glass of brandy for them both.

‘Have you eaten?’

‘I had my lunch in Berlin,’ he said.

‘You are so lucky to live there. I always wanted to have an apartment in Berlin. It must be so exciting.’ She suppressed a childish smile.

‘Yes, but it has its drawbacks too.’ He thought for a moment about Beenken and his rundown apartment, which was not a patch on hers. He decided against saying anything, however, in case he ruined the atmosphere.

‘Would you take me for a night out?’ she asked.

‘In Berlin?’ Thomas grinned, surprised. ‘Yes of course. I would love to. Would next Friday suit?’

‘Thank you.’ Käthe smiled as she left the room to fetch the drinks. When she returned she was without the brandy, however; instead she gave Thomas a glass of water and began pacing the room, apparently looking for something lost.

‘Is everything ok?’

‘It’s very odd. I seem to have mislaid something precious to me. My mother once gave me a small crystal decanter. I was going to serve your drink from it, but I can’t find it anywhere. It’s a pretty, slender thing. She gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday. It was beautiful, and worth something too, and but now I can’t find it.’

‘Really?’ Thomas sat up. ‘When did you last see it?’

‘I don’t know. I remember cleaning it, but that was a couple of weeks ago.’

He got up from his chair and began to look for the object himself, aware that he had no idea what he was looking for – aware too of the possibility that the thief may have taken it.

‘Please, Thomas, sit down. I’m sure it will show up.’

He went to take a sip from his glass of water. He found his hand was twitching. As he lifted the glass to his lips, he knew his throat would refuse to swallow. ‘Perhaps someone has stolen it,’ he suddenly said aloud.

‘Do you think so? But who would do that? I’ve only had friends here.’

‘It’s possible. Perhaps someone broke in.’ He couldn’t seem to stop himself.

‘When? Don’t say that.’

‘Then perhaps it was your landlord,’ – he realised he was alarming her – ‘My landlord is something of a scoundrel too. I wouldn’t put it past him to take things of mine.’

‘This apartment belongs to my aunt. She would never steal from me. I suppose she might have just borrowed it. Perhaps she was hoping to return it without me realising. What do you think?’

‘Yes, you’re probably right.’

But Thomas knew deep down that she wasn’t right. He felt sure that the thief had taken the decanter and it had gone over the side of the roof terrace along with him. He pictured himself searching at the foot of the building, just as before, scouring the floor where a coating of grime had collected up, a decomposing layer of manure, newspapers and vegetable scraps; and up above, the faint presence of the roof terrace, its black iron railings just about visible. He imagined himself scanning the area, patrolling back and forth, thinking that surely something would show up. Then he imagined seeing it among the filth, a shard of crystal poking through like a piece of gold panned from a muddy river. A drop from such a height would shatter almost anything.

He struggled down a sip of water. Käthe suggested they go out to the terrace, which was such a natural place for her to take any visitor, especially when the weather was as bright as it was today.

The high embankment of the terrace was just the same, an outcrop of brick amid the surrounding patchwork of roof tiles. A thin summer haze had temporarily veiled the sky above, a shifting gauze which lent the terrace a firmer, more durable quality by contrast. The network of streets below – Thomas found himself placing his hands on the iron railings and looking down – appeared even further removed, like a separate world.

‘You are fortunate to have this view. Most fortunate,’ he said, wanting very much to compliment her. To be with her, simply alone and with time to spare, was a pleasure he wanted to indulge in.

‘So long as I can afford the rent, I will stay here. My aunt is kind, she doesn’t ask for much.’ For a moment, Käthe thought about how lucky she was to live there. To her mother, the idea of a single women renting an entire apartment was unthinkable. Now she had her own private space, she didn’t want to lose it. How long would her aunt keep the rent so low? She had no idea.

‘Did you enjoy yourself last week?’ Thomas asked, shaking away his doubts over the decanter. ‘When the artist was here? It was fun, wasn’t it?’

Käthe thought back to the gathering of friends. So many people in her own apartment made her feel popular and more deeply embedded in her new life. The small country town where she grew up was happily receding, little by little. ‘It was a lovely day,’ she said, as if saying any more was too complex too try.

‘You made for an excellent model,’ he said.

‘Do you think so? I didn’t know I could hold so still for so long.’

‘I was watching you.’

‘Really? And were you impressed?’

‘Very impressed.’ He smiled.

‘Have you known Fräulein Constein for long?’

Thomas explained that he had known the artist for merely a fortnight.

‘She is a wonderful painter,’ Käthe confirmed, admitting that she had never seen her work before, but like Thomas, ‘had heard great things.’

