Romy and Nina sat slumped on their suitcases with Mutti, who held a pink silk handkerchief to her nose, and waited. They were on the lip of the promenade overlooking the crowded docks and river beyond, while behind them was a congested road with the grand buildings of the Bund forming a backdrop. In front of them were rows of wooden barrels and bales of cotton beside a man with wrinkled brown skin and narrow eyes so deep they disappeared into his head. He wore a faded blue tunic and a conical straw hat. Over his shoulders was a stick, long and straight like a broomstick, a bamboo basket dangling from each end. On one side he had a basket of faded green leaves, on the other a handful of glossy orange fruit. Romy’s mouth watered as the man yelled ‘Per-simm-on!’ at them in English and smiled to reveal a black void of missing teeth.

‘You buy, missee?’

Mutti shook her head as she quietly reassured the girls, ‘Your father won’t be long. Then we can get something.’ She eyed the fruit suspiciously and sighed as she took in the alternative food choices around them.

The persimmon man chuckled and shook his head at the foreigners, then cried out in an unfamiliar tongue as another seller in identical garb stepped forwards and banged his half-barrels with a stick. The second seller tilted a barrel towards the girls, who flinched as a dozen black eels slithered and turned on themselves like snakes. In the next tub, hundreds of lumpy black bullfrogs croaked and climbed over one another. The man picked up one between his thumb and forefinger then, cupping it between his scarred hands, waved it in Nina’s face. Mutti stood up and shooed him away with her long black umbrella.

Romy’s appetite had disappeared.

Now laughing and determined to make a sale, the frog-and-eel man dipped his head into the next barrel and proudly held a squirming silver fish with both hands, kissing it on the mouth before proffering it to Mutti to make amends.

The two girls stood mesmerised as its scales glinted with each flap of its tail. What would they do with a live fish?

Papa emerged from the crowd of refugees and smiled as he walked towards them. ‘Ah, there you are,’ he said as he turned to take in the fish seller. ‘Buy anything?’ he joked as he kissed Mutti’s colourless cheek and squeezed her hand. He tucked their passports into the inside pocket of his long cashmere coat.

‘Did our visas get stamped?’ asked Mutti. ‘And did you ask how we can get paperwork for Daniel?’

Papa reddened as he said, ‘There’s no-one checking visas. I couldn’t find anyone to ask…’

Romy touched Mutti’s arm to reassure her.

Mutti shook her head, uncomprehending, but said nothing. Her eyes were bright with tears and her thin shoulders hunched a fraction more, as if she were withdrawing further into herself.

Papa lifted his hand to Mutti’s cheek and stroked it with the utmost tenderness with his thumb. He said, ‘Come, my dear. Right now we must help Nina. She needs us. We must help her find her uncle and ensure she’s going to be looked after. Then we can sort ourselves out.’

As if to reinforce his point, Papa looked back at the line of refugees standing in the cold, damp air, wondering what to do. A cavalcade of khaki trucks with open backs—like cattle trucks—pulled up alongside the queue.

Romy’s breath froze in her lungs.

The driver’s door swung open, and out jumped a curvy lady in a two-piece pantsuit. She wore bright red lipstick and her hair was tied back with a fuchsia headscarf. She looked every bit as glamorous as one of the billboards yet she took big, firm strides, almost like a man.

She smiled at the Bernfelds and Nina. ‘Welcome. I’m Eva Schwartz from the International Committee—the IC. But round here we call it the Komor Committee.’ Her accent was American.

Fräulein Schwartz shook Papa’s hand and then reached for Mutti’s. This strapping American woman might crush her mother’s fine fingers in a handshake if she wasn’t careful.

‘I’m Dr Oskar Bernfeld and this is my wife Marta.’ Mutti nodded and smiled weakly at this unusual woman. ‘This is my daughter Romy. And this here—’ he rested his hand on Nina’s shoulder and smiled down at her encouragingly ‘—is Nina Milch.’

Fräulein Schwartz’s brows came together in a slight frown as she glanced at her clipboard.

Papa took a deep breath and cleared his throat before continuing. ‘I understand you were expecting Nina to arrive with her mother, Gerda. Unfortunately, Frau Milch passed away on the voyage. Her father was killed in Vienna.’

Nina’s head dropped and she started to sob with her eyes closed and her hands balled into fists.