Just then, beneath one of the foldaway chairs that had been left out on the terrace from the week before, Thomas noticed something glinting. A ray of sunlight reflected back from this single point on the floor. Unable to stop himself, he went over, expecting to find a shard of the missing decanter. He reached beneath the chair and instead picked up the lens from a pair of glasses. The wire-frame lay twisted nearby, with its second lens missing.

He knew the glasses straight away. They belonged to the boy-thief.

He thought for a moment about hiding them from Käthe, but it was already too late. She came towards him and asked what he had found.

‘A pair of glasses. They’re broken.’ Then he said faintly, ‘Do you know who they belong to?’

She took the lens and frame and turned the pieces over in her fingers. She began levering the hinges. To his surprise, she responded immediately. ‘These are my brother’s.’

‘You have a brother?’

‘Yes. His name is Arno. These are his glasses.’

‘Arno? Arno Hiller?’

‘That’s right.’

‘I never knew you had a brother,’ Thomas said, his voice quick and startled.

‘He’s younger than me. By seven years, nearly eight. These are his glasses. But I don’t understand how they got here. He hasn’t been here in months.’

‘Then you’re sure they’re his?’

‘I’m certain. Look, they’re engraved with his initials.’

She eased back one of the arms and pointed to a tiny engraving near to the lens. It read A. H.

Thomas thought back to the photo he’d seen at the factory. A rain of dread showered down on him. ‘But if he hasn’t visited?’

‘He sometimes comes. He likes to surprise me. He has his own key, you see. Perhaps he has been here. But why wouldn’t he tell me? And why are his glasses broken like this?’

Käthe began wandering towards the terrace railings, her mind sifting through the puzzle. At the same moment, the worst of thoughts crystallised in Thomas’ head, that her younger brother and the vagrant thief-boy were one and the same person. Could Erich have mistaken him? Could they both have mistaken him for an intruder?

Church-bell chimes circled faintly. For the duration of a minute or two, the bells sounded in spiralling verse as he became alert to a new sensation.

‘Did you brother ever work in a factory?’ he asked in one final attempt to disprove the idea.

‘Orenstein and Koppel?’ she said.

‘Yes, that’s it.’

‘Yes, for a few months. I’m not sure what happened. My parents told me he left there. How do you know about Orenstein and Koppel?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Just a guess. I heard a lot of people who come to Berlin work there.’

‘The factory is not far from here. In Drewitz, I believe.’

Thomas took a sharp breath as the pieces fell into place. It had to be her brother, not a thief at all, but a young man with every right to be there. He was the stranger who approached them in the bar. A chance meeting – and not a down-and-out at all, but Käthe’s brother. Erich had taken retribution on an innocent boy.

It was just like the story Erich had told, about the missing soldier, struck down when he entered his own home. The terror of the coincidences multiplied in his mind.

He turned away from Käthe. He couldn’t look at her. Then the mist above the terrace shifted and opened, and sunlight penetrated the terrace like a silver blade, casting everything into shadows and relief. Now the buildings around, the brick, the concrete, and the street below, the metal and rubber of motorcars and trams and bicycles and the sounds of the city, all of these things seemed to gather up, sharpen and tighten around him. A bitter taste entered his mouth as his throat constricted.

He took hold of the railings and turned his back to the view.

‘You must tell me if you hear from your brother,’ he said. ‘If you hear from him, you must tell me immediately.’

‘Are you ok?’ she asked. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Is it the height? Are you afraid?’

‘Not normally. But today, yes, I think that must be it.’

‘Do you want to go inside?’

‘Yes. Only, I have the strangest feeling. This terrace…’

‘Thomas, let’s go inside. You look unwell.’

She led him back through to the living room, still holding onto the pair of glasses. Thomas sat in one of the armchairs and felt a lurid embarrassment rising in him. What would she think? Would he always have this rancid response every time he set foot on the terrace?

But – he knew too well – these were the least of his worries.

‘Oh Thomas, I’m sorry. You look terrible.’

‘I’m feeling fine, really. I might take a walk if you don’t mind. A breath of fresh air will do me good.’ He looked over and realised he didn’t want to be in her company in that instant.

‘Shall I come with you?’

‘No, no. I’ll go downstairs and take a walk up the street. I don’t mean to make a fuss.’

‘Will you be alright?’

‘Yes I’ll be fine. I’ll contact you about Berlin next week. I’ll go now. But I’ll see you soon.’

He moved past her and went quickly to the front door. The next moment, he was stood on the street at the base of the building, thankful for the cobblestones beneath his feet. He breathed deeply and found the air to be fogged with the solid scents of tobacco and car fumes. The whole awful secret was too poisonous to share. Arno! They had punished him for nothing!

He slipped away along the street, smuggling himself back to the train station, and resolved to confront Erich with the truth at the next available opportunity.