Romy’s heart broke for her friend. This was exactly the moment you needed a hug from your mother. Romy stepped closer and put her arm around her friend’s shoulders.

Fräulein Schwartz squatted down so her head was level with Nina’s. She looked the little girl in the eye. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss.’ She fished in her pocket. ‘Here’s a tissue, sweetheart. Now you just sit on your bag here for a moment while I talk to the doctor.’ Her voice was low, but steady. ‘We’re going to look after you, you hear?’ Romy sat beside Nina on the suitcase and busied herself with retying her friend’s hair ribbon.

Miss Schwartz was busy whispering to Papa and Mutti. Romy strained to hear snippets while consoling the still-sobbing Nina.

‘Her mother—’

‘—pre-eclampsia—’

‘I understand she has an uncle here…’

Miss Schwartz flicked through the pages on her clipboard. She stopped and nodded. ‘Ah yes, I know who you mean. David Damrosch has been living at the Heime in Hongkew while he waits for his sister and niece.’ She turned to look at Nina. ‘Do you know what the Heime are, Nina?’ asked Miss Schwartz.

Nina shook her head.

‘They’re the boarding houses the IC has set up for the Jewish refugees. Funded by local businessmen, like Komor. You’ll be in a female Heime.’

Mutti frowned. ‘She won’t be staying with her uncle?’

Miss Schwartz shook her head. ‘Separate, I’m afraid.’ She touched Nina on the shoulder. ‘You’ll be able to go to the school we’ve set up, and we cook all your meals. I’ll look after you, I promise. You’ll be safe there.’

Nina asked softly, ‘Will I be able to see Romy?’

Miss Schwartz looked at Romy’s parents, who both nodded and said, ‘Of course.’

Papa leaned forwards and murmured to Miss Schwartz, ‘Perhaps the child could stay with us—’

‘I’m afraid not. It’s important to reunite her with her family.’ She hesitated. ‘But I can ask…’

‘Where will you be?’ asked Nina.

Papa said, ‘We’re not exactly sure where our apartment will be yet, but I’ve been led to believe it is in the French Concession—whatever that means.’

Miss Schwartz smiled. ‘It’s a bit confusing. Shanghai is unusual…an open port.

‘Shanghai is divided into three parts, or concessions—the International Settlement, the French Concession and the Chinese areas. Totally separate, with four different governments. That’s why no-one checks for visas at the moment—it’s just too hard to control.’

Miss Schwartz picked up a discarded length of bamboo from the ground and began to sketch a map in the dirt.

‘This large area in the middle of Shanghai, including the Bund—’ she waved her hand at the street behind them with its fancy buildings ‘—and Nanking Road, is the International Settlement. It started out as British, but extended to include other nations like Italy, Germany and America.’

She turned her attention back to the map she was sketching and drew a deep line. ‘This is the Whangpoo River and this area across the Garden Bridge on Soochow Creek—within the International Settlement—is carved off and controlled by the Japanese. The Japanese have some tobacco, mechanical and munitions factories in Hongkew—it has good access to the river.’

‘But didn’t you say the Heime are in Hongkew?’ asked Romy, puzzled.

‘Yes. That’s where some of the European Jewish refugees have been settling these past few months—thousands of new arrivals. There’s some big old American charity buildings there. It’s not a very wealthy area; most people have nothing but their bags when they arrive.’

‘Is it safe?’ asked Mutti, putting a protective arm around Nina’s shoulder.

‘For Jews, absolutely,’ Miss Schwartz nodded. ‘But relations between the Chinese and Japanese are…strained.’

Romy looked from her parents to Nina as she shivered. Shanghai was meant to be safe.

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘Japan and China are at war. They have been since the Japanese Imperial Army invaded Manchuria up in the north-east of China in 1931. Then, in 1937, Japanese troops used their base in Hongkew to spearhead an invasion into the Chinese areas of Shanghai and beyond. The other governments did little to intervene.’

‘They wanted to keep their concessions,’ said Papa, his voice low. ‘Stay neutral.’

‘Exactly,’ said Miss Schwartz. ‘During the battle, the Chinese bombed the Japanese area, including Hongkew, to drive out the Japanese. It didn’t work. Instead, it was Chiang Kai-shek’s Nationalist government and forces who were eventually driven from Shanghai.’

Romy huddled close to Nina, confused.

Miss Schwartz looked at Romy and quickly reassured her. ‘But Shanghai has steadied herself, for now. Our committee organises teams of Jewish carpenters, builders and engineers to rebuild Hongkew alongside the Japanese troops. New schools. There are plenty of young people arriving here with skills who need to be kept busy.

‘I’m feeding over a thousand people every day at the Heime and there are more coming every week. Plus, we have to find homes for thousands of displaced Chinese and the European refugees. The Japanese have taken the best apartments, so Chinese and Jewish families have to squeeze in together.’

Miss Schwartz started scratching in the mud again with her stick, drawing a circle. ‘And this huge area running behind the International Settlement is the French Concession—Frenchtown we call it. Parlez-vous français?’

‘Enough to get by,’ Papa responded.

‘How about Russian?’

Mutti and Papa looked at each other, confused.

‘There are a lot of wealthy Russians in Frenchtown,’ Miss Schwartz explained. ‘They came here in 1918 after the revolution. Some of them have even built their own synagogues.’

Romy watched the fish man pull another two fish out of his barrel and knock them on the head with a hammer. He wrapped them in newspaper for a lady being pushed along in a wheelbarrow.

‘What about the Chinese zone?’ Romy asked.

‘Another good question,’ said Miss Schwartz with a smile. ‘There’s an old part of the city governed by Chinese anti-Nationalist collaborators. Most of the areas outside the French Concession and International Settlement are controlled by the Japanese using a puppet government.’

‘You mean, the Chinese don’t even control their own city?’ Romy turned to her parents. ‘I don’t understand. It’s just as bad as the Anschluss!’

Nina was holding her breath, eyes wide and terrified.

‘Not quite,’ said Miss Schwartz in a soothing voice. ‘You’ll be safe here. Trust me.’

There was a pause as Romy’s parents exchanged a meaningful glance.

‘You’re lucky to be here,’ Miss Schwartz assured her.

Romy flushed with guilt as she closed her eyes. That word again. Lucky. Just like the chimneysweep sign in Wipplingerstrasse. She tried to ignore the memory of the click of the rifle and then a blast. The warm splatter of blood…

No-one spoke for a minute and then Miss Schwartz threw her bamboo stick onto a pile of rubbish.

‘Very well then. Let’s get you into the truck, Nina. Dr Bernfeld, if you wouldn’t mind giving her a hand onto the back there. I just need to check with these other people on my list…’ Miss Schwartz smiled at Nina. ‘We won’t be too long, honey.’

The IC representative carried her clipboard to a line of more than a hundred people, most of them in furs and carrying two suitcases each. Along with their thick coats and felt hats, the refugees wore the same two expressions: shock, resignation.

Romy felt weary. As if Kristallnacht had been only last night. Would she ever forget the smell of burning rubber, the sound of smashing glass? The smell of Benjamin’s dried blood on Mutti’s face…

What had all these other refugees in the queue lost? Who had they left behind?

Beyond the line of refugees, an elegant Chinese woman, her greying hair curled and styled into a bun like a Hollywood movie star, was sitting in a red wheelbarrow with her knees and feet tucked beneath her. She wore a silk dress with a high collar in magnificent peacock-blue and carried a silk fan she pointed with increasing urgency at the open barrels and baskets of produce as she was pushed past. Two long strings of pearls were draped around her neck and a bright red silk rose was fastened at her throat. Every now and again she would direct the wiry man who pushed the barrow to stop at a stall and, after serious bargaining and a flourish of hands, she would add to the barrow green melons, brown hessian bags of rice, a bag with two writhing eels.

Several other women with creamy skin, far younger than her mother, were being pushed in wheelbarrows too, all of them in these beautiful blue silk dresses and wearing red roses. They weren’t old, so why couldn’t they walk? Romy wondered.

She inhaled the exotic cooking smells wafting through the cool air. Her stomach started to rumble as all of a sudden people rushed past to line up in front of a small flatiron stove propped on rickety wooden legs.

An old lady with silver hair was pouring a white batter as if to make a thin circular crepe. In the centre of the crepe, she cracked an egg then scattered a handful of sliced leek, some herbs and a deep-fried sheath of pastry for crunch before rolling it up and passing it to the person at the front of the queue in exchange for a small brown coin. Romy was so hungry she thought she’d happily swap her coat and all the jewels for one of the crepes. They had no Chinese money.

Beside the old woman was a large pot of boiling stock. Romy sniffed. Chicken. The smell reminded her of Griessnockerlsuppe, Mutti’s special semolina dumpling soup. Except this soup carried all the new smells of Shanghai: spicy and other sweet and bitter traces she had never encountered before. She wanted to take a sip just to try…

Instead Romy watched, transfixed, as a parade of barefoot men parked their rickshaws by the footpath then brought over small ceramic bowls to be filled with broth. A grinning boy with three missing front teeth, smaller than Romy, carefully ladled soup into each bowl and threw in a handful of green herbs, chopped vegetables and some tiny sliced red chillies.

Some of the men stank of urine, their hair fluffy at the back as if it had never been brushed. Their bare heels were cracked and bleeding. How could they not wear shoes in this wintery place where the roads and gutters were filled with fetid icy brown mush? Wearing faded blue rags, filthy and torn at the cuffs, these men looked to Romy like ghostly skeletons. Their eyes reminded her of those of the dead fish in the barrels.

Romy’s stomach turned over and she wasn’t sure whether it was curiosity, hunger or revulsion. Her mother held her pretty silk handkerchief over her mouth.

Papa returned from helping Nina into the truck. Miss Schwartz approached them with her clipboard and broad smile. ‘Is someone coming to greet you? Where are you off to from here?’ she asked Papa.

‘The Cathay Hotel.’ He tapped his pocket for reassurance.

‘You mean Sassoon House?’ Her brown eyes widened. ‘Lucky you.’ She scanned the Bund then pointed. ‘It’s that one. With the green copper pyramid on the roof. Fanciest building in Shanghai.’

They all gazed at the bizarre apple-green roof.

‘Someone’s taking care of you.’

Romy saw Mutti and Papa exchange glances.

Papa had explained on the train before they left Austria that a wealthy Baghdadi merchant and property developer he’d met at Oxford—Sir Ellice Victor Sassoon—was now living in Shanghai. Papa had once operated on a distant cousin of Mr Sassoon and saved his life. Papa had sent him a telegram before they boarded the ship in Italy, and the ship’s captain had received a message with instructions for the Bernfelds when they landed in Shanghai. The German first mate couldn’t suppress his surprise and disgust as he delivered the message, muttering under his breath ‘…wasted on Jews. I never stay at the Cathay.’

Papa had read the telegram then handed it to Mutti, who read it aloud.

WHEN YOU ARRIVE AT DOCK CHECK INTO CATHAY HOTEL AS MY GUEST STOP WE WILL ARRANGE A HOUSE FOR YOUR FAMILY STOP THERE IS A JOB AT THE JEWISH HOSPITAL IN FRENCH CONCESSION STOP MORE ON ARRIVAL STOP SASSOON

‘But we have nothing, Oskar,’ Mutti said, folding the paper and handing it back to him before she stared at the horizon. ‘How will we pay him back?’

Her father replied, ‘We’ll work something out.’

Standing on the Bund’s foreshore as her parents gaped at the green pyramid, Romy looked back at Nina, who was now sitting squashed between other refugees on the wooden bench seat in the back of the IC truck. Her brown suitcase was clenched between her knees and she was gazing around with wide eyes.

Romy didn’t want her friend Nina to go. Not alone. She started to cry.

‘Well,’ said Miss Schwartz with attempted brightness as she glanced at Nina. ‘We’re off, then. We must get to the Heime for dinner.’ Seeing Romy’s tears, she said consolingly: ‘Nina’s uncle will be back by then, and we can make some plans for her family.’ She smiled. ‘I promise I’ll look after Nina.’

‘It’s better for Nina if she is with her family, Liebling,’ said Papa, though his voice betrayed his uncertainty. ‘We will contact Nina through the IC.’

‘I’m there every day,’ said Miss Schwartz as she handed Papa an address card from her top left pocket. She gave him and Mutti one last intense stare, as if trying to decide what to make of them. ‘Once you are settled, Dr Bernfeld, I think perhaps we should have a little chat. We are always looking for help—’ she gestured to the trucks ‘—and it sounds like you might have some important friends.’

She walked over to the truck where Nina sat waiting, swung open the driver-side door and got in. As she started the engine and drove away, Romy stood waving until her friend was out of sight. She wondered how long it would be until she could visit Nina, and what their new lives in Shanghai would be like.